Today a box arrived from Amazon with the last book of the series. Sixteen books and a Prequel, and I reached an important goal. Of course I cannot quit. I have already added a hundred more pages to the Prequel just this week and I am sure another round of editing someday will be inevitable, but all the books in this series I had drafted are now realized in print. It is especially meaningful to see them between those battered book ends. When I was about nine, my father embarked on another of his ambitious craft projects. He cast some old books in a silicon rubber and then we filled the molds with plaster of paris. Both these processes were extreemly messy, and I loved every moment of the process. Each of us made a pair—these were my handiwork. Once cast, we painted them. There were some problems with maintaining the integrity of the mold, and some air bubbles in the plaster, but once painted they looked pretty good, at least to a nine year old. My father passed away only three short years later, and these bookends, battered and chipped, are very dear to me. It is only fitting for them to hold The Runners Series.
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