So, I promise I won’t turn into a promo-machine that only talks about my book, but, allow me one more post.
Because a lot happened recently, and I have pictures I wanted to show you.
If you happen to follow me on Instagram or Twitter, this would seem familiar—but, for those that don’t, let’s go.
I got my first copy on May 14th, and god did it look pretty. Continue reading
A book’s spine is not meant to hit a wall, but, there it slid down, coming to a forlorn, bent-out-of-shape slump on the ground.
Samantha crossed her hands over her chest and pouted. She’d been enjoying that book, loving the characters, the concepts, where it was going—but now…
A quick darting motion brought her phone up to use, as it had been an hour before, and her text sent at the speed of technology.
That was horrible. Continue reading
No one told me that publishing was a drug that had a high and a crash. That would have been nice to know before it happened. I was, and still kind of am, the moodiest version of myself I have been in a long time.
And, really, I should have seen this coming. I should have seen all of this coming. I threw all of myself into making the deadline for this thing. At the peak, I had five shots of espresso over the course of a single day.
It was fucking madness. Continue reading
Every word spoken, added to the physical mass. Charlie oversaw words and made sure that no one overused them. Words were precious, you see: a commodity that no one could do much without, yet paradoxically must not speak too often. They powered lights and made the cars run on time. If not for words, likely they would all be dead.
But then came a stranger into the town, who spoke freely, and with words they’d never heard before. Charlie grew worried about him but had no significant reason to remove him, he was but one man, and a kind enough sort at that.
But, yes, later, there was something wrong, there was something off. He used a swear. No one had ever heard it before—and it brought forth chaos. Continue reading
Oh, huh, would you look at that: I wrote a book.
HOLY SHIT, I WROTE A BOOK!?
Of one thing they were certain: they were not driving themselves that night. On the table was more booze than a man could feasibly drink, more wine than a Grecian of the olden, way olden days, could ingest—and they drank it like water. An alcoholic would have a pain in his liver at the sight.
And they were having a blast. Continue reading
It gets worse,
Before you can attempt,
To sow it back again. Continue reading
“We are not real living beings, you know,” Caffeine said, then jerked his head to the side, looking at the door to the room.
“Yeah—but it doesn’t much matter. It’s nice being as we are, at least,” Alcohol said, and sat down on his chair. He stared up at the other two and smiled goofily.
“It matters a little bit,” Nicotine said, parting back his ginger hair. “I, for one, like to be flesh.”
“Oh, well…so do I, but that does not mean that we are.” Caffeine’s words came out rushed and flowing—like he had rehearsed it, but not well, and was trying to get them out as fast as possible before he forgot.
Alcohol laughed. “I did not get that at all.” Continue reading
I am shaking while writing this. This may be too far, but, I almost feel like it’s my responsibility to talk about it. Art is supposed to build up people, or at least make them see something that might change them inside—and in the modern world, it is almost selfish to be a creator and not share my…issues.
Told by many this is not a good idea: fuck it.
Oh God, fuck it.
I’m 22 and I’ve never had a girlfriend. Continue reading
“So, you’re not going to press the button?”
Jim shrugged. “Nope.”
Cathy pursed her lips. She opened her mouth to say something and then did not. She looked at the red button on the table. They’d woken up to it being there in their kitchen.
“But,” Cathy began, “I feel as though we are supposed to do something with it.”
Jim considered the button again, rubbing his chin. He reached out to touch it, finger by finger, then he pulled away. He too felt the odd presence of someone, or perhaps many people, frowning. Continue reading
I’ve gone over before that I HATE platitudes. This is for several reasons, including how they are not at all helpful, in the slightest, when I hear them. But, with that said, some of them are so egregious, some phrases and common sayings so irritating, that I felt the need to bitch about them on the internet.
“You can do it!”
Okay, so, being supportive is nice, and good, and all that is swell—but clichés are clichés. Statements and sentences that come straight out of a hokey anime, or child-friendly animated movie, infuriate me because I feel like I am getting a robot quoting a film.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone.” Continue reading
Ever since James tried to quit using the patch, he’s been having mood swings. I noticed, everyone notices—but we were too polite to point it out to him, and for that, we are probably not nice people. Despite us doing it to be nice, ostensibly.
But you can tell, you can really tell. He’ll walk into our classrooms, and he’ll look all, you know, happy and stuff—has on his yellow mask. Big cheery face with a smile and wide eyes and a sharp chin. But, then, and oh is it fast, he’ll see something else, some minor thing upsets him, and the red mask whips out of his pouch, my God. Continue reading
I know it is hard—
but hold fast—
To nothing at all. Continue reading
The teachers’ stoic moment shattered with but one word.
Mrs. Jasmine, known for her blue spectacles, dropped her mug to the ground and stared at the door.
“No,” she whispered. Continue reading
I didn’t much enjoy the book Ready Player One. It was…fine…I guess. It did give me a fun idea.
I am going to treat myself like an avatar in a game and list off my usual items and traits.
And, yes, I am doing this because it’s a good way to combine self-deprecating humor and ego-stroking, how’d you guess?
Here we go. Continue reading