Defeat | The Bookmaker’s Note 4/9/21

Progress log: wrote ~4,900 more words for OTR, crossed the 50,000 word milestone


Today began with defeat. I came down the stairs and said goodmorning to my mother. She said, “Go look at your car, you have a flat tire.”

As it turned out, I had a flat tire.

My tire pressure light had been on for roughly the past quarter-year, but I had assumed that was just because of the winter and the temperature fucking with the air pressure. I’ve been driving on these same tires the whole time and it’s been fine. The tire that went flat was always at a reliable 30ish psi, which I felt was plenty close enough to the 33 psi it’s supposed to be at. Then yesterday, I went to get gas and I decided I’d hit up the air hose too. Put 3ish psi into the tire, the tire pressure light went off. Huzzah. I got the tank filled up and told the guy working the pumps about the demented book I’m writing and how I’m doing the writing outside in the sun. He told me to wait for the next thunderstorm and then write outside.

So I drove home with my freshly filled tire and gas tank and petty $3 in change and went on to not use my car at all for the rest of the day. Then this morning, flat. I put air in my tire and the goddamned thing went flat on me. Whatever. Tried to get it off, jacked the car up and everything, but my car’s jack didn’t come with a tire iron and I couldn’t manage to get the nuts off with the old rusty socket wrench that my father keeps in the old rusty toolbox he keeps buried beneath a metric fuckton of sawdust in the garage inside the garage at all times – there is a second garage inside my parents’ garage, just to clarify – so I decided I wasn’t going anywhere today.

Then I remembered I had a check waiting for me at the local auction hall I sell shit through, so I unjacked my car, put the spare and everything back into the trunk, did a little bit of writing to calm the nerves, and then took my brother’s car to the auction hall.

Last month, the check was for $500. This month, it was for $60. Resale in prime form.

The defeat was getting to me. The flat first thing in the morning, then poverty right around lunch time. I wasn’t happy. I lit my parents’ house on fire. I took a fully automatic assault weapon and rained led on the kids riding their electric mopeds up and down the street. My neighbor’s chickens who were clucking around in the woods behind my house? I slaughtered them all with my bare hands and ate the meat raw, licked their blood off my fingers. Just kidding, I made all of that up right now. Or did I? It’s not important. The defeat was getting to me and it was getting to me good. I still had another subchapter of OTR to go before the third chapter was finished and I almost didn’t do it. I almost let the defeat take me like I took those chickens.

But then I did it, as I am a goddamn ‘man, and now OTR is 60ish% done and longer than 50,000 words.

Then it was time to work out. Today was back/shoulders/chest day. Cunting back/shoulders/chest day.

I turned the belligerently cold water off and stopped screaming and stepped out of the shower, looked out the window at my car. Bessy, her name is. I named her Bessy when I wrote my second book, it’s called Roadtrip: The ¬°Gramango! Edition. Want to know what Gramango means? Read the book I hid in the back of The 2020 Event |The Sideshows|.

I looked at her flat tire and all the defeat actively seeping out of it. It looked like animate tar and it had seven eyes and one of them winked at me. That made me uncomfortable, as I was still naked from the cold shower. So I winked back.

I still needed to go to the bank to deposit my income for the month. My brother’s car needs “A FUCKING OIL CHANGE” according to the dashboard, so I didn’t want to drive it the 10 miles to the bank and back in addition to the 2 miles to and from the auction hall I had already driven it. I couldn’t drive on a flat tire, I knew I couldn’t drive on the flat tire, I’m stupid but I’m also clever and so I knew I couldn’t drive on the flat tire, so I didn’t. I just got the mail instead.

In the mail were two packages for me. One had 3 Charles Bukowski books in it (that makes 9 total; hardly 2 weeks ago I had never read a word he wrote) and the other had the proof copy of The Monksville Chronicles. It looks fucking beautiful, by the way, hotter than the fire which engulfed my parents’ house. I’m goddamned ecstatic over the fact I’m rereleasing it.

So I stacked my Bukowski books on my bookshelf to be read in the near future and I opened the proof copy and basked in its beauty and then I flipped through it, penciled in a few changes I decided I wanted to make immediately after ordering the proof copy earlier in the weed, then my father and brother got home. I didn’t tell my brother I used his car because he’s 3 years younger than me and more than 3 inches taller than me and he could probably toss me across the street with one hand, but I did say hi and I also asked my father for a tire iron because my tire was flat. He got one. I got the nuts loose but the tire was rusted to the… to the thing behind the tire. What the fuck is a car? It wouldn’t budge. So we worked the gimp tire off with multiple crowbars and a few spritzes of WD40 and reinflated it and poured water all over the motherfucker but there were no air bubbles, it was as if there was no leak. It was definitely flat when we pried it off, but now there was no leak. Huh.

I didn’t put it back on my car. I’m stupid, yes, but I’m also clever.

So driving on the spare I got to the bank, deposited my $60 check, and now I’m writing this bullshit up. Go’n’a start reviewing the proof copy tomorrow because I just don’t feel like starting it today. It’s Friday, go fuck yourself. Not literally, though. The seed must be retained.

Moral of the story: every time you face defeat, put that shit in the bank. Clear straight roads never made great drivers, and shit doesn’t stay the same forever. In other words, get the fuck over yourself and keep it wolfin’. That’s what the voices in my head tell me, at least. Don’t shoot the messenger (like I shot those kids).

If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Also, let me know in the comments how many words you like to hit in a day when you’re working on a project!!1! From this day on, we move forever forward~

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