Real | The Bookmaker’s Note 4/14/21

Progress log:


Some days I just don’t feel like doing shit. Today is one of those days.

I woke stressed as hell about Bessy’s goddamn flat tire. Shortly after I woke up I remembered that I have a credit card (i’ll even giv u the #s if u don’t believe me) and therefore will be able to get new tires without going broker. I am fine. Logically, I know there is nothing to worry about with the goddamn tires. I even went and set som’n’ up at the gas station, like, I know and understand that it is fine. It just won’t… click, I guess. I’m still stressed out and I just don’t feel like doing jack shit today lmao. It’s fuckin’ Wednesday. It’s a Wednesday-ass Wednesday, a Wednesday if ever there were a Wednesday. Worst day of the week by far. Time’s not real, but Wednesday is a bitch regardless. Irregardless, even.

So I’m in the woods right now, 2:00 pm, doing my backwoods shit. Whatever that might mean. Hey, I could be injecting pure heroin into my eyeballs with one hand and jackin’ off with the other for all you know. There is a slight chance I might just be listening to music and vibing, but, y’know. Of course that’s what I would say. Wait, where am I?

So I’m in the woods right now. My author copy of The Monksville Chronicles, the metaphorical key to unlocking the book’s rerelease, is expected to be delivered between April 28th and April 30th. A full fortnight, ‘man. Goddamn. It might be a blessing in disguise, as a fortnight may be long enough for me to finish OTR without any interruptions. I’ll get on that tomorrow. I’m not doing shit today.

Technically I’m doing shit today. This blog series is a thing. I don’t know if this is clear or not but nothing below the three dots (or whatever divider there is beneath the Progress log, I don’t know what you see when you read this) is meant to be taken seriously at all. I started this series to connect with my audience and in order to do that I must be real, so le’me be real with you about two things right quick. One, I like writing ridiculous and occasionally worrisome bullshit. I think it’s absolutely hilarious and you will not convince me otherwise. Two, at the start of the new year I’m going to compile all of these posts into a book called The Bookmaker’s Note Volume 1. The description will be Nine months’ worth of ravings from a madman.

So technically I’m doing shit today. How is Amazon going to take a full fortnight to print and ship me a single book? Sweet Christ. Whatever, que sera sera. It’s not like The Monksville Chronicles will be the book that suddenly gets me a lot of followers, y’know? I don’t know if any one book will do that. I know for a fact that OTR won’t be that book, OTR is fucking derranged. I love it a lot but I must be real with you, it’s, fuckin’, it’s one’a them ones if you smell what I’m steppin’ in.

But yeah, I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. About the one thing you must do to elevate to the next level, so to speak. Just the concept of the one in general, of things miraculously falling into place one day. I don’t think it happens. I think it can happen, but I don’t think it happens. Do you know what I mean by that? Like, it can happen, but it’s not something to be counted on. You just got’a keep going, hold your nose to the grindstone until there’s no grindstone left at which point you replace the goddamn grindstone and get your nose on it, that’s how I like to look at it. Listen, as far as I can tell, the only way to ensure that you fail is to have nothing going on. Anything can succeed, ‘man, you won’t know ’til it happens. I’ve written eleven books, one of which I’m rereleasing in a fortnight, and a twelfth one is under production. I’m fuckin’ solid. I can fuck off today. Hell, I could fuck off even if I had nothing going on, we all have free will, we can all do whatever we want – but why am I being so defensive about it? aaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

In the woods. 3 pm. Backwoods shit goin’ full force right now. Just uh, just sort’a here. Folks ask How are you? and my answer is always I certainly am. Is that a bad thin

A branch just broke and fell from the tree above me, landed right in my lap. It didn’t hurt, it’s just a twig, mere kindling, but it could have been a widowmaker. Shit ‘man, I could have literally just died were this a different Universe. My heart is goin’.

Now, is there some Existential real-time symbolism to be found in that little exchange just went down just now, the puny branch falling in my lap as I type the thing about how I say I certainly am when asked How are you? or is it just a meaningless coincidence? I used to be sure it meant something, absolutely positive, but now I’m less so. It’s kind’a like the idea of the one – the convenient incidents can have meaning, but they are not inherently meaningful. Kind’a like words.

You know those outdoor foldup chairs that you carry around in a sleeve? Like, with the poly-whatever arms and seat and back and the metal frame? I’m on one of those right now. It doesn’t have a carrying sleeve but I’m sittin’ on it. In the woods. Doing backwoods shit.

Heheheheh.

Shit, it’s supposed to start raining soon. At like, 4ish. That’s why I’m having the campfire now. I also had some longpork frankfurters that needed cooking, but I always have longpork in need of cooking. Always.

But yeah, I just stay out here ’til it starts raining and boom, fire goes out all by itself. That’s how it’s supposed to go down. Little did he know, that’s not how it went down at all.

Just kidding. I’m still out here, it has yet to go down.

Books, ‘man. Makin’ books. There is something about making a book that I am just fucking obsessed with. I find an indescribable thrill in it that exists nowhere else in life, truly. Spending all the time writing a story and then putting it together all nice in a book, like, god-fuckin-damn! Fuckin’, I put books in the back of my books. Been doing that ever since the beginning. Both of the The 2020 Event books have shorter books hidden in the back of them. Untitled Bigfoot Project is a novel about a writer writing a novel about bigfoot; the novel he writes is called The Face of Fear and I wrote the entire The Face of Fear and stuck that son of a bitch into the back of Untitled Bigfoot Project. A couple of y’all bought copies of Untitled Bigfoot Project, you know what I’m about. I’m doing it with OTR, too. That motherfucker is go’n’a have a whole short story anthology in the back, mark my goddamn words. And I’m doing it for canonical purposes, too, it’s not even a gimmick. The story simply demands it, who am I to say no? Fuckin’, I am all in on this shit. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted. The Bookmaker’s Note Volume 1 coming January 2022, The Monksville Chronicles rerelease coming May 2021, OTR coming Eventually 2021.

As I typed that bit, my shuffle changed the song from In Due Time to New Blessings, both by ¡MAYDAY!. Is that happening a meaningful convenient incident, or is it just a meaningless coincidence? Sweet Christ, does it matter? Fuckin’, either way, I’m not doing shit today. Just cookin’ this longpork and loungin’ under the budding trees. I have a framed picture out here, a painting of the shore of a lake in prime springtime. I like to look at it, because it’s only as real as it isn’t. ‘Man, it’s only as real as it isn’t.

I’ve been inside for a few hours now. It never rained.

How many words do you like to write in a day when you’re doing shit? Let me know so I can like and probably not reply to your comment.

If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on we move forever forward~

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