Writing log: OTR +3,917 words | TBN +1,016 words
Happy Holiblaze you sons of bitches. I once said in this blog that books made with marijuana involved in the creative process always end up being bullshit books. I have come to either the realization or the understanding – I’m not sure which one it is, but there is a difference in this context – that it is actually up to you entirely and the marijuana may actually play a very minimal role in the production of a bullshit book.
If you’re gonna make a book, you’re gonna make a book. When that book is done, it will reflect the amount of effort you put into it, simple as that. If you made the book right all the way through, it will show. If you put only enough effort into the book for it to become a bullshit book cough Flowers cough Under the Hood cough I don’t even know I just feel like they’re my weaker works cough I even made Under the Hood sober cough then it will become a bullshit book. If the book gets done and the final product is satisfactory and you were intoxicated the entire time you were putting it together, then so be it. To each his own; if that completes your cypher, fuck it, amen, and that’s word to Godemis!
So does that mean I’m just sitting around getting high all day every day and not really putting up the ridiculous numbers I’m flaunting in these posts? If they’re even ridiculous? I don’t even know because nobody will answer my end of the post question? Maybe. Maybe I didn’t actually write any of my books, maybe the books in the pictures are just a cardboard prop and all the posts are just unknown foreign fiction poorly translated into English with names and locations changed. Maybe I’m getting high and writing all day and the numbers are real, or maybe I’m just writing all day and then smoking at night because finding weed requires time and effort and I must conserve. Or maybe I haven’t smoked since I put out Flowers – my 9th book, by the way, 9 of 11, soon to be 12, ‘man can I count or what? – because weed is legal now but not publicly available for sale yet and I’m trying to live a fantasy for a few goddamn minutes at the end of my day. It’s none of your fucking business what’s going on in my life, okay? I’m making these posts to connect with my audience and you need to back the fuck up, bucko. Listen, want to know what’s going on with me that’s your business? This here: I’ve become self-conscious about my flagrant apostrophe usage as of late. Like, using don’ow instead of dunno or go’n’a instead of gonna. In dialogue, too, like, I often go for the hillbilly thing ‘nd if’n’ I start goin’n’a’bunch’a words’re easy t’stack t’gethr and th’dialogue’ll keep’er movin’ ’til whatever the fuck, you get my point, it’s ridiculous and I feel like I need to chill with it. So I am. I sometimes feel like when I’m writing if I do something one way once I need to do it the exact same way for the rest of eternity or else I’ll break some rule, but there are no rules to writing except to sit down and fill the blank space with symbols. Do whatever the fuck you want, whatever gets the project done, whatever gets the next line written. Do your shit and shut the fuck up about your excuses for fuck’s sake!
I feel like I occasionally get confrontational in these posts. You should know that it’s your fault entirely and it wouldn’t happen so much if you didn’t push me and make me walk across the room and beat you upside the fuckin’ head like this. Look what you make me do!
But yeah, ‘man. 4/20. Weed day. I don’t know what the fuck weed is. I used to think I knew exactly what it was, I had all these crazy borderline delusional theories about how the world worked and shit, I was still getting high off my own supply if you toke what I’m blowin’. Started to believe the bookmaking ideas applied to the real world. Coincidences kept lining up which seemed to suggest I was onto something, that I had figured out these hidden secrets of perception through which the universe communicated secret messages to me and that my every breath was leading to some big climactic showdown or some bullhockey like that. ‘Man, that’s just storybook shit, that doesn’t happen. Like, it can happen, but it doesn’t happen. Just gotta stay grounded, it isn’t that hard. You can’t keep it moving if both feet aren’t on the ground, ‘man, that’s all there is to it.
So you may have noticed I didn’t hit my word goal today. Like, I made a whole-ass post about setting a challenge for myself to do 6,000 words a day and here I am legit 2 days in coming up short already. Well, get off my dick and give the Shopfy stalker a turn, first of all – 2 pm today – and second of all, I’m just posting this now because I want it to land on 4/20 – fuck off, I know it’s a few minutes late – because the post is dated. Because I feel like I set rules for myself in writing despite writing being the artform of anarchy. I’m going to hit the 6 thou, hit the bed, then get up tomorrow and do however much I can. Tomorrow’s Wednesday, weekend Wednesday bitches. Wow, I’m still here.
This has been your daily dose of whatever the fuck this is. If fear does not hold you back, comment your daily word goal! Maybe if I demand it rather than request it I’ll get some characters for this The Bookmaker’s Note Volume 1 shit I’m throwin’ together top of ’22. Happy Holiblaze, y’bunch’a dirty fuckin’ hippies.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there, and know I burned one down for you today. From this day on, we move forever forward~