Bookmaking log: finalized through page 48 of Flowers, 165 pages remaining | TBN +867 words
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I don’t think I’m done working yet. I originally planned on finalizing the whole book today, but that didn’t happen. My brain seems to be convinced that sleeping through the day and being awake all night is the jam, because I forced myself to get up before the sun this morning and I’ve been shot from the moment I woke. I took 2 2-hour naps and still I feel like a zombie… but work is getting done, so nothing else matters.
Except that more work gets done, obviously.
It’s a little ironic that I’m starting the work I started today; so Flowers tells the story of Howie “Hoots” McGee as he trudges through an apocolypse to get back to his shitty apartment and find the last of his weed. In Flowers, the sky is a flat white shroud on account of all the ash and dead planet and whatnot; in real life today, on account of all the fire in Nevada and Oregon (according to my mah, which, y’know, the fire might actually be in Hawaii, you can’t be sure with her), the sky was a flat white shroud as well. It looked sunny in the shade, like, the shadows looked like the granted, and the sunlight was red. The sunlight looked like red shadows, that’s what I’m trying to get at. Like reverse scarlet shadows, all day. It was fuckin’ surreal. Made my wake and bake to the tune of Joe Hawley’s The Mind Electric pretty spectacular, but wake and baking to the tune of Joe Hawley’s The Mind Electric is always spectacular. Listening to that song is a psychedelic experience for me, with or without cannabis. It expresses the emotion of insanity better than any piece of music I’ve ever listened to. The first half of it plays in reverse for fuck’s sake, and the reverse part sounds like music!!! Fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Thank god for Joe Hawley.
Anyway, so Flowers is leaking into Reality but that’s all right. I’m looking to have it done tomorrow. It’s only 50k, I wrote the bastard in 5 days. I’ll talk more about it in the BTS post, that’ll be eventually. Um, what else… oh, I republished The Monksville Chronicles today. I was originally planning on keeping the June 15 revision, but then I realized that 2 words needed to be changed to a different 2 words. So, I changed them and republished. The ebook is approved, I think the paperback is still in review. I haven’t checked. It’s not in my control, y’know? Nothing I can do. I have books to make, fuck it.
Lastly, some questions for the fools who think editing their own work is the wrong move and say so openly on Facebook:
- Why do you consider your work incomplete unless someone else has altered it?
- Why are you so insecure about your art?
- Why are you okay with someone else wasting their time altering your work?
- Wouldn’t you rather them spend the time creating something only they create instead of changing your art from something that only you could create into something impure, more generic, and generally less interesting?
- Are you too good to spend your time refining what you spent your time creating?
- Do you really think you know what you’re doing? Really?
- Did you write over 1,000,000 words worth of fiction by the age of 26 without using the words people or person a single time? No? Then why the fuck are you giving out your faulty writing advice on Facebook?! You’re not fucking good enough to contribute to humanity’s great Social Media project, cut the shit! You’re like a human who tried to become a historian and wound up teaching high school music theory instead, for fuck’s sake you’re not the guy. You’re clearly not the guy.
- You know who is the guy? Me. I’m the guy. Howdy, cyka. Zip up and read the next bullet point.
- Do you see me going on Facebook posting advice?
- Have I the experience necessary to post advice about bookmaking?
- I’ve written more books than I have fingers on my hands.
- Why do I not openly post advice?
- I’m busy writing books.
- And this blog series,
- which I’m going to compile into a book
- called <something>: The Bookmaker’s Scratchpad
- due for release
- at the top
- of 2022.
- It’s already 100 pages long.
- 6″ x 9″er
- That means its longer than Flowers
- not better than Flowers
- as Flowers is a novel and The Bookmaker’s Scratchpad is the ranting of a madman
- they are different, pears to lemons
- but longer
- I make books when I’m not making books
What the fuck do you do?
Listen, ‘man, I can’t help that I’m fire. I didn’t choose the bookmaking life, it chose me. You, though? You got a choice to make: hold me under your ass and get staggin’, or scorch your fingers trying to put me out.
Unsolicited yet applicable life advice: burns are a bitch for the body to heal.
Since you’re there, noted reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~