Bookmaking log: finished Sto’tryp editing phase 2 @ 24,790 words | TBN +493 words
• • • nothing writ’ below these dots • • • is meant for human eyeballs • • •
no, I didn’t finish Sto’tryp over the weekend like I said I was going to. it’s almost like I’m a legitimate artist who cares more about his work than himself, it’s almost like I’m actually trying here, it’s almost like I’m willing to go the lengths I need to go in order to achieve what I believe in…
weird. not different, but weird, because this world is populated by sloopy illiterate fucks
extra sloopy on ’em, too
so anyway, proof copy is on the way! soon! I’m about to request the ability to order one right now, I just wanted to get a start on this real quick. get The Note goin’, oh yeah, we are going going gon
I got the best fucking weed from Pop’s Smoke today. i don’t know if ive ever mentioned them by name, but… fuckin’, such good free gifts. If I ever hold a book signing thing at some private property place and I want folks to get free weed gifts when they buy signed books – I did a lot of thinking today, okay – I know exactly where I’m going first to look for sponsorship.
god that would be so fucking cool. imagine. an actual The Hillside Commons book-signing event, come support the local bookmaker, smoke weed, chill at the powwow! big ol’ barbeque, you illiterate fucks, come get some sloppin’ meat and herbs and walk away with the highest word of The Bookmaker in your hand! jesus christ, it would literally be utopia.
its gonna happen, mark my words. hell, it might even happen soon. I’m about to release my literal 16th book, The Hillside Commons, as a publishing company, has 15 actual titles up for offer, 16th on the way. I don’t have any money, but I have done everything necessary to earn it. it’ll come. in the meantime, books to be made, and so many books there are…
i genuinely love being myself. that’s something I only started feeling a year or so ago, maybe 2. now, i feel it not all the time, but pretty fucking often. and it makes me happy. you gotta understand, im not bragging here, okay, i literlly apent the first 23ish years of my life wishing i wasn’t such a faggot so i would just kill myself already, and then I went crazy to the point where I believed I was possessed by an actual demon, and then I wrote so many books that I went sane again and I kept writing and now I’m working up to release number 16 and im happy to be alive and suicide is nothing more but a memory, nothing more than something to write about
Since you’re there, noted reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~