When I first made this book, I intended for it to be the first entry in a very long story which would serve as the origin story of Existence, my fictional reality where the events I describe in my writings take place. After publishing it, I made an attempt to write the second entry of this story but decided to scrap it, as I didn’t feel creatively capable of doing the story justice. A cycle or so later, I still don’t; I will write the story one day, so long as the wind continues to blow, and when I do I would like to do it in one shot without taking any breaks to work on other projects. That means starting fresh, which would mean this book would eventually become null and void.
The thing is, though, I love this book. I don’t know if it’s any good, per se, but I grew up exploring the Mighty Mother Monksville and this project is very near and dear to my heart. I don’t want it to go away, I want it to be part of the bigger picture. So, now it is. Let’s dip into the lore.
I’m currently working on a project which will go more into this, but in the center of Existence is a place called The Writer’s Room. I won’t say what specifically happens in The Writer’s Room, but I will tell you that books written there are not just books. The Monksville Chronicles was not written in The Writer’s Room, but it is a book within Existence. Therefore, you just read a book that isn’t real.
Unless Existence is real, anyway. Who am I to say?
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thanks for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~
April 5th, 2021
“Hey guys, check this out.”
The Pillars Three simultaneously stop scrawling and look up from their work without releasing their pencils. Two of them appear far less furious than the third; what else is new?
The Brained Man deadpans, “What is that?”
“Looks like a mint brown leatherbound,” The Maned Man observes. “Is that one of ours?”
“I’m not sure,” answers Tom Foolery. “I was digging around in The Workshop an–“
“Wait,” says The Suited Man. “Who the fuck said you could leave the corner? When did you even leave? ”
“I was digging around in The Workshop and I found it next to the globe. It was wrapped in old paper and bound with a burlap string. Here,” he holds it out, “read it.”
The Maned Man points his free palm at the book and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he opens them. “Huh. The Monksville Chronicles… I think Adam wrote it.”
“I think you’re wrong,” scoffs The Suited Man. “Adam doesn’t write shit, he’s too busy bein’a fuckin’ asshole.”
After The Brained Man reads the book, he monotones Tom Foolery what he’s going to do with it.
“Figured I’d send it to The Garden, let it join the rest of the books. Just to see if he notices, y’know?”
“Good idea,” The Maned Man commends. “Go for it.”
Tom Foolery releases the book. It never hits the floor.
“Great job, Foolery.” Always so mad. “Now get the fuck back in your corner, we need to get back to work already.”
“Yep,” as he sits in the corner. “Back to work.”