What the fuck is this guy trying to do?

Oh, this question is a familiar one. This blog, my body of work, myself, my actions. They’ve all been subject to consideration and even at times confusion, but there has always been one thing that constantly stands out about me. I don’t like rules. Never did. I feel…confined by them, constricted, claustrophobic. Rules. A lot of good they’ve done me in the writing industry. A lot of good they did thousands of would be authors. I don’t like their rules, the publishers, the literary magazines, the agents. Their rules piss me off.

I’ve been trying to get published for…eight years now. Eight fuckin’ years. And I know it takes a long time. And I know I have the talent. But things just don’t pan out. A sob story? Hardly. A cautionary tale? Completely.

I got tired of authors telling me to pick a new profession. I got tired of literary agents telling me to stuff my manuscript up my ass because it wouldn’t make them enough money to buy that golden dildo they’ve always wanted. I got tired of publishing houses NEVER even telling my they didn’t want my shit. I have had enough, and I’ve decided to make my own rules.

That’s what this blog is all about. I will deliver personal musings and shit like that, but I will show you what one author goes through to write a book from start to finish. My ideas, my drawings, my struggles, my triumphs, my joy, my pain. I’ll jab a fucking pen into my neck and bleed all of my darkest ideas and inner thoughts on a webpage for all of you to read. I will describe books that I write and proofread in detail, and show you what it’s like to write a book from idea, to published work. That’s where I’m different. That’s where I break the rules.

A lot of authors are private, whimpy little fucks that need specific conditions to write, and want to be hidden from the eyes of society. No, not me. I write books for the beasts inside us all, and if I hide  my own monsters from you as I write, what the fuck am I but a pathetic hypocrite, suckling curdled milk from the tired tit called the internet. No, I’ll write like I fuck. Like I fight. Like I bleed. I’ll show you what a book is from the inside out, and you’ll love every second of it.

So. Read this blog, if you will, and you will find out what it is like to feel joy and rage in the same day as you force yourself to kill a character you developed in your head. Give birth to a novel, and tear it to shreds before you begin. You will see me in my purest form- when I’m writing, and you will watch with delight as I suffer, or thrive. Get ready, you motherfuckers.

This is unlike anything you have ever seen before.