A friend of mine (one that exists outside of my head, for a change) is damn good at keeping these fingers going. I mean it has been mass genocide of the finger race the last few days. The word counts keep growing, everything hurts, I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do when these fuckers fall off, because they will. Or just explode from overuse…
To all my writer brethren and sistren out there: This is not a job. This is pain. All pain. All the time. Forever. It’s the ultimate faction of suffering. Buddha would be proud… You know, if he could feel pride, or whatever Buddhas feel. NaNoWriMo has been forcing my fingers in the upright position, making my hands swell, bringing out the competition beast because I like to see my numbers get really big while my not head friend’s numbers also get big (but not as big as mine… for now). It pleases me, US. Pleases, us… Please stop hitting me. Seriously, put the brass knuckles away man. This isn’t the 40s! Stop!
And in other interesting news: Thor? Beautiful. Punisher? 11/17 – which is next Friday. And I’m still working on getting the Doc up and running but he’s coming along nicely. Just get your fill of the other two books while you can. I’m going to do that thing where you can totally still read it here for free, but you’re SOL if I forget to pay the bill or something. I’ll throw a link to buy (<– this word, always in your wallet) when I compile all three books. Figure, more bang for your buck. And if you end up hating one of them, well you’re stuck with it and I get to laugh at you. It’s a win win situation. For me. Not for you. At that point it’s more like a … win, win, lose situation.
Anyway, go read them. You’ll like them. And if you’re a fellow nutbag – get your ass over to NaNoWriMo and write some shit! Then go to ScreenCraft and write some more shit! One day, our favorite authors and movie people and television writers and comic crafters and all the writing people ever are going to die. Morbid… It’s Thursday. Everything is morbid. But when they go, no one will be around to write more things. So go and write all the things. Now. Or I’m gonna sick this crazy, violent son of a bitch on you and there’s nothing you can really do about it because she only exists in the realm of the nutters. Which you are.