Monthly Archives: December 2010

It’s a Long Way to the Top

For a while now, I’ve been trying to figure out how to write my award winning novel. Now, writing such a book will surely be no easy task. What with the millions of other books it will compete with for first place in the Booklypmpics. But if you look at today, books are getting famous everyday. I mean, there’s always at least ONE book topping the Super Awesome Book List (not an actual list… I think), and it changes like what, every week? And in the history of the world, there have to have been what, a BILLION weeks? So with billions of books and billions of weeks, my book HAS to have a shot to win the Work Book Championships. Now I just have to get around to writing it. But I DO want it to defeat all its Bookfoes in my lifetime, so that severely cuts down my selection of weeks. And no, there is no flaw in my logic, I have a certain credibility to make it work.

To that end, I’ve come up with a few possible methods to ensure the crowning of my novel as BooKing.

1) Get there first

Everybody wants to be first right? Sports participants of all kinds, scientists trying to invent the cure for cancer (which I will also do BTW, just a heads up), guys who really need to pee but there’s only one urinal, everyone. So, my book will be hailed as a classic, just because it will be FIRST. First what exactly, I have no idea. But people are always looking for “fresh, new ideas” or “dynamic concepts” and stuff like that. It’s not really hard to come up with something original, that’s not the problem. You can come up with all the crazy shit you want, but it’s not going to be called classic crazyism until you get people to IMITATE you. So you’re looking for both original and influential. Well, I’ll obviously write the first novel that TURNS INTO A BOAT. And it won’t even be about Transformers.

2) Be batshit insane

Ah, madness really is the essence of great art. See, some people can write books because they’re smart, like textbook writers or people who make those books about money and stuff. Some people can write books because they offer a perspective that isn’t available to others, like people who write about places nobody can go/nobody cares enough about to go, or people with really cool jobs who write autobiographies. BUT there are also people who are freaking crazy. And everyone knows crazy people are really really good at art. Why? Maybe it’s because of that unique perspective that makes them loony bins. Or maybe their detachment from rational thought allows them to be more in touch with their VERY SOULS, taking away the disconnect between thinking something and putting it down on paper. Or maybe their work is praised by pompous artsy people who don’t want to admit they can’t comprehend a work that really has no meaning. I don’t even have to give examples, do I? Look up some famous painters or something. At LEAST one in four will be a little bit crazy. So I could go sustain major head trauma, then cut my arm off and spray the blood in pretty patterns all over a notebook, throw Scrabble tiles at it and see what sticks. You know, that sounds pretty damn good.

There is a LOT to this actually… and I don’t think I want to use it all in one post. Maybe I’ll just post this and come back to it later then…

But you’ll all know this shit works when you see A Certain Novel at the top of children’s Christmas wish lists next year (even with all the sex and/or violence). Then they’ll make a statue of me in a fountain that people will throw coins into. And I’ll get to keep ALL THE COINS.


What title?

I’m looking at this blank space right now. And it’s blank. Strange, the blankness is nothing, yet it has potential for anything. If you show people a plain blank screen, and tell them to wait, because something REALLY COOL will show on it in a few minutes, then hook cameras up to their MINDS (Somehow. Apple will invent this sooner or later.), that footage will make up the awesomest action movie ever, probably something to do with a lowly janitor, who accidentally finds a ticket to a Rolling Stones concert, where he gets hit by a meteor being piloted by that chick from Voltes V while she’s having sex with- and I won’t continue because dammit, this is NOT WHERE YOU GO TO FULFILL YOUR WEIRD SEX FANTASIES, YOU SICK, SICK PERSON. But mostly because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop with any sort of degree of completion with regards to the aforementioned action movie.

But this page isn’t blank anymore, is it? It hasn’t been blank since I typed that first ‘I’. And if those people who had been shown the blank screen earlier had seen me type just that I, so many possibilities are immediately canceled. Yet so many are created. with just the letter I up there, it could go on to form a descriptive statement about myself, or to the observers “The Loony Who’s Typing”, like “I like to have eggs for breakfast.” or “I haven’t had breakfast in seventeen years.” or “I am writing a story about a janitor at a Rolling Stones concert.” Or it could be something about a girl named Irene. Or a guy named Ira. Or it could be a question like “Isn’t life grand?” or “Isn’t this annoying?”. Or it could be the beginning of an extremely detailed ASCII of a racoon. OR, it could just be an unrelated letter, and the screen would just go on to load a picture of Stefanie Kloß having EXTREMELY hot sex with- and I won’t continue because DAMMIT, this paragraph is already too long.

Yet again however (I’m not sure of the grammatical accuracy of that particular combination of those words, but it sounds fancy so I’ll leave it that way), this is no longer just the letter ‘I’ and white background. In fact, as of right -now-, it is 406 words of… whatever you call this. Now, let’s go back to the people. If they saw me type everything until this point, they would have seen quite a few embarrassing spelling errors (yay for spellcheck), and would have a pretty good idea what this is about. Their minds are wondering less and less, but again. More possibilities open up. Maybe it’s going on to say that blankness is possibly the greatest story you can ever tell, since whoever sees it will overlay the most awesome thing they can come up with, which appeals to them on most most personal level possible level since THEY made it for just them. Or maybe it will talk about how “having the reader come up with his own ending” is one of the laziest and most clever tricks in all of writing. Or maybe something about how from one tiny little thing, something can burst forth like an unwanted alien hatchling and evolve in front of out very eyes, like a point slowly being elaborated and built upon, or a very finely crafted story. Or maybe the entire thing will derail, and turn into a very detailed erotic story about a very attractive young lady, who needs to pay the rent but has no money, and ends up having sex with- and I won’t continue because I have to go on to my next thing.

See? When I stopped at “having sex with” your mind wandered to one of a billion different possibilities. Each one somebody’s hottest fantasy and another’s worst nightmare. Hey, we all have different tastes. Now, I could have ended those sentences with just a single name (or general description, w/e), but then that would have made some people very happy, and others not so much. This way, everybody can fill it in with whatever they want, and everybody can walk away happy. Which IS in fact, what she said. Now, I want you all to enjoy this, having read so much so just… make up your own ending.

Name of Kamelot’s 2001 Album

Everyone has good and bad things happen to them. Some people have more of one than the other. The notion that the degree and frequency of these things is a result of some effed up universally balanced causality is idiotic. See example:

“Oh no, I didn’t study for the test, now I’m going to fail,” is a perfectly reasonable assumption, whereas

“Oh no, I didn’t study for the test, now my mother is going to die,” is not. Unless you’re a surgeon taking a practical test on your mother, I guess.

It’s enough of a coincidence that our planet can sustain life, but getting a planet that has the perfect atmosphere, plenty of water, isn’t too close to the sun, AND a built in scoreboard? That’s pushing it, methinks. See, people like to believe in karma because they like to think that everybody who pisses them off will get struck by some divine thunderbolt and everything will be alright. It’s a belief that is based on the fact that there’s some sort of ethereal kindergarten teacher giving us karmic time-outs when we don’t play nice. The guy who cut you of will obviously get in an accident tomorrow, the jerk who pickpocketed you will get hit by the guy who cut you off, and of course, the jackass who was mean to you in high school will end up bagging groceries. But here’s the surprise, children: They won’t. In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t get anywhere these days just for being a good person. The asshole kids you hated will become ‘The Man’ and keep everybody down, while hoarding millions of currency for themselves. And all the good guys get is a feeling of moral superiority, as well as the ability to go on tirades that end with “AND YOU CAN TAKE THAT TO THE DAMN BANK!” then go and take… Nothing to the bank.

But I’m not saying that all bad people succeed, and all good people fail, that’s just like reverse karma, and really nobody wants that. They want the good guys to win and the bad guys to lose, but that doesn’t really happen much. If it did, the news wouldn’t bother reporting it. Usually, success is based on talent, intelligence, and a lot of luck. Or being tall, if you’re going for that world record. So just keep on practicing or studying or whatever it is that makes you better at what you do, and please, please stop worrying about what the universe thinks. If it wanted you to fail, you would probably be dead. And if you ARE dead, please stop reading this and start a zombie apocalypse already.


Art has never been my thing. At least, not in the visual drawing-painting-making cool looking stuff sense. Want proof? I’ve been trying (and failing very, very hard) to improve my drawing skills with a tablet that I stole from my sister, so I happen to have a few samples.

Man on a horse

Man on a horse. Well, it STARTED as a horse.


And there you have it. Those represent the very epitome of my artistic talent (especially the possum). I’m not going to bother showing you the rest. I think I run the risk of losing my Certain Credibility if I do so. It’s like I was absent they taught “Not Drawing Like A Retarded 4 year Old” in school.



Of course, that’s not to say I don’t like art. Paintings and sculptures are pretty to look at yeah, but I don’t get why people make THAT big a deal out of them. And I’m sure you can tell by now that I’d be no good at making stuff like that. Music is just fantastic, of course, but I’m more of a listener than a composer. Hell, I’m barely a player. Those things have always been out of my reach, skill wise. Though I know a few people who are very skilled.

The only thing I’ve been able to do well (I think) is writing. Sure, I’m not going to be writing any best selling novels (just yet), but I’ve never really had troubles expressing whatever it is in my head with the magic, magic power of words. Sure, I wish I could make awesome paintings and shit, but writing lets you explore so many other places. It lets you really get into you characters’ heads, lets you create entire worlds at however much a pen and paper costs.

So while you’re busy painting some fruit, well… I won’t even notice you painting said fruit, because I’ll be too busy counting all the money I made from my “The Next Twilight” novel. But it will have dragons. Dragons who settle their disputes with gentlemanly boat races.