Alright peeps, can ya’ll give me a simultaneous, “FUCK YEAH!!”
And also a megadose of “WOO!”
Original Sin be done! Live, and ready to be ignored by the public!!
Author copies are headed my way in the next couple days, so if anyone is interested in a signed edition at a discounted rate (1.3% off the regular price — sweet deal, I know!) then shoot me a Feedback note, and I’ll ship ‘er out to you.
And I won’t charge you ridiculous shipping and handling costs, like those motherfuckers at Amazon who make sure their profit margins can’t get undercut by writers trying to distribute their own books — their sneaky way of guaranteeing a maximum amount of dollars remain clutched to their tentacles, no matter how some bright-light tries to skirt the system.
But instead of whining about a corrupt juggernaut of merchandise distribution, let’s discuss a couple snippets of positivity here…
This 400-page tome of silliness and stupidity was a wild ride to compile. Much of the writing was done either on a sailboat, or roaming Central America, which gave a lot of unexpected flavour to what basically amounted to an improv book.
It’s interesting to make note of where you find yourself in life when you let go of trying to micromanage everything, and ride the Baloney Poney (still a frontrunning name for my sailboat) wherever the wind blows. This is not to say planning is irrelevant when it comes to navigating our personal oceans, only an observation that life seems far more fun (for me, anyway) when I keep the scripting to a minimum.
I’m reminded of a recent adventure to London with my buddy, to celebrate some Xmas fun with my fam. Whenever I heard him utter the words, “So what’s the plan now, Mike?” I usually responded with an, “I dunno, let’s turn left here.” The moronic frivolity that ensued in the “big” city will forever be filed in our mental dossiers within both the “F” and “N” files, as in, “That was a whack o’ Fun, but let’s Never do shit like that again.” Haha. But what happens in London stays in London, unless of course your idiot friend does boneheaded stuff like Snapchat incessantly certain private moments, like being kidnapped in a car, to all his moronic friends trolling social media.
Anyhoo, I’m rambling… A shock, I know!
Original Sin all flowed from a single sentence typed into an ageing laptop, with no real direction in mind before the words started appearing on the magic typing screen. And that was the real fun of the book — just a bunch of made-up bullshit, that left me laughing my ass off, and also allowing me to re-connect to shitty, goofball artwork that I’d lost passion for producing.
The next book in the works is a yearly independent calendar of the very best of Daily Bread — filled with tips, tricks, and insight to help you get through each day of mundane existence with a crooked smile on your face.
After that, who knows??
I could easily do an Everything is Bullshit II, or continue on with an Original Sin trilogy, but what’s the fun in becoming formulaic? That’s what other people do when they let a style dictate them — artists who keep producing similar paintings, writers who keep producing expected themes, and hookers who stick to only one hand-job technique. To me, that cries out safety, security, and lack of imagination. I have no idea what the next major writing will entail, and it’s gonna be tough to top the volume of weirdness I just compiled, but such is the true magic of life — taking that random left without fear of getting lost traveling an unknown road.
I’m reminded of a quote here I heard some smartypants person say:
You can’t be lost if you don’t know where you’re going.
Hmm, who was that? Oh yeah, prolly me.
While I’m in babble mode, I should probably note that the first advanced copies of Original Sin may be rough around the edges still — in need of a few dozen typo corrections or aesthetic layout tweaks. I’m not even sure how well the artwork is going to translate to print. But what could be better than owning one of these signed copies? It’s like having a Melville first draft of Moby-Dick, when the title used to be Moby, The Motherfucking Sea Mammal That Ruined My Life. Cool, I know.
And it’s probably time to find myself a legitimate literary agent — a parasite to slip me into the big leagues of idiotic literature distribution… the kind of schmuck to send me advance royalty cheques, and pay for stints in rehab.
Book writing will take a short hiatus here as I need to practice some new music heavily for the next few weeks. Acoustic Mondays with Kitchen Jesus are just around the corner. If you’re ever in the Goderich area, you should definitely check it out! Unless of course I get cancelled after the inaugural performance, which is high in the possibility department. Time will tell…
With that said, I just realized I babbled away another thousand words here, and probably lost half of you along the way… But who cares? My blog, my fun. If you didn’t enjoy my stupidity on some twisted level, you wouldn’t be here.
And for that I shout out my humble appreciation.
New fun on the way as always. If you want a copy of the book, shoot me a line. Otherwise, the opportunity will always exist for you to put your dollars into the “correct” deep pockets of commerce, AKA Amazon, if you want the book. It would be a shame if those schlubs went belly up, wouldn’t it?
Rock on friends, chat soon.