You ever open up your website and there's like, more cobwebs than not cobwebs? And then you inhale some of the cobwebs when you're groping for the light switch, and you start coughing and a lot more cobwebs fall on you and you wonder all of a sudden if 'cobweb spiders' are a thing, and then you fall on you ass and you're covered in cobwebs and you realize none of this actually happened, because web sites are just digital images on a screen, and however terrifying they might be, cobweb spiders can't live inside a flat screen?
But if you're reading this on an old school CRT monitor, watch out. Cobweb spiders.
Been editing my ass off lately. That's a clever way to tell you that bikini season is coming, and I've been hitting the squats hard.
Wait, no, I'm talking about writing. I've been editing the book. Still on track to release the sequel sometime in the next several months, although given that advertising is a thing I have to do, I may delay the release in order to foster interest. Foment? Fricassee. I need to fricassee interest in my book.
But I am editing. And the editing goes well. I just haven't been on my hustle, lately. Jay-Z would be disappointed in me. He might even say I've been knocking the hustle, even though presumably you can't do that. He might, however, tempter his disapproval with some recognition of my grind. Been grinding on this book like Beyonce grinds...the heads of screws down when she's refinishing her deck. She's got kids running barefoot, nobody wants their foot cut open on a rusty screw. Nobody is putting a ring on that.
This is the view from where I am:
This is where I live, now. This desk. Typical day is wake up, edit until I start having fantasies about running away and joining the Marine's Circus (they have SEALs) go to the gym to remind myself I live in a world populated by people who aren't just extensions of myself, then go to work and make those people drinks. Rinse, repeat.
It's not surprising to me that I chose to do this. What surprises me is the degree to which I am compelled to do this. If I had done anything else, if I were a lawyer, or a sanitation worker, or a professional killer, I would still be telling myself stories in my head. I'm still doing it, even as I work on The Adventures of Gregory Samson, Space Explorer. I'm coming up with other stories, writing them down, putting them aside for later, like a squirrel hoarding nuts that fall out of his ears.
That would be one confused, happy squirrel. I suppose that's me. A happy person, confused at their luck.
I'll update this when I have more to say. In the meantime, my idiot twitter feed and utterly narcissistic Instagram feed will most likely remain idiotic and narcissistic, respectively, and sporadically amusing.
Hemingway never had to run his own god damn twitter feed.
BLOG BLOG BLOG BLOG
Listen a dude can only stand so many goddam hours driving a keyboard a day, so I'm gonna keep this brief.
HI THERE NEWCOMERS!
I'm hard at work and hard at work on the sequel to The Origami Man. It's called A Farther Orbit, and it's all the weird stuff Samson gets into after he bugs out of Earth to keep the bugs off Earth. There's murder and mayhem and a hell of a lot more fun alien nonsense, along with a lot of grownup themes.
That's my way of saying there's a lot of swearing, a complex plot interwoven with themes of loss, acceptance, and understanding of a person's responsibilities in life, and also a thorough discussion of Cab's potential as a sex toy.
Anyway, I'm reading it through ahead of the final round of edits, and I'm hoping to have it on the stands by April 25, when I turn 30!
This is because if I don't have a second book published by my thirtieth birthday I lose my birthright to Mumford-Zisk Manor, and the title shall go to my half-brother, Percival. He's a furry, and I won't have him yiffing around Mother's rose garden.
Anyway, keep an eye on my twitter and instagram and all that horseshit, because a good friend of mine just told me that I needed to learn to whore myself better.
No, I'm positive she said 'whore yourself.'
Hustle? I'm supposed to hustle myself?
That doesn't sound anything like 'whore yourself!'
Well I don't know where I got 'whore yourself,' Gerald.
Oh, go shove your Freudian slip up your ass.
Christ. Take it from 'anyway.'
Anyway, keep an eye on my twitter (@mumfordzisk) and instagram (also @mumfordzisk) and my tumblr (firstname.lastname@example.org) for updates on A Farther Orbit and all the rest of The Adventures of Gregory Samson, Space Explorer!
Oh, fuck off we're live.
We're really live?
God damn it Gerald.
The unkempt thoughts of Benjamin Mumford-Zisk