“Sometimes she wakes up at night, smelling that gunpowder smell. Ears ringing. A whimpering there in the darkness. Doesn’t always hit her at night, either. Might be in the middle of the day. She should be smelling pizza, or garbage, or cat shit wafting from the house next door, but instead what she smells is that acrid tang of gunsmoke. All up in her nose. Clinging there like a tick…”
You've seen the Thursday interviews, yeah? Well, we're gonna do more. I've already got a couple lined up, but -- but! Your help is requested. First, I'd like to hear if you have any particular questions you want answered. Second, I need subjects. So suggest some subjects, willya?
REVENGE OF THE PENMONKEY -- thirty humorous essays on writing, writing advice, and the penmonkey's mad existence -- is now available for your eye-holes and Kindlemachines. Please tell your friends and thanks for spreading the word!
Announcements incoming. Please assume the "announcement acceptance position," which is bent over at the waist, head between your knees, fingers and thumbs gently milking your nipples while you hum. Thank you, and please enjoy the violation of your privacy.
Somehow, I ended up with 5,000 Twitter followers. Frankly, if you were to ask me, I'd say that following me is a sign of dubious moral standing and, most likely, an indicator of a brain parasite. You might wanna have that checked out by a priest and/or doctor.
Here's the fact: some folks take me and this website far too seriously. Don't do that. It's a mistake. I'm just a a guy on the Internet squawking into the void. Nothing I say is worth getting riled up over. And so it seems high time for a disclaimer. Ready? Let's do this.