Mooner Faces The Truth And Pukes


So. I’m really busy trying to get my book ready to publish. I’m talking about the actual words of the book, and not my self publishing stuff. I got my manuscript back from the editor when I was still in a drug fog from ass surgery. Each time I tried to read it, I got dizzy and wanted to puke.

I decided to put it down until my mind felt fully purged from manufactured drugs. I finally picked it up this morning. Started reading, got dizzy and wanted to puke. I didn’t think I was that bad a writer, but this fucking thing is unreadable.

It’s a nifty story with some incredibly funny stuff. But it is organized like my mind is organized, and even I can’t follow it. So, now I am restructuring and editing and rewriting. I don’t blame the Editor, this is all on me.

I had Streaker Jones and Dixie take a look at it over lunch to give me their thoughts.

Streaker Jones said, “Wouldn’t wanna read it onna full belly, Mooner.”

Dixie said, “It isn’t that bad. It just reads like when I’m talking to you. After three pages I catch your ADHD, and find myself laughing so hard I pee myself and start looking for a knife to slit my own throat.”

I’m thinking to myself how maybe that isn’t so bad when Streaker Jones adds, “It ain’t too awful, Mooner. Jist find a way ta sew it ta-gether.”

Been sewing all fucking day and my brain hurts. But I do get it. Like I’m deep in the middle of a murder investigation and I start talking about a sex dream, and the next thing you know, I’m talking about grapefruit.

Not that I don’t understand the logic in that sequence, but I get the sewing things together dealie. Right now my book resembles a box of leftover end pieces from the fabric store. I need to put them in a smart order and sew them down.

I need cold Carta Blanca beer.

Manana, y’all.

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