Between working 40 hours a week, volunteering at 826NYC on tuesdays, my only day off, and having a strong social/drinking life of course adding writing a novel with deadlines is the logical and responsible thing to do to my sanity.
Needless to say it's november 12th, I should be at 20,000 words today and I'm instead at 10,855 and steadily growing as I write this. I'm stressing over this a lot, but I'm still loving the experience. I'm constantly thinking about what to write, putting off video games and sleep to continue working. I plan on catching up with my word count this weekend (with only breaks for football, of course) in between.
As far as the book goes, I don't have a title yet, but it's classified under Satire/Humor/Parody which if you've read my entries here that about covers it.
I won't go into too much detail of what it's about, but there's an excerpt after the jump:
The Captain threw her onto the counter, suction cups sticking and un-sticking to the slick smooth glass case, “I'd expect you know who the fuck this is. Don't pay any attention to her octopus-head. You have to admit to the truth now, and protect yourself.”
“Sorry mister, can't say I recognize her with all that swelling around her eyes. Say, you didn't do that to her, did you? I can't support no wife-beating, no sir.”
“Tell him about the KlotroMefferin.”
“She came in her yesterday. Got a prescription. Something called KlotroMefferin? What information can you give me?”
“I told you yesterday, Bro. Doctor-patient confidentiality or something. I can't tell you anything.”
“?nug a tog s'eh ees uoy t'naC”
“I'm not going to warn you again Octopus, stop spewing your gibberish.”
The gun pointed at the octopus, then to the clerk. The Captain went back from target to target.
The clerk was clearly getting nervous, “Dude, the woman's scared. Alright, I'll tell you what you need to know. KlotroMefferin is an anti-depressant. Your wife was filling your prescription from Dr. Scuttlebutt. Some side-effects include hallucinations, diarrhea, short-to-long-term memory loss and possible impotence.”
“So what you're trying to tell me is that my wife is drugging me. She's sneaking around behind my back like the CIA, the MI-5, the KGB, and to keep me from remembering that she got home late last night, or smelled peculiarly like the stock room of Doug's Drugs, or she blurted out,” he ripped the name badge off of the clerk's shirt and read it aloud, “Styler's name in bed I would just munch down on some KlotroMefferin and I'd draw a blank bigger than a jokester muralist with invisible ink?”
“I'm sayin' bro, you've got problems.”
“?uoy ot netsil ll'eh kniht uoy ,sgninraw ym derongi eh dna efiw sih m'I“
“She speaks in code, my friend. Can you understand it? Because I believe if I were to get to the bottom of this well I'd find a decoder ring mixed in between all the dimes and pennies.”
“Of course I can understand her, there is no code.”
“See, he admits it! How the cuckold you are! You weak and pathetic impotent baby!! If you even turn your back I'll wrap every tentacle I've got around his manhood and just suction cup it like crazy!!”
He huffed and twisted his arm to point the gun point blank at the head of his wife-octopus.
“Dude, Bro, Man...”
He was interrupted by the sound of gunshots blasting out of the gun's barrel and piercing the rubbery pink skin over and over again. With each squeeze of the trigger The Captain grew more relieved.
The glass casing under her head shattered. Glass exploded everywhere. Styler was forced to cover his eyes. Jilly-Billy's upper half dropped into the opening in the case, her tentacles knocking over displays of condoms and lubricant, scattering vitamins across the floor.
He squeezed until the gun made an empty clicking noise indicating the clip had emptied.
“Now this is going to end one of two ways. You're going to hand over the location of this Dr.Scuttlebutt and you're not going to call the cops, or you're going to get punched in the face until you choose option number one.”
“Man, you don't have to ask me twice. Fuck this place, just don't hurt me. I'll tell you though, I haven't been sleeping with your wife.”
“Maybe I'm not thinking straight, maybe her drugs are confusing me. Answer me this Styler: How sweet are her lips? How hot is that space between her legs?”
“Bro, that sounds awesome and all, but I ain't got an answer for that.”
“I'm inclined to believe you. Come with me son, we've got to get to the bottom of this, and I just can't trust my own senses to lead me there. I'm a bloodhound without a nose.”
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