I just checked my email.
Aside from my deserving congratulations for managing to tap a little icon on my phone (which I only do about once a month), there was something in my inbox that I found disturbing. I subscribe to a science newsletter, and one of the articles that they recommended was just… wrong. Especially for a (former) writer such as myself.
A manuscript that nobody has been able to decipher for six hundred years is being published.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
I used to have a strategy for writing. I figured that you could either write something good enough for a lot of people to read, or you could write something so horrible that everyone would want to see for themselves if that level of suckitude could really be a thing.
Well, this throws a wrench into that whole concept. It used to be that if someone read your book and ‘didn’t get it,’ you needed a rewrite. Now? Gee, times have changed! So you’re telling me that if I write an entire book following the story of how Englebergen sfited saote fhawe ahteow ble Dunila, people would buy it? Because that would be fucking awesome.
Seriously, though. The author wrote the thing over six hundred years ago, and it’s just coming out now. Why? I’ll tell you why. Self-publishing. It’s a menace. Throw away editors, agents, anyone that will actually tell you ‘Yeah, the book sucks,’ and what happens? You’ve got things showing up in an unknown language that people will apparently just buy for the mystery of it. AND IT’S MAKING MONEY. According to livescience.com, they’re expecting to sell each copy for UP TO NINE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Also according to livescience.com, there is an entire section filled with drawings of naked women.
This explains much.
If you need me, I’ll be working on my boob-drawing techniques so that I can be a millionaire. Gakka zinky zorch.
(For full article, click here)