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Article Publishing
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~ insane writer |
A man is displeased with current life. His friends are pissing him off, his family, and dating websites are not working, nor is dating in general.
One day his printer fails (clogged ink cartridge) and this blows his final fuse. The printer is printing blank pages or pages with half assed ink jobs. He takes the printer out to the yard, throws the printer down on the ground, then grabs an axe from the shed. He is going to smash the living hell out of the printer. He grabs a lumber jack plaid shirt out of his closet, puts it on. "You fucking machine" he yells. "Piece of fucking shit". "Can't engineer a fucking machine properly you fucking shithole printer company".
When he takes his first swing he pauses... and instead of swinging at the printer takes a huge swing and throws the axe toward the fence, expecting it to break into pieces. As the axe is flying in the air, there is a tree in the way - the axe blade lands right in the center of the tree trunk and has started a big crack in the tree. He runs over to tree and starts to chop it down. The printer is still safe. After a long time smashing the tree with the axe, the tree falls down (extremely dangerous, but, this does not worry the man as he's angry and could care less). The tree he chops down is massive. He does take a little care to at least make the tree fall in the right direction by axing it a certain angle.
After smashing the tree down in one sitting (no breaks between swings) he has sweat all over. He walks over to the printer and brings it inside to give one last try at fixing it. After spending a while he pumps a custom made solution of cleaners (bleach hydrogen peroxide) into the cartridge ink hole with a syringe. He then sells this as a kit to fix printers so people do not have to buy new ones. This supports him financially when he becomes an unemployed bum soon.
After he fixes the printer (which can print many pages per minute; an expensive and larger printer for serious printing) he says sarcastically "what am I going to do with this stupid printer that now works? I really have no use for this piece of shit anyway with my current life situation. What am I going to do print off dating website profiles of women and laugh at how stupid their writing skills are?"... Then he realizes "wait I do have good writing skills". Then he thinks about it and says "I've always had it in the back of my mind that I would be a good writer". He prefers classic printing of paper rather than reading online material. So now he will use the printer to print off his stories and movie scripts he writes, and he'll sell the ink repair syringe kit with special cleaning solution to support himself while he writes. He hates his life and has hit rock bottom so there is really no harm in doing something extremely risky and absurd.
Later he says to himself "What am I going to do with that stupid tree in the back yard?". So he cuts it up, and uses his wood fireplace that came with the house which he never uses, as it is more of an ornament in the living room. He saves money on the furnace bills, while he is writing (saving money being a starving artist). He jokes to himself about how the tree may be saving him money, but is polluting the planet far more than if he paid the gas company $150 per month in the winter for natural gas. But "fuck it" as he's pissed at the world and his bottom line is more important than the environment at this point. The tree is so massive that it lasts him a very long time, and his furnace bill is almost zero per month. As he is now an unemployed writer this is perfect; but he never cut down the tree for any purpose, he just did it because he was royally pissed.
He isolates himself from society to the maximum. He does not answer his door, and has everyone leave phone messages. He changes his phone number so that he gets no old texts from family, friends, or previous dates; all who have who royally have pissed him off. He becomes almost mentally ill and paranoid, pacing his house, writing. He says to himself "I am a machine. I am a fucking machine" and starts pumping out writing material like Isaac Asimov wrote so many books that it is hard to believe. His printer is pumping out pages when he shouts "I am a machine". He listens to loud heavy music while writing and takes breaks to weight lift and do weighted pushups (pushups with pack sacks). He rarely ever goes out: only to get groceries or mail his syringe printer repair kits. He ignores everyone when he goes out and acts like an asshole.
Instead of writing just one book, he pumps out several, along with movie scripts. It takes him years and he doesn't send them to publishers as he finishes one, rather he just doesn't care and keeps pumping out more content. When the massive tree runs out (all burnt in his fireplace) he stops writing and starts sending in his material. But first, just before that, he goes in to his filing cabinets and writes one last story, using the paper from 10 year old files he no longer needs to keep his house warm since his tree has run out and this is the last fuel available in the house. He has no hope that any of the publishers or producers will treat him any differently than his friends/family/dates who treated him like garbage in the past years. He jokingly sends the publishers and producers massive packages of multiple items (multiple books and stories and scripts) instead of sending one item. "This is a numbers game. They will like at least one of them, and if they don't, fuck them. They are going to be overwhelmed and likely throw them in the trash as it is too much to read, but I don't care. They can take it or leave it."
The first package arrives and the publisher/reviewer opens the box and reads the first one he pulls out of the box, wondering why there would be someone sending him such a large box as this is not how it is done. He likes what he reads, the first story. After reading more than 6 stories, he says "this man is angry and has funneled his anger into writing.. I like him, I like his style, I like these stories. This man is a lunatic. No one sends a box this big with this much content. All good writers are lunatics, but this man takes it one step further. Also, no one sends a fucking box of paper: we have something called Adobe PDF. Yes, this man is indeed crazy. I like him, I just hope he is not a complete wack job lunatic in person, as I'm going to have to meet this fellow." One principle of this publisher is he likes to meet the author rather than do everything by email and phone.
The package he sends in a box has twigs in it. The publisher companies wonder why... soon they will find out those are the left overs of a tree he smashed down when he started his writing career, and he put those twigs in as tokens or symbols of some sort. In a way the tree was wasted, but not really - similar to how we can say paper is a waste, but not so much if we write good words on it. That tree kept him warm during his writing career, and saved his printer.
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