The writing is done!

Well, the bulk of it anyway, though I have yet to write the conclusion and the note on methodology.

Holy fuckballs kids, I wrote a book.

Granted, I still have a week and a half of hardcore editing ahead of me, but dudes, the horrendous part is over. Not so horrendous even - unless I’m practicing selective amnesia. There are probably people in better positions than me to recall how well I’ve handled this-all, namely the people I call/email/whine at on a daily basis.

One of the things I do when I write, to keep myself amused, is that I write phrases that crack me up - like, I’m a serious dork and I laugh at them for five minutes and then call my boyfriend and read them and laugh some more and then see if my editors at either Fleshbot or Seal cut them. My fave I-can’t-believe-that-flew phrase this week on Fleshbot was “unholy lockdown of the clit leech from hell” in my last Marital Aid Test Kitchen review. In my final chapter of the book, I have two section titles that I think are goddamn hilarious, but we’ll see what my editor says: “Dude, Its Virtual Reality” and “The Machine Ate My Soul and Stole My Partner.” I applied similar tactics to my making of my porno movie, and answered the question “Why is she wearing a cape and a tool belt full of dildos?” from one of my crew members with: “Because its my movie and I say so! Plus I own a variety of capes.”

Most of the time, I’m more than half incredulous that people let me get away with this shit, but haha. HA. Its part of my charm, I say. I’m, like, pushing the envelope. I know I work my ass off and don’t sleep and haven’t seen my friends in months and all, but sometimes its hard to believe I really made all this go. (and I’m going to try to roll with the good times for at least a day before I deal with the stuff that made me cry two days ago)

Whyyyy am I writing? No more writing, I should be masturbating and eating cake and drinking scotch and dancing around in knee high socks and undies.