Avery Edison @aedison@octodon.social

Finally picked up my Moo minicards.

Excited to be all, "Do I have a business card? Why yes, please enjoy this picture of my face and cleavage."

You find your journal of the hidden year when your real body was faded away and replaced with a time-lapse version of yourself. Each word took hours to write, each memory slowly blinks itself through your brain. The feelings you had at the time seemed distant, but now they just feel empty, except for brief snapshots of emotion that overwhelm you. You close the journal, and it curls up into a roll of celluloid.

YOUR MUM: Obsessed with gothic candelabras.
MY MUM: An artisanal candelabra maker, delighted to have a new customer.

GOLD™ is a chemical material used in the production of gold, fool's gold, false gold, gold idols, Church Gold, and golden ashes. It can only be handled by skilled artisans wearing gold-proof gloves, and—when heated to high temperatures—can have devastating effects on local populations (see also: Gold Massacre of Salmon Falls; gold pollution; terror attacks featuring gold-based weaponry; narcissism).

This universe is nothing but an errant spark created by the clash of the swords of Roas and Sora, the twin entities of Destruction, who wage eternal war over the right to be the only master of Carnage.

AN AWFUL HISTORY OF SOMETHING ORAL DOT COM

Jeremy (moderator, meme-deleter, cuss-slinger): At first we were like, "How can we make sure no women bother us?" We thought it was something we'd have to work at. But what we found was, if we just did what we naturally tended towards—the flame wars, the "ironic" sexism and racism (not to mention the homophobia), the graphic images—women would stay away on their own. Society had already conditioned us to be repellant! It was a godsend.

If you're planning on writing short-form humor here, please remember that it should be about 1) a man who 2) has a very normal, boring job, and 3) gradually lets slip that his wife recently left him.

I've definitely hit the star on a few toots and then noticed that person following me a few minutes later. It hasn't been intentional, but I've certainly had the dark impulse to go around, liking things willy-nilly to direct people to my profile.

Obviously it's a strategy that only some people will be comfortable with, and that will only work in the short-term, anyway. But it's interesting to look out for!

When Dean Allen shut down Favrd (a site that collected tweets and ranked the by number of likes), he said this:

"Alas, stars on Twitter have become mere take-out menus hung on the doors of other restaurants."

Meaning that, in his opinion, people were liking tweets simply to get their tiny avatar noticed, and perhaps earn a follow.

I'm trying to be conscious of that here. The fact that there are so few likes going around means each one gets noticed more.

TALK TO ME ABOUT HOLLYWOOD.

There's been… Talk of a film adaptation. I'm ambivalent at this point. Obviously, the money would be nice.

(LAUGHTER)

But to have an idea of what I'd want the audience to experience? I don't know if I have enough of a grounding in the language of cinema to really decide that. And I don't want to abdicate that responsibility to another writer, or director. I think I'd need to make the film myself.

OR NOT-MAKE IT.

(MORE LAUGHTER)

Exactly! A blockbuster anti-movie.

DO YOU HAVE PLANS FOR A FOLLOW-UP PROJECT?

I've thought hard about a sequel, but I don't know if I would end up releasing that either. And at some point, not releasing the work will have diminishing returns, in terms of impact, and effect, and the mark on the zeitgeist. But conversely, to publish it would be…

…AN ANTI-CLIMAX?

It'd certainly ruin some aspect of the first book, in as much as one could infer certain things about the first book from the second. It would be—

A POST-SPOILER?

Yes.

THERE ARE RUMORS YOU KEEP THE MANUSCRIPT IN A VAULT…

False. Fake news. I won't entertain that kind of talk.

WHERE IS IT, THEN?

The manuscript (which is such a reductive word, by the way) is in a secret location, and a secure location. It's locked away, yes, but there's no vault. Unless you count the vault of the taboo I'm trying to construct, the idea that reading the book is anathema to the experience of truly knowing the book. In that sense, we are all the vault. Culture is the vault.

BUT THE NOVEL EXISTS? THE WORK HAPPENED?

Oh, it exists, and it's extremely good. And I'm not just saying that; believe me—I'm my own worst critic. I'm not saying it revolutionizes the form, or anything, but it definitely says something about our society, and the way we interact with technology, with each other… Even with ourselves.

And the work? Look, my blood is in this book. My heart and soul. I spent hours every day writing this book. It's a product of labor, of effort. Yes.

YOUR NOVEL IS SUCH A POWERFUL AND INCISIVE WORK, BUT YOU'VE DECIDED NEVER TO RELEASE IT OR SHOW IT TO ANYBODY. WHY IS THAT?

During the writing process, I realized I was more interested in how we talk around fiction than the fiction itself. In some ways, the book tour, the interviews, the reviews—they're more important and impactful than the book itself.

I saw my peers' books get published, but I never read them. Why not remove that first step for my own novel?

I was, to say the least, confused.

“But I… Javelins? That doesn’t sound like me. And spears and… They’re so violent! What could I possibly have done to get your attention?”

She sighed, and looked at me with disdain.

“Obviously, I am also the Minor Imp of Horns, Antlers, and… Tusks. And yesterday, you signed-up for Mastodon.”

“Oh… Right, I did.”

She smirked.

“Yes indeed. Now get tooting!”

“What are you doing? You should be on your computer!”

I wasn’t about to answer the demands of this odd creature. I had questions of my own!

“Who are you? What IS this!?”

She leapt from my face to the hallway cabinet. Still eye-level with me, she puffed her chest and announced,

“I am the Great Imp of Spears, Javelins, and Pikes. I am here because you invited me into your home with your actions and your intents, and I will watch over you to make sure you honor your promises.”

I got a package in the mail today. It fell through the slot with a mute thud. By the time I reached it, it was wriggling. I was disturbed and intrigued. Had a friend sent me a small animal as a prank? Was there a mechanical device motoring around in there? Or was something more fantastical happening?

I tore open the pack, and was beset about the face by a tiny blue woman. She was like a butch Smurf. Butch in a way even the men Smurfs never managed. She beat me with little fists, and screeched.

@sarahjeong sarah if you don't follow me back i will climb into the internet and smash this place up.

i've done it before.

ello. app dot net.

i've done. it. before.