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Done. It took more than a week but about 8700 words put in some weird order and published as a short anthology. Again, after a nights sleep during proofread; everything went empty. And this was supposed to be different…

When I type, I seldom have very clear script; merely a collection of notes in ruled notebook written clumsily with thick graphite pencil. And when I move those words to screen, a single word is the root of a dough, and the yeast is in my tiny brain(yes, yeast); some excessive neurochemical reaction commences and the dough starts to swell. And the dough is put into regular pattern, and checked thrice! for my English, and during language check one-fifth is rewritten–requiring a new check–due ‘better ideas’. I don’t wonder there are so much these phantom writers. Some ideas just goes through keys like in a trance. And when the dough has been in the oven for a night, I take it out and wonder: Why the hell did I do this? There is no mind, no idea, everything feels empty. All this grows a momentary threshold and suspicion. But the process goes on almost blinded:’Don’t care, just shove it in.’ It goes with such automation that I did not hesitate to put in the working name, I meant to shorten it considerably, ha! Not to mention that the ‘Vol.1’ only  sounded good. I put myself on duty, even if no other soul ever sees the thing, it is a promise.

I’m sure many e-Indie authors share this. I just needed to write it down. Isn’t this one goal for blogging, not corporate promotion blog, not political tendencies, just fair thoughts. Of course it is a selling speech, why blog about own authoring and publishing?

Well, my new visual Twitter personality is from the cover of anthology: Archibald the Gusto Gargoyle. Though messy crap as a tiny avatar. And my foot still between the door, here’s the purpose of all chattering, with Archibald: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/242693


With a wordplay: {Don’t / You wont} miss it. Your choice, me Gusto.

In skyline from my study window, sun has missed the church again and is going somewhere behind the sports park now. I have a can of brew from the town my family was from, Metallica started just My Friend of Misery, ok it’s baroque during early week. Sauna is heating up, it is some 5 degrees Celsius outside but I’m going hopefully to over 70 soon, though the urban electrical definitely is a runner-up compared to wood burners. The first attacks like a prosecutor, while the latter’s soft heat, even if high, let’s you back to mother’s womb, as us Finns say.

‘Nuff said. It is sauna time.