Inspired by the monetisation of serialized novels, I have commenced writing my own masterpiece:
I sit at my desk and begin writing my new novel. I type each word with intense concentration, sculpting my novel into the great American masterpiece. I lick my lips and gaze lovingly down at my shiny new laptop running Windows 10.
I call it “The Great American Fart – A NOVEL” It’s imperative that it’s named “A Novel” because otherwise it might be mistaken for a manual, a booklet, or a shopping list.
I start with my dedication. “To Gwyneth, My Love, My Life Partner, My Muse, My Best Friend” I scratch my nutsack, and agonize over the fact that I’m gay, but a dedication to Roger won’t move as many units, so I dedicate this, my life’s work, to my cat, and come to terms with my own heroism.
I go through my own personal torment of creating the first paragraph. The gateway to my new life. A start to a book that will change the world. I sip my coffee and contemplate the new “Butt Lifter” underwear I will soon order online from Ali Express.
I haven’t really got a clue what to write about, so I write about the torment of not being able to express myself. And donuts. In first person present tense, urgent, cutting edge, hip, and avoiding all cliché.
I allow myself to take a break to eat breakfast – my self enforced martyrdom has to end eventually, and iced donuts wait eagerly in the refrigerator. I scratch my nutsack with anticipation.