Today’s post is from Mooner Johnson, who, as usual, takes forever to get to the point. (He just can’t help it.) The point? On Thursday we’re having a book release party, 7:00. So come. And here’s the “Evite” Mooner mentions.
There. Seventeen words. Now here are nearly seventeen hundred more.
So. Here we all are, gathered together under the umbrella of WriteByNight, me writing and you reading what I write. It’s three in the morning Christmas night as I, Mooner Johnson, sit—sleepless—with my two trusty hounds and a cup of the rich coffee I love, no longer steaming. It just started raining when the rain was said to be gone, and that pisses me off. And I’ve been asked by Justine to write a blog post for the WriteByNight website, a job I’m unsuited to perform yet a job I was born to do.
Which is why, or rather I should say, all of which are why I can’t sleep.
Writing is all about communication and when I communicate, I’m all about presenting the unbridled truth with full, total and complete disclosures. Therefore, please allow me to say the following: This little endeavor, this herein written blog posting endeavor, is problematic. To better understand what I’m attempting to explain, climb the following logic tree with me.
Since: writing is all about communication, and; communication is the responsibility of the communicator, and; I am the communicator, and; I’m an ADHD-riddled crazy and inappropriate redneck fuckball, and; since I’m additionally burdened with compulsive and compulsive-repetitive behaviors (auto-induced) to control some of the worst side-effects of being ADHD-riddled, then: ipso facto, writing this blog posting for you to read is one giant pain in the ass.
Allow me to share with you one of the aforementioned problems. As proof that I’m a full disclosure kind of guy, take for instance that first paragraph up there ^^^ at the beginning of this. I said, “I’m writing to you at three in the morning on Christmas night.” Do you know when that actually is? Did I mean after midnight on December 25th, 2011 or was I speaking of that same time of day only a day after?
Do you have any idea whatsoever what has stopped steaming? It might have been me since I couldn’t sleep. We all know that hot coffee can steam but I didn’t say ‘formerly steaming’ coffee up there ^^^. And when I take the puppies out for a poop at this time of night, this time of year, their smelly loaves are dropped, steaming, into the brown grass and leaves that cover the little patch of lawn planted for their pooping purposes. For your clarity, none of the three formerly steaming issues were steaming as I wrote, above.
When I took the dogs out just before I sat down to write this to you, the dogs were on the grass crouched nose-to-ass to poop, and they looked like the McDonald’s golden arches. Except not golden plastic arches, rather one brown furred arch and the other white furred with big brown spots—like a pinto horse. The dogs are rescue dogs and each is half Chihuahua, and the first is other-halved miniature Dachshund. The second, most recent acquisition is other-halved Whippet. Who would breed a Chihuahua with a Whippet? Who would even breed a Whippet with another fucking Whippet?
The dogs dropped their loads, which steamed in the dense, hard-chilled air, and I thought of these two most recent wars America has managed to get the World into. Tears welled in my eyes and warmed my cheeks as they spilled. My country has somehow become the bully of the Earth and I’m saddened by that. I blame this on the de-civilization of my beloved country at the hands of the arch-right Christian political factions. We have become so “My way is the only way to heaven” that we get less civilized by the minute. We’re just as terroristic as the Muslim terrorists and for the same silly-assed reasons.
The definition of the word civilized is, “…having an advanced humane culture…” We have become an exclusionary society here in America, a society wherein we castigate differences inhumanely, which is the very definition of uncivilized.
But with Austin entrenched in an extended drought, why would I be pissed that it’s raining? Even if the weather guys have promised no more rain for awhile, why would I be pissed about us getting more needed rain? In this drought the soil has shrunk so much out here to the Johnson family ranch that almost every chunk of concrete not covered with a building has cracked. I’ve taken great pains to keep the soil stable around the buildings and watered their foundations, but I didn’t protect the flat work and it shows. Flat work, for those of you who don’t know, is sidewalks and driveways and such that were made of concrete. You know, concrete without a building on top.
Now that it’s raining again, my flat work is re-cracking as the soil swells back to within normal ranges.
Anyway, I told you in that first paragraph that Justine asked me to write without telling you why. I told you I was the wrong man for the job and then said I was born to do that job, and all in the self-same sentence. If you have met Justine you know that I would do anything she asked. Justine is one of those people you want to do things for and she, to me, is WriteByNight. I think I like what’s-his-name, but I’m reserving judgment as to his suitabilities as Justine’s permanent mate. I’ve so far managed to keep my nose out of all that, but I am watching him.
Watch your steps, sir, I have a nose for trouble. Trouble, as a matter of fact, is my middle name.
Actually, Einstein is my middle name and trouble … well, trouble is my game.
I am incredibly unsuited to write anything considered to be literary in nature, but I find myself smack dab in the middle of a written literary situation that can only be described as being incredible. Like the stumbling, ignorant oaf who falls face-first into a pile of horseshit and comes out with a gold coin stuck in his matted beard, I have stumbled my way, likewise, and written a book that received a Clarion Forward Reviews independent book review that rated it four-of-five stars.
I somehow obsessive-compulsively pounded out 514,876 ADHD-fueled words of drivel, which was edited by WriteByNight into a 400-plus-page humorous novel that got a four-of-five stars Clarion review. I, as fucked up as I am, have written a book that is independently acclaimed.
Having read this far with me, you likely have a sense of what a remarkable job Justine and crew did on my manuscript to whittle it into said 400-plus four-of-five-stars acclaimed pages. Here are three quotes from the review:
“…has created a likable if unusually quirky main character.” That would be me.
“…The deftly woven backstories are especially enjoyable to read and ruminate on…” Backstories are my other game.
And, “…The situations he (Mooner/me) finds himself in are oftentimes hilarious and absurd in the extreme.”
Who wouldn’t want to read that book? The review made me want to read Full Rising Mooner again, and I lived that silly shit. Now I’m crying again. I think I need therapy.
Anyway, I’m way off the tracks because I wanted to invite you to the Book Launch Party for my new book, Full Rising Mooner: The Most Inappropriate Man in the World. WriteByNight is hosting the event on Thursday, January 12, and we are donating all profits from book sales there to Badgerdog Literary Publishing. Badgerdog is a great organization with a terrific mission to spread civilization by helping people find their written voice. If you are a writer, then you want to be a part of spreading civilization and are required to attend.
Unless, of course, you are a right-wing conservative shitwad writer and your manifest is to continue the de-civilization trends. But even you right-wing conservative shitwad sirs or madams are invited to attend this little soirée of ours. Instead of celebrating the success of a left-wing liberal inclusionist writer, you can stand in the corner with others of your ilk, and make nasty right-wing conservative shitwad exclusionary comments about the rest of us. Fuck you and Rick Perry too, but please come to the party.
The Evite is attached hereto, somehow. Justine is adding it after I send her this mess, so I am unsure how it is to be attached. Actually, old what’s-his-name might be adding the Evite, an act that would make me less wary of his intentions.
It will be a fun party. Interesting people, adult beverages served in moderation, some munchies, and adult talk. We’ll have a reading from the book and plan some other neat stuff too.
To further entice you to come, I provide you the following inducements:
1) A link to my website and blog: http:www.moonerjohnson.com
2) A link to the entire book review, aforementioned, quoted and lovingly so: http://www.forewordreviews.com/reviews/full-rising-mooner/
3) A link to the 30-second trailer for said book: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WTQpyvkh8Fs&feature=youtu.be
4) The Badgerdog link: http://www.badgerdog.org/
The book trailer is terrific, right? The MRI sequence near the end is mine. They scanned me over to the loony bin the last time I was locked up over there. That would be the time I was at Shoal Creek Mental Hospital covered in the book. That dark spot in the center of my brain on the MRI is the part that controls my ADHD.
Anyway, it’s now 8:30 a.m. the day after Christmas, a fact which (that?) will clarify another unclear statement from my first paragraph. I have typed 8,336 different self-edited words to arrive at the current plus-or-minus 1,643 remaining at this point. I’m tired, I’m thirsty and I have but the thinnest shred of hope you understand that, one, I am inviting you to my book launch party and that, two, I really appreciate the work done on said book by Justine and the crew at WriteByNight.
I’m cracking the first icy-cold Carta Blanca beer of my day and saying that I would love to see you there. At the party. Manana, y’all.
For more from Mooner Einstein Johnson (“an adult and manly man living in, and around, Austin, Texas USA”), follow his blog.
1 Comment to “Book Launch Party”
- "Please consider me for publication in you're magazine."
- WriteByNight friend Scott McClelland has a new short story at Bartleby Snopes: http://t.co/uZRS4iRxVA
- Martha. She tells me to buy unsalted chicken broth, then she tells me to add salt to it. She's costing me money, a pinch of salt at a time.