 |
| Typewriter! |
Step one. I’ve written a book! F*ck yeah! I'm an artist and everything!!
 |
| Yay! |
Step two. Having entered 3,000 competitions and gotten advice from Hemingway himself via a spiritual conduct, I’ve finally gotten a contract!
 |
| We are still not amused. |
Step three. Sh*t, they sent me edits and
I suck.
 |
| Man, I love this picture. |
Step four. Never mind, it’s too late to
back out. Here it comes! Whee!
 |
| Vodka is always your friend. |
Step five. What will people think?
 |
| We shall make sweet sweet love. |
Step six. Yay! They love me!
 |
| Oh yeah? OH YEAH?! |
Step seven. Boo! They only gave me two
stars and they didn’t even say why! They hate me!
 |
| Frida's got it goin on. |
Step eight. Having stayed awake for four days straight to track your rising Amazon rankings and quote by heart your four and five star reviews your brain begins to perish beneath the pressure.
 |
| Beetches! Give me back my iPhone! |
Step nine. Your friends stage an
intervention and forcibly remove your internet access. No longer able to stalk
your rankings on twitter you dwindle and fade and eventually get over yourself
and your stupendous publication.
 |
| Tentacle Porn is totes the way of the future. |
Step ten. You start on a new book and
get on with your life.
