Hello, world. If my future reflects my present, my hair will end up more famous than I will.

The Reason I Will Never be Wildly Famous

Oliver’s Manifesto (kind of dedicated to Abbie)

I have this great idea for a book [insert description of book here, for instance “it’s a story set on a ship making the cross to the Colonies in the time of the Spanish Inquisition, and, here’s the clever bit, there’s a werewolf on the ship]

…but…

The numbers are stacked against writers.

Because the mathematical facts are these…

Our first gatekeepers into the publishing industry:

Literary agents.

Moving on.

There is a major flaw in this system.

But…

But!

But, there is an alternative.

Amanda Palmer, performance artist and musician peculiar

Recently performed a concert at Coney Island.

Now, I know what you’re thinking…

“You’re suggesting that I should try to advertise for myself and ask for money for my writing, aren’t you?”

“Hell no!” I react further. “That means talking to people. And fuck that.”

So this is why I will never be famous…

Those two character traits I mean are these:

I will never change anyone else.

I’ll rephrase that because it sounds weird.

The numbers I outlined above are depressing numbers

Books are parts of souls. Books are humanity in print.

I would like to ask you to do something.

Share this rant. Share these angry words.

The best part of being a mime is never having to say I’m sorry.

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