Jay Kristoff's Blog, page 21

Fail =/= Bad

So I had an odd realization this morning: it's been a year to the day since I finished my first draft of STORMDANCER. My baby is officially 1 year old! And it won't be until next year that it actually gets born. The gestation period is getting out of hand.

Kinda funny trawling back through old blog posts –twelve months ago I was querying my first MS (a very bleak vampire novel called COLD, with not a single sparkly pretty man in sight – which was probably my first mistake). I got a few encouraging nibbles, for which I'm eternally grateful, but nothing that manifested into an offer.

It was around this point last year that I realized COLD wasn't going to see me casually chewing the fat on Oprah's couch or going for a midnight swim in my solid gold money pool, and it seemed like the end of the universe at the time. But sometimes it's good to get a kick in the teeth. Defeat can be the greatest teacher. And though they may seem like desktop calendar platitudes, I learn two True Things from the experience:

The best thing you can do while querying your current book is to write a better one. Send off the query, wipe it from your mind, and get back to writing.
For the love of god, stay away from vampire novels. The blistering pace at which I received some rejections makes me CERTAIN that some agents have their mailer rigged to auto-generate a form rejection if your query contains the word "vampire".

And seriously, we could build a space bridge with all the vampire novels out there. All boldly going where no man has gone before, alabaster skin and hackneyed love triangles beneath our feet.

In other news, second round of edits on STORMDANCER are officially done! Kinda odd that I finished them on the one year anniversary of first draft. I added another 5k words (a few of my writer chums are a little gobsmacked when I tell them I'm being asked to add, not cut, so I'm presuming that this is not the norm) and I'm feeling a little bi-polar about it all. I've been looking at these words for so long now, it's hard to approach them with any objectivity – one day I'll hate everything on the page, the next day, the same words give me goosebumps. But yes, my baby is now off at the editors for copy edits, and I'm officially back on Book 2.

Still no news on anything ultra-interesting like covers, although we're close to a series title. Part of me wants to get jealous of the all the fellow 2012 debs busting out their artwork all over the internets, but whenever the green-eyed monster raises his ugly little head, I just go back to those 12 month old blog posts and realize how incredibly lucky I am to even be here. So, much Push out the jive, bring in the love.

And now, I'm off to the most isolated capital in the world to celebrate nuptials with some excellent chums. Should the plane plummet from the sky, think only this of me:

I'll be back to get you.

Links

I was never a Nintendo fan, I was always a Sega boy. For those who share inherent distrust of all things spewed from the dripping maw of Nintendocles, Dark Overlord of the Mario Cashcow, the above pointy eared twat is named Link. He's apparently been trying to rescue some princess broad for the last 20 years. Or something.

So, LINKS (get it?)

One of my evil cronies who is far more adept at computer-y stuff than I  has worked some magics on the internets, and now all of my related author type stuff can be reached through my domain name, jaykristoff.com

So here I am, in all my name-dropping glory:

http://facebook.jaykristoff.com

http://goodreads.jaykristoff.com

http://twitter.jaykristoff.com

You can now reach this blog by hitting up http://www.jaykristoff.com - that is until my proper website type thing goes up online sometime later this year.

So, a public shout-out to my man Rafe! Much

Borders and Babel

The above is a picture of the Borders store near my office. The ground floor of the place looks like a tornado has ripped through it, the basement is as you see above – empty shelves (also for sale, contact our administrator!) and garish posters and people creeping around like they're raiding a tomb.

No doubt the world of publishing is changing, and the delivery method of bookification is undergoing a radical shift. I've had a few conversations with local indis, and they seem to be faring better than the chains, probably owning to customer loyalty and the intimacy shopping at a smaller store can bring. Minds out of the gutter peoples, I'm not talking about a Happy Ending™ with every purchase. It's kinda like going to your local bar and ordering "the usual".  I used to have a local where I could just walk up to the bar and the dude behind it would pour me a Kilkenny without me even asking, and then he'd take me out the back and….

Anyways, I digress…

Dymocks (our other big chain down here) is still kicking, and wandering past the rows of DVDs and CDs in my dishevelled Borders, I couldn't help but think they kinda dropped the ball. I'm unsure how they thought they were going to compete with big music/DVD chains, particularly given the shrinking nature of those markets due to online selling/piracy. But the point of all this is, as we seem to move closer towards an age of electronic delivery and consumption, and the notion of a bookshelf becomes more antiquated, I start to feel like a really old bastard.

See, I like BOOKS. I like the feel of them, the smell of them. I like collecting them, looking at them on my shelves. I like admiring the cover art, having the ability to read without a recharger or getting told by the stewardess "excuse me sir, all electronic devices must now be switched off, didn't you know our nav' systems are so crappy a fucking KINDLE can make us drop out of the sky".

One of my fondest memories of being a kid was when my mother used to drop me off at a newsagent (kinda like a newsstand/bookstore all in one) in the mall while she did the grocery shopping. I would've been maybe ten at the time. I used to hunker down in the book aisle, pick a Stephen King book off the shelf, flip through 'til I found a "good bit" and lose myself for an hour. And I kinda wonder how kids are going to get into books in an age where they only exist as files on a computer. Or what happens when those computers stop working. When we convert all our information into a format that can't be interpreted without a secondary device(you only need your eyes to read a book) and set ourselves up for another Babel event.

Actually, that sounds like a neat idea for a book…

Oooh, shinies!

I make no secret of the fact that I don't intend to have kids (and if you get me drunk enough, I'm happy to have a long and involved conversation about why I think it's a bad move), however, were I the kind to inflict my spawn upon an unsuspecting world, I'd be sorely tempted to name my kid "Rothfuss". Rothfuss Kristoff. That sounds like the name of a guy who can get shit done. Most likely by holding the earth to ransom with some kind of doomsday device, whilst petting one of those awful hairless cats.

Why would I inflict my child with a name that virtually guarantees a career in super-villainy? Because Patrick Rothfuss is a very nice man, that's why.

When I was looking for someone to represent STORMDANCER, I was lucky enough to receive offers from four different literary agents. And, being the diligent little bitch that I am, I got the contact details of their clients, and dropped said clients an email, asking how their experiences with their agents had been. People were very polite, and got back to me promptly (even if I had to read between some lines). Anyways, I got my grubby mitts on Patrick Rothfuss' email addy, and asked how he'd found working with the mighty Matt Bialer, and in typical Rothfuss fashion, he wrote me back this EPIC length email, with wizards and dragons and shit. But then, a strange thing happened. Halfway through this monster mail, he types "Geh. This e-mail is getting really long. I'm so tired of typing lately with all the revisions I'm doing. You want to just give me a call?"

So we chat on the phone for about an hour, and he drops some mighty wisdom all over my n00b skull. And about 45 minutes in, I learn that he's taking the time to speak to me the day before the final draft of "The Wise Man's Fear" is due at his editors. The DAY BEFORE. And I hang up the phone and say to myself "That Patrick Rothfuss is a very nice man."

So anyways, many moons later, I have this amazingly original idea to give shit away on my blog to generate readership, and so I shoot Patrick an email, asking if he'd be willing to sign a copy of "The Name of the Wind" for me if I mail it over, with the intention of giving it away on the blog. And instead he mails me the swag you see pictured above. Signed hardbacks of tNotW and TWMF plus a copy of the Princess and Mr Whiffle (but he signed that to me, so I can't give it away). With the ultra awesome added bonus of… SPOILERS. Yes. Check it:

Beneath the Rothfuss sig on the title pages of these spiffing hardbacks, lies genuine spoiler info on the content on book 3 of the Kingkiller Chronicles.

And I read them.

Oh yes, my droogies. I know something you don't know.

I'll probably wait a little while to give these suckers away. Maybe when I have some cover news to inflict upon you, or something more worthy of conversation than "I wish people would stop talking to me in the urinal". But yes, since I'm never having kids, I thought I'd take a mo' to tell everyone what a nice chap Mr Rothfuss is (and, you know, he doesn't suck too badly as a writer either, jus' sayin').

In other news – 2nd round edit notes on STORMDANCER are in. Should be finished in a couple of weeks – there's nothing too major or game-breaking in there. So there's light at the end of the tunnel. Book 2 is cranking along. I finally, finally have an act 1 and a title that I'm happy with. Were I a betting man, I'd say it'll be finished around September. Spoke to my UK editor on the phone last week, and we were talking about surreal topics like "cover design" which got me all squirty in my gutty-wutts. Things are getting (more) exciting.

Oh, and I've also hooked up with a bunch of other dystopian-themed 2012 debut authors – we blog here and will be giving away much loots in addition to burning your eyeballs out with our scintillating wit and unchecked profanity.

I leave you now with words of wisdom - never let Jamaican women mix your drinks.

Super Happy Fun Guide: The Agent Call

You've been querying for what seems like forever. Your rejections are plastered on your wall like bible pages in the bedroom of the crazy priest who got impaled in THE OMEN. The Book of Grudges is filled with the names of those agents who have wronged you. They do not see your talent. But they will pay. One day soon. They will rue the day they scorned you. Oh, yes. Precioussssssss.

But at last, the heavens open and the angels sing and OMFG an agent has emailed you the magic words "I like your book, we should talk". Your shriek of joy still echoes in neighbouring suburbs. You've finished dancing around the kitchen in your jammies and bunny slippers. And now you realize that you have NO idea what to say.

So I present this Super Fun Happy Guide on that most dreaded of phonecalls in the hopes it will balance the karmic scales for all that gansta-rap I listened to in my early 20's.

The most important thing to remember throughout this process is to stay calm. Just pretend like you're Yolanda in Pulp Fiction, all standing there while Samuel L Jackson points a gun at your boyfriend's face and yells "COME ON YOLANDA, WHAT'S FONZIE LIKE?!" at the top of his lungs. That'll calm you right the fuck down, no doubt.

Things to do before the Call:

Use the bathroom. A good agent call will take an hour.
Lock kids in basement/send to the neighbours/sell into white slavery.
Walk/tranquilize the dog.
Charge your phone.
Make sure a roadcrew isn't about to commence drilling the street outside. (Don't laugh, somewhere in the world a roadcrew starts drilling an innocent street every 7.3 seconds)
Find a picture of some adorable creature looking miserable. A crying child. A weeping clown. I recommend "Sad Kitteh" pictured above. Print it out. (This one is important, see below)

Questions to ask during the Call:

Is this a one-book offer, or a career-type deal?
Do you use a contract/written agreement?
Where are you planning to send my book?
Are you proposing any changes to my book? (How DARE you)
What if my book doesn't sell?
How would you feel about me switching genres? (because I've got this awesome idea for a YA GLBT Dystopian Space Opera with Vampire Zombie Ninja Assassins).
How do you prefer to communicate? Email? Phone? Telepathy?
What's your cut? (standard is 15%)
What fees do you charge? (photocopies/phonecalls/massage parlour w/"Happy Ending"?)
How do we terminate this agreement, and if we do, what happens to my unsold manuscripts? (don't open with this one)
Can I have the contact details of some of your clients, so I can chat to them? (this one is REALLY important)

Things you should ALREADY KNOW, but if you don't you should ask now:

Are you a member of AAR (or the appropriate Agent body in their country)?
How long have you been an agent?
What were your last couple of sales?
Are you on Publishers Marketplace?
Do you handle foreign rights sales? Audio rights? Film rights?

Things to remember during the Call:

Breathe. Breathing is good. It helps you live. And stuff.
If you find yourself wandering off script, this is all good. Natural conversation won't follow a set pattern. This means you're talking like human beings. But at some point, the above questions should be asked. They matter.
This is not necessarily a done deal. "We should talk" doesn't mean "I want to represent you". It means "I like your book and want to ascertain whether you're the kind of writer who plasters rejections on your bedroom wall like the impaled priest in the Omen."
You should avoid acting like a crazy person, if at all possible. If you find yourself giggling uncontrollably at any point in the conversation LOOK AT THE PICTURE OF SAD KITTEH. It will stop you laughing. Unless you are some kind of monster. How could you laugh at Sad Kitteh? HE LOOKS SO SAD.
Above all, you need to pay attention to the vibe between the two of you. Picking an agent is like picking the person you're going to marry. It will have a profound effect on your career as a writer. You need to "click". This needs to be a person you can imagine working with for the next 20 years, ideally.
Don't accept the offer. You may be tempted to. Don't. Say "Thank you very much, I'll go away and sleep on it. Can I get back to you next week?" You are not being rude. Only suckers buy the first house they lay eyes upon. Good agents expect you to do this.

After the Call (presuming Sad Kitteh worked and you got offered representation (HAI FAAIVEZ??!):

Tell all other agents who have your fulls/partials that an offer has been made. Politely request that they get back to you within seven days about whether or not they wish to pursue representation with you. (Seven days is standard here, again, you are not being rude)
Grab those contact details of the Agent's existing clients that you asked for. Contact them. Ask them what the Agent is like. Whether there have been problems. (Note that few authors are going to actually bad-mouth their agent here, but there's a huge difference between "She's okay" and "Were it not illegal in 49 states, I would make this woman my wife")
Compile. Collate. Choose wisely. And above all, remember the words of the immortal Mr Jules Winfield: COME ON YOLANDA, WHAT'S FONZIE LIKE?!?

I leave you this day with wisdom from the 'Hood.

?ssa kcalb ruoy pleh os ,hturt eht tub gnihton dna ,hturt elohw eht ,hturt eht llet ot raews uoy oD

In the Headlines

[image error]In case you CBF'ed reading the copy above, my trilogy just sold in Poland to Buchmann. They publish Tom Clancy, so maybe he can advise me on which Pacific Islands are worthy buying. Hai fivez.

In other news, my month-long post-edit hiatus is now over, and I'm back to working on book two.  I'm about 80k into it, but only the Flying Spaghetti Monster knows how many of those are actually good, so we'll see how we go once the dust settles. It's most definitely shaping up into a "it's always darkest before the dawn" style tale, but therein lies the trauma with all second acts. I admit that I quite enjoy torturing these tiny little people I've created. Plus, I actually thought of a title I'm super-chuffed with, which in my mind is 90% of the battle won.

I've made it over the Eccleston hump and I'm into the Tennant episodes of Doctor Who. Mickey just joined the crew, and I'm praying he gets face-huggered very quickly, or the Doctor cracks the shits with his constant "What's goin' on 'ere den?" routine and flushes him out an airlock.

No further news on STORMDANCER. Edits are still with the Powers That Be. No doubt as soon as I get into the groove on Book 2, I'll get more edits on Book 1, so rather than lolly-gagging about here on the blog all day, I'd best get back to it.

Oh btw, in case you missed it, I've got an author page on Facebook here. And if anyone can reveal to me the secret of changing my Author Page URL (rather than the Personal Page that admins the Author Page) I personally guarantee you a signed copy of STORMDANCER once it comes out. Or some skull-stonkingly good booze. Whichever you prefer.

Publishing in E-minor

First off, I'd like to propose a minute's silence in memoriam of the Macho Man Randy Savage. Only through his heroic sacrifice in battle vs Zombie Jesus was the rapture averted. Oooh yeaaaaaaaaaahhh.

Alrighty, I have a long running "debate" (drunken arguement) with a couple of folks about the whole "Traditional Publishing" vs "E-Publishing" thang, so in order to prevent the staggering drop off in readership my posts experience when I blog about happy stuff like the end of the world, I thought I'd try to jolly it up a bit today and write about, you know, WRITING.

So in the last few years, we've seen the rise of self-published authors, the most famous of whom is probably Amanda Hocking, who during April-December of 2010 sold a metric fuck-tonne of e-books (note: a fuck-tonne is roughly 200% of a shit-tonne) and instantly became the poster child for the entire e-pub movement. A couple of my droogies have asked why I chose to go the traditional publishing route when you can make squintillions and become ultra-mega-famous and buy your own socks by self-publishing. So, thinking about it (and bear in mind these are only my opinions, and I'm only one fellow), here are my thoughts on why I went the old-fashioned route:

Time – I work full time. I'm not fortunate enough to have wealthy parents or a wife who earns a bomb and is willing to support me pursuing a career in which the likelihood of success is somewhere up there with the chances of you making it through the Star Wars drinking game alive if you draw Luke Skywalker. My job is cool, and it's not the kind I take home. However, it realistically only affords me a few hours every day to do my own thing. If I had to do editing, typesetting, cover design, marketing, publicity, etc, I'd have no time to, you know, WRITE. (Incidentally, this was Ms Hocking's #1 reason for signing her $2 mil deal with my publisher, St Martin's recently)

Quality Control – When I finished STORMDANCER, I thought it was perfect. Every word was gold. It wasn't until I had professional publishing people look it over that I saw the flaws. The truth is, it could have been better. And now, having gone through my agent, his assistant and my two awesome editors, it IS better. About 100% better than it was when I first stuck a fork in and declared it done. The thing about people in the publishing industry? They do it for a living. They have experience and insight that I don't. My guys edit Nebula and Hugo winners. World famous authors. In short, they know their stuff. And they work to help my stuff get better. When you self-pub, it's just you and your pet cat Mr Snuggles. And while you might totally trust Mr Snuggles when he declares your opus will be the next Harry Potter, you do realize that you're mad don't you, he's a fucking cat.

Standing Out – The awesome thing about the rise of self-publishing is that anyone who wants to can now put out a book. The worst thing about self-publishing is that anyone who wants to can now put out a book. Because (and this is an awful truth) just like most people can't play in the NBA or become brain surgeons, most people can't write. Writing a book is like playing the guitar. People see a Green Day clip, say "WTF, I can play three chords" and start a rock band. And 99% of them suck aren't very good. People read Twilight, say "WTF, I can write better than this" and fire up the word processor. And 99% of them blow goat are less than superlative. But now they still get published. Eeeeee-published! And your self-published book is going to be sitting right there alongside these books on the e-shelves, struggling to get noticed in a steaming sea of adverbs and bad love triangles. And sure, there's the theory that "blood will out" – that good books will get good reviews and rise above and sell millions. Maybe that's true. But it seems like a longer shot to me.

After signing to St Martins and TorUK, STORMDANCER has a tiny little bit of cred. The theory is that it's got to be somewhere better than bad, because traditional publishing is in the doldrums, and any book that gets sold at auction in this day and age needs to have SOMETHING special about it. I dunno if this theory is true. I'd like to think it is. But perhaps I never recovered from that acid trip I took in 1997, and all this is going on in my head while I stare at a blank wall and say "wibble".

Affirmation – Your friends might say your book is awesome. Your wife/husband/real doll might say it too. Mr Snuggles might spasm into paroxysms of bliss when he stares at your pages. But honestly? If your friends are anything like mine, they can't be trusted. Your real doll? She can't even talk. And Mr Snuggles, as previously mentioned, is a goddamn cat. Agents work on commission. When an agent signs you, they're saying "I believe in this manuscript so much, I'm willing to spend a lot of hours working with it ON FAITH. Because I BELIEVE it will sell." When a publisher signs you, they're saying "We believe you're going to sell at least X copies (X being a factor of your advance). We believe it so much, we're going to get this hulking machine of a publishing house rolling, dozens of people spending hundreds of hours that we're paying for ON FAITH. Because we BELIEVE it will sell."

And hell, sometimes they're wrong. Lots of books don't sell. But when you see this machine start to roll, and it's all for you, you can't help feeling "Yeah, maybe I actually don't completely suck as a writer". And that's the feeling you take into your next book. And sure, it might be insecure to need that affirmation. But show me a slush-pile author who isn't insecure, and I'll show you an author who talks to their bloody cat.

Self-publishing strikes me as an easier path – I'm not saying it's easy to be successful in e-publishing. HELL NO. And I'm not saying it's easy to write a book. It's not. Writing is hard. Being successful at it is near impossible. But I suspect that many people look at e-publishing after they've failed via traditional routes, because they can't face the fact that their stuff just isn't good enough yet.

I have almost 100 rejections under my belt (and I consider this a relatively small amount). My first book took 18 months to write, and I couldn't find an agent willing to represent it, let alone a house to publish it. And right then I could have said "Well, what do you know, all you people who make your livings in the publishing industry? I'm going to self-publish." Instead I listened to criticism. I realized I wasn't as good as I thought I was. That I didn't know everything (still don't). And I went back to the drawing board and started again. Took all those rejections and channelled all that frustration and wrote another book. And it was better. Ten times better. And it sold. At auction. Rejection made me a better writer. It made me push myself and write well outside my comfort zone. Everyone needs a good kicking now and then.

You need an ego to be in a creative field. You absolutely MUST believe in your own talent. But when everyone who pays their rent through the publishing industry tells you "This won't sell", they might be onto something. Yes, you might the one in a million shot where everyone called it wrong. It's absolutely  possible. But it's more probable that they're right – that you're not ready yet. There's a fine line between ego and madness. A lunatic is a minority of one.

There's lots of valid points about why the e-publishing route is sound. I find it easier to dismiss the arguments of a guy like J.A.Konrath, because everything he says is written from the PoV of a guy who had already established a brand through traditional publishing channels. The Hocking case is compelling, until you realize she just sold her next four books to a major house (amidst the gnashing of teeth and deafening cries of "sell ouuuuut"). Given the choice, she'd rather be a traditionalist. But still, there's a case to be made, and many good points within it. Creative control. Greater royalties (Although 100% of 0 is still zero). Rights ownership. It all makes sense.

So in the end, in my mind, it comes down to this. A question. For all the slush-pile peeps out there declaring the death of publishing and the rise of the e-beast from the highest virtual rooftops, I ask you this:

If a major house offered you a seven figure deal to publish your first novel, would you still risk slinging it over at Smashwords?

If the answer is yes, then go forth young man/woman/tentacle beast. I commend your boldness, and in all sincerity, I wish you brilliant, staggering success.

If the answer is no, get back to writing the book that'll get you that seven-figure deal, my droogies.

These days will change us all

I usually try to be amusing in these blog posts, but I'm failing totally today. If you're up for the lolz, to the wrong place, you have come young padawan.

The setting for STORMDANCER is "dystopian". There's something tragically hip about dystopian settings atm – publishers can't seem to get enough of them. But I didn't write an "end of world" setting because I thought it might sell some books. I wrote it because I genuinely believe it is the duty of the artist (and I realise I'm dangerously close to sounding like an utter tosser here) to reflect the times he or she lives in.

At its heart, STORMDANCER is a story about the destructive price of a seemingly progressive technology. It's a story about extinction, and the fact that sacrifice is necessary to turn a big ship around. The "ship" in the book is an island called Shima. But really, Shima is just an analogy for the ship we're all sailing on at this very moment. A small, insignificant blue-green ship somewhere near the western spiral arm of the galaxy.

In order to publicize the rate of species loss our planet is currently undergoing, the United Nations holds the International Day for Biological Diversity on May 22nd each year. That's next week. The truth is, this planet (OUR planet) is suffering an unprecedented rate of species death. Not since the mass-extinction of the dinosaurs have so many forms of life on earth been under threat, or simply wiped out. And the sad and sobering fact is, this destruction isn't being caused by a meteorite impact or some other factor beyond our control.

Its being caused by us.

This is shitty news. And the truth is, some people don't want to hear it. They'd rather read about what Kate Middleton wore to the royal wedding, or watch an episode of Jersey Shore. But extinction is forever. It means these creatures are never coming back. No DNA frozen in amber inside mosquitos, no theme parks, no re-runs. Just memories and dusty photographs, if anyone knew about them at all.

Some sobering facts:

Depending who you read, somewhere between 30 and 150 species are wiped out every day on planet earth. An extraordinarily conservative estimate is that we lose around 1 species per hour. Every hour of every day. One species. Gone. Forever.
We are currently chopping down or outright burning one and a half acres of rainforest every second. Click here, skip down to "Regions" and check the "Remaining habitat" figures.
There are currently five vast soups of non-degrading pelagic plastics and chemical sludge floating in the oceans on this planet. There is more plastic than plankton (the foundation of the oceanic food chain) currently floating in the Pacific Ocean.
Rate of decline in plankton numbers is currently sitting at 1% per year. This figure is set to increase exponentially in a long-term downward trend, as ocean temperatures continue to rise due to global warming. Without plankton, the entire oceanic food chain falls to pieces.

This is the tip of the iceberg. But the information is out there if you genuinely want to learn, and there ARE positive steps you can take towards reducing your impact on this incredible planet we all share. You don't need to join up with Sea Shepherd or start bombing oil depots. If you'd rather watch Jersey Shore, well, you can do that too. But you should probably watch this first.

Sorry for the lack of lolz. I'll try to be funnier next week.

emoc ot sgniht fo epahs eht ylno s'tI .demrala eb t'nod, diarfa mees uoY

Two Minutes Hate: Urinal Talkers

Dear fellow males,

Stop talking to me at urinals. Don't even try to make eye-contact with me. Jesus wept, you're there for business, not to find a Best Man for your wedding. Stare at the wall. Shut up. If I am on fire, like literally being consumed by flames at that very moment, you are permitted to mention it to me. BRIEFLY. If the Z-Virus has gotten loose from R&D and my co-workers are roaming the halls, hungry for the sweet gamey tang of human flesh, no, SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH. Do your thing, zip up, and walk the fuck away. I'll find out about the zombie thing when I get outside.

Why do I even need to explain this? Where was your father when you were growing up? His job was to teach you two fundamental rules about toiletry: 1) Don't get it caught in the zip. 2) Don't run your mouth to another man while you have your JUNK IN YOUR HAND. 

Maybe you grew up without a dad, and the shocking erosion in basic toilet ettiquette is indicative of society's greater decline. But please. For the love of God.

STOP IT.

Before I forget

Totally forgot: this arrived in the post a few days ago. It's officially offical.

SIGNED CONTRACTS BOYEEEEEEE.