Hey Sup Forums I wrote a book.What should I do next? Hire a literary agent? I'm kinda retarded...

Hey Sup Forums I wrote a book.What should I do next? Hire a literary agent? I'm kinda retarded, but it was a great story.

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give us a synopsis, user

Ok well it is my memoirs. here is the first few paragraphs:


Delivery Wars: A Memoir

Hustlin', the story of the greatest food delivery boy that is was or ever will be.
The details of my life are quite inconsequential.

Very well where do I begin?

My father was a relentlessly self improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery, while my mother, was a fifteen year old French prostitute name Chloe with webbed feet. Ya know, that old chestnut.

Somehow now tho, I sit in the office of the best criminal defense lawyer in town, surrounded by a lion's share of Gator, military, and baseball memorabilia and thousands of books that are worth significantly more than me. Not once but twice did I have to call on this man's services to save my ass, and after the second one was behind us he offered me a job as his office manager. Why wouldn't he want Hebow (the Jewish Tim Tebow) the greatest delivery boy that has ever lived or ever will on his team? No one is sharper, very little gets past me, very rarely do I make the same mistake twice, and also no one will be more loyal. Conversely, why wouldn't I want to be on his team? After seven consecutive years building food delivery services, with three of those years working 17hrsday/7days/week, I deserve the Noble fucking Peace Prize for all the shit I went through. Now at this point I have no one to answer to and Archer provides me with just that. Structure, guidance, a reason to get up at a normal hour of the day. This job has become my therapy, my vacation if you will away from all that dick. And by dick I mean issues. Babysitting every scumbag fucktard restaurant, driver, and customer under the sun as the ass parade of dick bombards my beloved companies. At this point tho they run themselves so there is that, while thankfully now they are greater than and not reliant upon me.

Thousands count on them every day. Not just the customers who want their food as fast as humanly possible as affordable as humanly possible. Also not for the restaurants who enjoy a good amount of extra exposure and money. Also not just for the thousands of people past and present and future working for them who are at a company that was designed with their happiness in mind. Companies dedicated to giving their drivers the dignity and respect that no one in the history of the world would ever or could ever do. Concerning these companies I also take pride in knowing that doing good things leads to other good things. Let's say for example in Athens, Ga the Little Caesars on Baxter Street sells $30,000 worth of extra delivery pizzas/year that it would not have without a delivery service since they do not deliver themselves in store. Sure the local owner there is stoked but now also the farmers have to grow more tomatoes to supply Little Caesars sauce. Futhermore, the truck drivers who then in turn supply Little Caesars in Athens with all that extra sauce also have more runs to make and orders to fill. Sure I did it for the money but really it has always been more to me. A higher purpose for the betterment of society. Doing my part to move the world forward while simultaneously solving it's problems along the way. In any event, here I now sit answering phones, greeting new clients, running errands (certainly not for the TINY AMOUNT of money Archer pays me, although I told him when he hired me that I would do it for free, that I was not there for the money), all with a shit eating grin on my face knowing in the back of my mind what I had to get through to get here. While I am in here he of course has my undivided attention.

cont?

cont

Our story does actually begin in a small suburb of Washington D.C. called Potomac, Maryland. Behind South Florida and New York I feel that Potomac is third highest population density of Jew in the country. Oye fucking Vey. To say that I grew up in a sheltered environment would be an understatement. I literally thought that 85% of the world was Jewish. On the outside our family was wonderful. Two "loving" parents and an older sister. Life was easy and a breeze for our hero right? Ehhh. My father was actually a violent insane degenerate while my mother was a bulimic. When I say bulimic I mean BU-LIM-IC. Sure she physically binged and purged out all of her food for thirty years until her body, in it's search for nutrition, started eating itself from the inside out, but it was more than just physical. She violently binged and purged everything in her life, nothing was safe. Feelings, emotions, her son, money, mental health, any and everything in her wake was gobbled up, "processed", and then spat back out in the toilet down the proverbial or otherwise drain wasted.

Some of my earliest memories of my mom were her making me feel guilty for telling on her for eating a 12 pack of Hershey bars and puking them down the toilet. Despite being so young even I knew it was wrong and would tell my sister and dad about the missing chocolate and God knows what else she would ingest. My mom would then tell me that I violated her trust. That she could not trust me with anything anymore, and that it would take years for me to build back that trust. Essentially she would mind fuck and make her ten year old son feel guilty about loving his mom and trying to protect her from herself. At some point tho I did grow up and recognize her for some sort of demon for lack of better term. Still getting to that point not only was emotionally back breaking, but once you get there you now know that your mom, the only mom you will ever get, is a revolting bulimic leech. Or is it leeching bulimic? For years I would debate in my mind if her most dominate trait was that of a leech or that of a bulimic.

Certainly was a disgusting cycle, she provided essentially no value to the world and again anything of value that she did circumvent she would literally or figuratively puke it away in her own special way. Her official professional title was that of "homemaker". (Although to be fair, she did do some substitute teaching towards the end of her time, God bless her.) Back to my childhood tho, she would literally spend her life eating bon bons all day bitching about doing the laundry because it was an "endless thankless job for people who did not deserve it." What a scumbag. I will never forget on the night of my Bar Mitzvah we are arriving at the party in my Dad's car and they were having a conversation about me as if both me and my sister were not in the back seat listening. The highlight of the conversation was her saying "....and I just hate him so much..." Was a conversation about how expensive the party was and that even after they pocketed all of my Bar Mitzvah gift money, for themselves, they were still spending a pretty penny all for a worthless piece of shit that they called their son. I do know that I was no angel growing up, but in my defense I was just a child. Pretty sure that as a baby I started off OK. Loyal, loving, truthful.

I don't think she made one breakfast for me in her entire life. Additionally, the house was always a mess. I guess she just didn't have the time. She had no concept of her job as a "homemaker" and was not capable of having any pride in her "work." I had so much respect for any of my friends' moms who held down and had real actual jobs. It wasn't just that she didn't have a real actual money paying job tho it was also the fact that she failed so unbelievably hard at the few tasks she was given. How could she have the time and energy to keep the house clean or to cook a well balanced nutritious breakfast for her son in the morning if she was literally up until the wee hours of the night sticking her fingers down her throat vomiting? I was always jealous of peoples' love for their moms. Some of the scummiest pieces of shit in this world love their moms and always will. Part of me will always wonder where I would have ended up if I had the proper love and guidance.

Now my father well he was not a man. Sure physically and financially ya I guess but as far as having a shred of pride in himself and his son and his family, and how to act as a decent human being, not even close. In his defense he grew up in a loveless house and his mom was a monster. But at some point we are all held accountable for our actions. The referee doesn't win or lose the ball game for you, as long as you got to step out onto the playing field you are given a chance. At some point I stopped blaming my parents and realized if it was gonna happen it is on me and no one else. But ya his mom was a monster.

I remember in the late '90s I visited her down in South Florida. She had me stay in literally a beyond filthy crack motel, a place where real actual nightmares were made. When I did actually see her in her condo she yelled at me "You are so dumb!" when I inadvertently leaned on her wallpaper. She was worried about her walls getting smudged. I can only imagine what he went through as a child in her house in Queens, NY. He failed out of college when he went to Cornell because his little brain could not handle the freedom of being away from her evil liar. But he did eventually grow up to some degree I guess, at least financially. Dad was always great at math so he went to local Queens College. He eventually became a successful actuary and moved his family down to the suburbs in Potomac.

I remember him to be an emotionless droid, emotionless of course except for the anger and violence. I want to say that roughly a good fourth of every morning my alarm clock was the two of them screaming at each other, especially on the weekends. He married a bulimic leech and I'm sure it was frustrating. Still he was heartless (getting a divorce not only was financially a burden but also his mother would not approve) and instead of doing anything productive he was happy to violently binge and purge with her through the years emotionally like a child. They loved to argue and scream and hit and cry and spit on and then of course without fail kiss and make up and forgive like nothing ever happened until again without fail a few days would pass and then the whole vicious cycle would repeat itself.

Sure he never hit me but he did kill a good chunk of my insides, not all, soon enough tho, it all was kill. My sister and I were collateral damage. We just wanted the fighting and the screaming to stop! It was heartwrenching. When they fought we would grab pots and pans and bang them to drown out the anger and the noise. That would last until he would get in our little faces and scream at the top of his lungs "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" My sister and I were smart. After witnessing all that violence she vowed to never let a man control her in any way. She is now a doctor. I vowed to never marry a woman that I would want to yell at and fight with. I'm 40 (I'M A MAN, like Coach Gundy, google it, I feel it is inappropriate for anyone ever to not say I'M A MAN after saying I'm 40), never been married. Not trying to imply that there are not good women out there, because there are, I just never grew up.

So as the years passed I grew more distant from the family, hating them more and more each day. I had no love nor any respect for them and they had none for me. I decided to focus on my friends and school as it was my escape from the madness. And it was at the age of 15 where I finally lost my mind. The nightmare would end when I was away from them but once all of my friends and my school and my neighborhood was torn away from me my fate was sealed. I saw an episode of Lock-UP once (its a show where camera crews go behind the bars of prisons and show us life inside) where a 17 year old was in prison for an accidental, for lack of better term, type of murder and was now almost 30. There was a childish nature about him that reminded the producers of the show of how a teenager would act and not a 30 year old who has been incarcerated for ten plus years. Their theory was that once he was locked up at 17 his life stopped. That he will perpetually be there mentally. This is how the brain protects itself.

anyone lurking?

imma still here

whatever gonna post the frst chpter

Back in 1989 I was 15 years old and set to begin high school. My sister who is two years older than me went to our neighborhood school that I could ride my bike to. The problem was that school was over populated and a different further away school was under populated. Despite being able to bike to my sister's school, the school board decided that they would now bus kids from my neighborhood to that different school across town, because my neighborhood was closest to that other underpopulated school. The neighborhood split up at that point and was broken. Many moved, many went to private schools, some went to the new underpopulated school, I was one of the ones that ended up in private school. But here's the catch, I didn't go to the private school that everyone else went to. No I was actually accepted into one of the most prestigious all boys private schools in the greater metropolitan Washington D.C. area.

Ya that's right I said ALL BOYS. I also had to WEAR A JACKET AND TIE TO SCHOOL every, fucking, day. Moreover, the only reason why I was accepted to that prestigious school was because we had a copy of the entrance test the night before I took it. My parents hired a tutor from that school to get me ready for the entrance exam and that tutor brought over practice tests for me to take. One of those practice tests, somehow, as fate would have it, was the exact same test as the one I would take the next day. The night before I took the test, I took the test! Needless to say when I took it for real I got 100%. FML, looking back I would have failed that mother fucker, gotten a 0% but that's how it all played out. I hustled myself.

ty user gonna keep it coming its a great story...

Like I said earlier I am sharp, and it was about 20 minutes into my high school career that I realized that my life was effectively over. That I was in a perpetual living hell world of shit in every aspect of my life and there was no escape! Even if the boys at the new school were nice, which of course they were not (every kid who went to this school at first always thinks that it will be fun and awesome and they will be accepted, but in reality for most new comers it is the polar opposite) it was still an ALL BOYS JACKET AND TIE school. I knew no one, no one knew me and again even if I did, it was still ALL BOYS JACKET AND TIE. There was no escape. Every day I would get home from school and cry. Cry for hours and hours from the moment I got home until the moment I went to sleep. I would just go up into my room and cry.

By the second semester the crying finally stopped, but the misery sure as fuck did not. Here was my typical high school day. While the rest of normal society woke up and lived their lives I was losing my mind. About as often than not I was awoken by them yelling. Then I put on my jacket and tie, get driven for over an hour all the way across town. Spend eight hours with a group of guys who I did not give a fuck about and certainly did not give a fuck about me. Then go home and be surrounded by anger and violence. My mom the bulimic, would love to buy raspberry danishes for my dad the lunatic child. She would then spend hours picking all the icing off said danishes and eating it. Then she would make new icing, eat half of it, and re coat the lunatic's danishes with the remaining bit of new icing. He would then witness all this at some point or look at the bills or really whatever would happen he was on a hair trigger, and begin to scream and hit and spit on ..... Late at night she loved to purge.

She would quietly recess herself to the upstairs bathroom, when she thought everyone was asleep, and shove her fingers down her throat. She enjoyed this. It was her life hack, it was her edge. She would always emerge like an athlete who just finished a long run or exercise routine. There were nights I would stay up and wait for her to emerge, just to see the look on her face. She knew if he woke up we would both be in big trouble so we had this unspoken disturbing creepy connection. I had basically no friends. My old friends more or less moved on with their lives and the new ones didn't exist nor did I have a desire to find them. Although to be fair sure at some point I did make a few friends here and there. However, me being at that school just felt like I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. In any event, I was a walking Zombie. And I do know there are worse things in life than being stripped of a high school experience, I know that now, but at the time I sure as shit did not.

My mind was fucked. To some degree I feel my mom had some form of munchausen by proxy. A disease in which the mom or dad inflicts pain on their child so that they can garner attention for themselves. In any event, I felt that this demon, for lack of better term, fed off of my pain. Despite being physically abused for years by my Dad (she was always bruised and battered) I feel she was the one in control. She loved it all. The abuse she received was an instrument she would redirect for her own clandestine needs and pleasure. Maybe I'm giving her too much credit.

In any event, I'M SORRY MAMMA! I NEVER MEANT TO HURT YOOUUUU! I NEVER MEANT TO MAKE YOU CRY! But tonight I'm cleaning out my closet. When she did finally die I was LONG gone, and my only regret at the time about her death was that I did not get the opportunity to witness and passive aggressively increase her suffering by showing her all she missed in my pathetic fucking life. Sick shit, I know.

CHAPTER 2: The Escape

So as the years passed and as the world grew up around me I stayed 15. I refused to grow up, it was my brains way of protecting itself. I was so fucking unhappy. And then all of my suffering finally gave me an escape. It was all finally worth it! The problem was that I was not a man, knew nothing about how the real actual world operated, and had A LOT of growing up to do, ON MY OWN. My Dad like I said was not really a man at all. The only good lesson I remember him teaching me was a phrase that he loved to tell me all the time. "Life is too short for mediocrity." This coming from a man who effectively defined the word mediocre. He would always tell me to find something that you do and do it better than everyone else. His advice was actually good and it is how I live now with my profession today but still the point is as far as preparing me for the real world on my own I give those clowns a non-passing D at best.

Im bumping this. I wrote a short (~3000 word) story of an alcoholic who clings too hard to the past and then inadvertently kills himself.

I'd like to get it published somewhere and share it with people. Ideally in physical print.

Anyone got any tips?

Samefagging here, would anyone want to read a short excerpt and tell me what they think of it?

OP here I know I need a literary agent....I now live in Arizona 2000 miles away from the story and I do nothing all day except smoke medical marijuana, at some point I would want this story heard

spoiler alert: I got betrayed. I end up in jail, almost ripped some dudes eyes out of his head, it is not a children's book

have you tried uploading it to any sites?

OP here make your own thread fgt, they don't even want to hear my story let alone yours

I feel you user. I ran a pizza store for 8 years.

Thats cause someone asked you for a synopsis and not the whole goddamn thing.

that was me

tbf fam, it was good but it would be nice to just read a short, round-up of the whole thing, if possible

Well we may be the only ones here who give a give a shit.

Ill give you a short critique if you do the same for me, deal?

well I failed out of college because I wanted to buy and sell weed. did that for 6 years, then grew weed for 6 more after that, at 32 got arrested then got my job back delivering pizza. met a manager there we started our own delivery service, moved to georgia to make my own it went well, went back home saw the old company i built went to shit so started a rival one, this one by myself, worked 17hrs/day 7 days/week

>became a coke head/ pill head to keep me going

>ended up with over 20 tattoos barely remember getting half of them

>some dude working for me stabbed me in the back and tried to steal it all from me

wilsonray533@gmail, I'd read the book, let me know how it goes.

any local publishing outlets near you?

still to this day that dude is doing everything he can to be me and steal it all from me

>pic related

Im a literary agent specializing in childrens books but id be willing to help you out with the general process of editing, pitching, and publishing

not sure user I'm kinda retarded, I'm across the country now and I do nothing except smoke medical marijuana

How would someone find something like that? Hell im not even sure what to even google.

it is a great story and truth be told I always was a great writer, i think people would like it and sure it would be nice to tell my story

it would be hard, maybe even a writer's guild? I don't even know if people still do that kind of shit

The story itself is great, make sure that your writing does not detract from it.

Op, don't blatantly steal a monologue from Austin Powers ("my father was" is the speech from father/son therapy) and submit it to be a book

read past the first paragraph asshole

honestly that is a good point, i get so mad and I rant so much in the story i may end up alienating my readers

Fuck getting an agent. Kindle etc. Even it it s shit, just sell it for a small amount. Get book bloggers to rave about it.

I know I keep coming back to this but I am kinda retarded, I barely even know what kindle is sure I can research it all and do some work and I should , not sure why I am even posting this thread? It is a cry for help, my whole life I have been crying for help. I never grew up. Still today all I do is smoke weed and do nothing except hang out with my dogs.

Send copies of it to publishers and see if they reply
Keep sending copies until you get some sort of reply
Make sure your first few pages are golden. Publishers will drop you faster than a red headed step child if you can't bring them in with those first few pages

did I bring you in with the first chapter?

I wouldnt say alienate.

Someone told me it doesnt matter how good you story is, only your ability to convey it.

like even the best stories can be crippled in youre a shit writer

I call it "1 man 1 car". the actual story is not on this computer, but I tried to find something.

Yeah. its the very opening.

If this guy can make money
amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_3_7?url=search-alias=aps&field-keywords=chuck tingle&sprefix=Chuck t,aps,180
You can

the second sentence on each was just editing notes.

I dedicated the book to my haters. I have so many haters out there and they are the ones who inspired me to write it. There is a guy who has literally thrown away hundreds of thousands of dollars all in an effort to stick it to me. There is another guy who literally spends 13hrs/day 7 days/week trying to be me. I hate these fuckers so much and again it was why I wrote the book to begin with

with that said at times the book turns into one huge rant, im really pissed off. One huge train wreck rant and zero fucks are given. who knows maybe it is gold, maybe it is total crap?

post what you think might be just angry ranting.

You lost me at Jewish. Not another take of a Jewish kid growing up with fucked up parents.

jesus christ

user I'm not doing it for the money, all of my needs are met I got paper. I am doing it for the haters...

well if you stick with it you will see that jews sicken me...

I guess what it comes down to is yes Roach you are a full-fledged retard concerning the business decisions you make concerning deliveries and how you generally treat people. Just rancid both as a person and as a businessman outlined in full detail later. But I guess sir part of it is that you simply just hate me as a person. I believe the kids were calling it "le master troll" about eight years ago. Roach with this hate, you have allowed me to troll you to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars gone that you will never get back no matter what you do. You are that fucking stupid. Who knows maybe I am just stupid and you are a genius and the world just may be out to get you all along? With your ax to grind and nose to cut off to spite your rat face to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars. I am that powerful and the hate you have for me is that strong!

Also get in line with the rest of the haters you fucking cunt. I have a gift that is partly a curse. It is the ability to not only myself get so mad at someone, but even if I am not that mad, I make people think I am which in turn makes them so mad at me much worse. Again I mentally allow myself to consciously or otherwise get so worked up that I in turn find a way to magically push those magic buttons even worse on people. Awesome Roachie good for you, FYI, I hate you too. I hate you, and what you end up doing and are still doing today, so fucking much, that I wrote a book, as my special way to ball up all that nasty hate. I don't want it. I am done being a part of the problem it is exhausting and an exercise in futility. With that being said sir, do you even have the ability to read and write Roachie? Sure you end up pissing me off too sir, but who is playing who jackass?

Sorry is this medical smoking OP?

dude anti antisemitism really isnt a great angle to go off from. You could however to use it as an opportunity to draw lines between antisemitism as a whole and why people adopt it and hate jews in general.

You have been trolled to the tune of losing literally again hundreds of thousands of dollars, and on top of that I wrote a book about exactly how much I hate you. Do you think I enjoy all this drama Roach? Do you think I wanted to be at the point in my life spewing all this hate and ugliness? In any event, have it your fucking way Roachie, this is the road you have chosen. Was it worth it? Your move fuckwad.

the book is not remotely about anti-semitism I just happen to be a jew

alright, stay tuned OP. The worst thing you can do to a writer is tell them their work is good when it isnt. gimme a few mins to go through this.

gonna smoke then