BQB’s EDITORIAL NOTE: 3.5 readers, I heard a rumor you guys are struggling with your self-publishing ventures lately, so I invited a special guest speaker to come in and motivate you. Please welcome a young Alec Baldwin in his prime.
Let me have your attention for a moment! So you’re talking about what? You’re talking about…(puts out his cigarette)…bitching about that book launch you shot, some son of a bitch reader that doesn’t want to read your book, somebody that doesn’t want to read what you’re writing, some broad you’re trying to screw but she won’t screw you because writers never get laid and so forth. Let’s talk about something important. Are they all here?
All but one.
Well, I’m going anyway. Let’s talk about something important. (To Levene) Put that coffee down! Coffee’s for self-publishers only. (Levene scoffs). Do you think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from downtown. I’m here from a primo e-book sales site. I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Levene?
You call yourself a self-publisher, you son of a bitch?
I don’t have to listen to this shit.
You certainly don’t, pal. ‘Cause the good news is you’re fired from my platform. The bad news is you’ve got, all you got, just one week to regain your jobs as self-publishers, starting tonight. Starting with tonight’s word count session. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this month’s self-publishing contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac El Dorado. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a box of steak knives. (Holds up box of knives).
Third prize is you’re fired. You get the picture. You laughing now? You’ve got words. That fuck who wrote the dictionary went to a lot of trouble to get you those words. Think about the right word combinations and write them!
You can’t finish writing a book with the words you’ve been given then you can’t write for shit. You ARE shit, so hit the bricks pal and beat it because you are going out!
The words are weak.
‘The words are weak.’ The fucking words are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in the self-publishing business for fifteen years. That’s right. I went back in time and told myself to start self-publishing before any of this shit was even invented.
What’s your name?
Fuck you! That’s my name. You know why, Mister? Because you wrote your novel tonight on a bargain basement, second hand Dell and I wrote my novel on a state of the art, top of the line Mac Book Pro. That’s my name!
(To Levene) – And your name is “you’re wanting to self-publish but you’re too chicken shit to get off your ass and do it.” You can’t play in a man’s game. You can’t close out a book.
(To Everyone) – Because only one thing counts in this life! Get readers to read your books! Do you hear me, you fucking losers?
(Blake points to a blackboard. Two sets of letters are written on it: “ABS” and “ADIY.”)
A-B-C. A-always, B-be, S-self-publishing. Always be self-publishing! Always be self-publishing.
A-D-I-Y. Always Do It Yourself. Stop waiting for those traditional publishing pricks to give you the keys to the golden kingdom because it’s never going to happen. Are you going to do it yourself? I know you are because it’s fuck or walk. You self-publish or you hit the bricks!
Do it yourself! Who else are you going to do it for? Christ? Take action. Get out there!
You’ve got the readers coming in. You think they came in to get out of the rain? The guy doesn’t come to your online book sales page unless he wants to read. He is sitting out there waiting to give you his money!
Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? (to Moss) What’s the problem pal? You! Moss!
You’re such a hero. You’re so rich. Why are you coming down here just to waste your time on a bunch of bums?
(Blake takes off his gold watch and shows it to Moss).
You see this watch? You see this watch?
This watch costs more than your car. I made $970,000 on self-publishing last year, mostly on one book that had a really descriptive scene about a giant pair of titties. How much did you make? You see, pal, that’s who I am. And you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you. Go home and play with your kids.
(To everyone) – You want to self-publish here? Finish writing a book! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksuckers? You can’t take this, how are you going to take it when your book gets a one star review?
You don’t like it? Leave. I can go out there tonight with the words you’ve got and write myself fifteen thousand books. Tonight! In two hours! Can you? Can you? Go and do likewise!
A-D-I-Y! Get mad! Get mad, you sons of bitches! You know what it takes to sell books?
(Blake pulls a set of brass balls out of his brief case and dangles it in front of his crotch).
It takes a set of brass balls to sell books.
Go and do likewise, gents. The money’s out there. You pick it up? It’s yours. You don’t? I have no sympathy for you. You wanna go out on those word count sessions tonight and rack up big counts then those words are yours. If not, you’re going to be shining my shoes.
Bunch of losers sitting around in a bar. (Speaks in a sad tone). “Oh yeah, I used to be a self-publisher. It’s a tough racket.”
(Blake takes a stack of index cards out of his briefcase).
These are the new words. These are the Glengarry words. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give these words to you would be to just throw them away.
These words are for self-publishers. I’d wish you good luck but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it.
(To Moss) – And to answer your question, pal. Why am I here? I came here because the book sales site asked me to. They asked me for a favor. I said, ‘The real favor? Follow my advice and fire your fucking ass because a loser is a loser.’
(Blake heads into interior office).