As long term aspiring gurgling (stream of consciousness) paperback writer, there doth appear an imponderable quandary
most likely experienced by fellow neophyte authors, one pesky bugbear that just dawned, (within the mind
of this former tony MainLiner) crystal clear, i would bet mine bottom dollar and declare
unequivocally established writers mentally tussled (or still do), how to accrue βArt of the book writing dealβ contract subsequently endear
an increasing number of people, that definitely feel drawn to thy unique flavinoid flair with words this scrivener displays,
where oft times decrypting (mine block chain) dost jam at least one cerebral cog and gear no matter how far away from me,
this mind can telepathically hear, colorful epithets, thus seriously considering donning, summoning, and trumpeting
his swiftly tailored, harried styled interlinear difficult to interpret ma Bella cos mean mien, thus ready
(lock, stock and barrel) to ship me on a one way junketeer attired in a combination all force he zen,
(and Caesar) knitwear and (thrift special red tag sale) leisurewear oh...preferably gender neutral,
or specifically frilly pink menswear which could be either day or nightwear
yet absolutely non gaudily outlandish most unlike thine convoluted other worldly unfairly punishing stentorian
verb hose noun sense sic cull idiomatic ling goo whist tricks driven by a harsh grammatical taskmaster, (nonetheless one
gentle non-slavish overseer) summoning positive feedback to reap peer burgeoning my popularity,
yet without being queer yule us, yes...of course retaining rear penchant inventively steer ring an unsuspecting reeder
agonizingly testing their pay shunts, perhaps inducing her/him to race out the door like a a mad person clad with (impeach 45) underwear
calling for men/women in white coats to lock up Matthew Scott Harris possibly commuting his long runonsentence tea ching fellow inmates without ten year!