Ronnie Queen loathed January as much as I do. He loved his dog like I do. Buffalo chicken horseshoes and whiskey are common for the likes of us both. We both brood in the shadows suffering from a sickness with no name.
As you can see, the protagonist of my novel has pieces of my soul, which is why I lay here on a makeshift bed on my floor, feeling the heat coming from the furnace. In a world where Trump is the president, and we can now eat a naked chicken chalupa, I realize my errors in my novel as I notice the faint scars across my face. There is no such thing as fulfillment which means there is no such thing as perfection. Even if a thing such as perfection could be achieved it does not exist in the novel The Devil in the Details.
Looking over the final draft, I see the sentences as childlike, and a lack of understanding of exactly what I was trying to accomplish. The errors rip me apart more than anyone could possibly understand. I knew this then, I believe, but I let my ego get the better of me. I ignored all and sent a broken piece of my soul off for the world to see. How I loathe that I did this and the regret makes my heart fall off rhythm like the rest of my world.
I apologize for the errors and that I rushed the editing of the said novel. The magazine sized copies are enough to laugh about. I am angry at how they turned out and I will fix that along with all of these errors. I cheated myself to all of you and I deeply regret that. So, I will clean these wounds and stitch myself back up, in hoping that these pieces of my soul can actually have a proper place to be looked at.
To all that bought a copy, I appreciate it and am deeply sorry for my mistakes. The redraft will available soon, I promise.
For fucks sake….. T.W. Lycan