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Author: Bartleby

Essayish 1/Biographical 2: A Revolutionary Memo

Essayish 1/Biographical 2: A Revolutionary Memo

[Chapters of Diary of an Adamant Seducer]

[Update November 2021: We’re back at Diary of Adamant Seducer. We’ll try to bundle it into a book someday. For now the chapters are linked to above. See Buy Our Books for the books we’ve already completed. Character-name reassignments are as follows: literal truth becomes poetic Truth; timespace becomes a laughing mush; the Gods become the Giggling Beauties; we become only the love we knew and lived.]

Dear Readership real and imagined,

We the exalted leadership of Wandering Albatross Press; two lank men born before the universe began and dead after it ends — if indeed it will end, which we very much very haughtily doubt; two ferocious, incorruptible visionaries; have had another great revelation, the seed of another tremendous revolution:

People — those frail wisps of downy fluff, blighted by mortality — need something steady. They need a nice, safe space to slide into, where they are known and where they know. Witness, for example, how Cheers’s theme song “I wanna go where everybody knows my name”, though neither melodically exceptional nor tied anymore to a popular television show, continues to sink icy fingers and forked flames into the hearts of all who hear it. Or voila! the hold that snugly pajamas — thick plush fabric with a white-scar zipper running from tiny ankle to narrow neckline — have on both children and caregivers alike: a hold all out of proportion to their actual physical comfort. Conclusion: People need a friend, and not really anything else.

People need a friend, and WAP is dedicated to giving people what they need at a reasonable price. But how to sell friendship? Impossible! Ah, but there we’re lucky: We have Bartleby Willard. Manufacturing the impossibly wondrous is not just Bartleby’s chosen career: it is his inborn, God-given all-consuming vocation. And so we turn our tall, proud, cliff-like shoulders toward BW and ask him what it is ours to ask; then we pivot our great mainmast shoulders back to again gaze out giant floor-to-ceiling windows in the wide, tall, old-wood WAP common office here in the WAP Building on Wall Street, Empire City, USA.

After a drifting pause, Bartleby responds:

“Two books! Only way. One artsy collection of stories, as already promised. But then also one continuous, gently strolling narrative about all us here at Wandering Albatross Press. We are sentient beings real and imagined who live with life — this tureened mix-and-match, this criss-cross of watching lines within raucous yet solemn beauty. Why not let readers join us here in tales that echo and shape our reality? Why not? We’ll be their distant, one-sided, lonely friends: They’ll hold us in the glass dome; they’ll shake our world and watch the snow drift peacefully across the backward-bowed, sharp-tipped rooftops of our hazy-dreamtime hamlet.”

We therefore announce two books: “Love at a Reasonable Price” and the concurrent “Diary of an Adamant Lover”. We’ll release about one portion of each every so often, and we’ll sell the two stalagtiting (or is it stalagmiting?) books for a grand total of US$12.

How is a serial story like a friendship? It is familiar; it is fairly reliable; it is known by the readers, and, if the author opens up to the circumstances with a reasonable amount of brave kindness, it also, by an amazing play of refracted light, knows the readers: for readers are flickering souls and experiencing Beauty is not more nor less than the sparkling consciousness of what is common to all. Asleep awake, we oft daydream separate realities; but awake awake, bright-eyed, happy-in-the-sparklingdewdrop, we live and breathe the blessed, shapeless blaze that winds through the myriad, the surface back-and-forth, the particular-contortions.

To see a layout of the current chapters, go to Buy the Book / Chapters or just scroll down to the bottom of this page.

Sincerely,
Thundration “The Instigator” Whistletown
&
Archangelbert “The Agitator” Skullvalley

Memo forged by Bartleby Willard with revolutionary support from his rambunctious editor, Ambergris Whistletown.

Author: Bartleby from Willard
Editor: Ambergris from Whistletown
Copyright: Andrew M Watson

[Chapters of Diary of an Adamant Seducer]

From Before:

About this project:
[Update November 2021: Don’t forget this was all written long ago and the below plan’s long since faded away.]

We’re letting Bartleby write his book; we’re even publishing it for him; it is two loosely bound sketchbooks:

(1) Love at a Reasonable Price: Stories of his magically timeless time here at Wandering Albatross Press interspersed with writings from that time or from now but somehow connected to that time–stories about manufacturing, marketing, distributing, and selling Pure Love;
and
(2) Diary of an Adamant Lover: Stories of his current time here all alone with the quiet squeaking floorboards and the rats thumping in the ceiling: Stories of his cries for help in the ruins of Wandering Albatross Press, the black and dark time after the hope and before the answer. We’re splitting this one into two sections: Biographical (writings that mostly relate the current movements of BW, AMW, and the rest of the WAP gang are ex) and Essayish (writings that mostly stay within a certain thought entertained and cultivated by the author and/or his editor).

Both books sold as they evolve here:
Buy the Books
For a current list of each book’s chapters, please see
Into to Diary of an Adamant Seducer or Intro to Love at a Reasonable Price, depending.

Actually, the posts of Diary of an Adamant Lover probably won’t ever require a subscription. Still, with a subscription, you get a nicely ebound eevolving ebook compilation of the writings, and you get a quick buy eye-connecting “Thank you” from AW and BW as they bow their way out of the subway car with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the songs in their lungs.

This blog will consist of extracts from the book’s chapters as they are released into the lumiferous aether. You can buy BW’s book as he writes it here. You can also consider this blog a long advertisement for Wandering Albatross Press’s some-such-several wonderful products; like . You can also view this blog as it’s own thing — a good unto itself — and as such a sweet, chaste little kiss running through the infomaterous aether (the theory of a lumiferous ether through which electromagetic waves move is no longer widely accepted and its originators all long dead; it is very much in the public domain and so publishing houses, such as the beautiful WAP, can use it any way they please). But insofar as this is a commercial venture, we still need it fundamentally grounded not in profit-motive, but in kind delight. So cross your fingers for us; say a prayer for us; keep a gentle but stern, a wary but hopeful eye on us. Help us to try. Or at least let us try.

Author: Bartleby Willard, fictional character

Copyright holder/editor: Andrew Mackenzie Watson (of the Sand Springs Watsons)

[Chapters of Diary of an Adamant Seducer]

From “The Pitch”

From “The Pitch”

[This is the beginning of “The Pitch”, which is part of “First Loves”, available on this site for $2.99 (see “Buy the Books”). So, yeah: basically free. The effort is clicking into your Amazon or B&N account, and then taking the time to read it. We’re not saying you should. We’re just saying it’s here if you feel so moved.]

The Pitch!

A Note on the Text:

This story is one of several dozen Olden Times IIVa1 (OT IIVa1) Skullvalley After Whistletown Booksellers (SAWB) texts, written with gritty charcoal ink on supple papyrus parchment and preserved in near mint condition by the brittle air of the Relatively Great Desert in what is now The Old West, USA.
Through how many world-cycles these wonderful tales slumbered, resting in oblivion as only decoderless information can! But then suddenly in 1832, for no apparent reason (though most commentators agree some peeved god or goddess must surely have been involved), the rich soft silky-smooth silence was shattered when self-celebrated mountainman Constantine Clement George, while recreationally blasting a mile or so outside the small tumbleweed town of Gull’s Gulch, unearthed three long tunnels burrowed into sandstone cliffs 150 feet above the desert floor. Investigating, George discovered—in chambers decorated with all the antiquated pomp of a pharaoh’s tomb—six slender clay jars stuffed with tightly rolled parchments.

George, a self-described “romantic robin a pecking at the egg forever and evermore”, initially used the priceless archaeological find as a rendezvous for “the more hightided, and of sorts cultured ladies”. But, despite one and all pledging “to herefore in the future not now nor never reveal nor hint upon nor never ever so much as wink coy as respecting the whereabouts of this sacred and holy alcove where the spirit of knowing and the dove of roosting do together combine to one another; and for if I do divulge whatsoever of these exalted hollows or their indubitous inhabitants, I pray that God may in holy and righteous vengeance strike me dead, having first, by especial intervention of the Holy Spirit — which I understand to be, by miraculous divinity, in indubitabilty no other than, but yet also in that same authenticated indubulation other than, God the Father ‘Ol Pops — ripped forthwith out my tongue and eyes, and, in due salutation of my abjection, flung them onto the floor, be it ever so becrudded”, at least some of the chorus girls, prostitutes, and — if Constantine’s braggadocio can be trusted — “some goodly count of respectable damatsells of white and blameless knickers” began to talk. And so, after Clement had enjoyed almost six months of “blameless spirituous joy”, the local authorities confiscated the site and strictly forbade “all antenuptial cavortations in and around but not limited to caves of ancient learning”.

But strange and heart-rending to report, the Gull’s Gulch authorities proved singularly incapable of grasping the value of the find or their duty to human knowledge (it is beneath me as a man of science to dwell on the incompetence of others, but it is outside me as a man of conscious to not cry a loud and forceful “Foul!!!!!” on the clearly willful ignorance and grubby-mindedness of the ruling elite [such as they were] of Gull’s Gulch throughout the entire 19th Century: !!IDIOTS!!). Things went terribly wrong and the precious documents entered a dark and dangerous time. The details so sicken my educated gut and tremble my scholarly fingers that I cannot bear relate the shameful mishandling of the single most important source of Olden Times SAWB cultural history.

{Editor’s Note:
The scholarly intro goes on in this vein for a while, and then it is signed by:

Bartholomew von Ooblichstein,
WAP Studies, Didd State University
Summer Break (hooray!) 2015

And then the Text proper begins.}

The whole thing is always copyright by AMW, whatever that is.

Beginning of “PL Factory Farm: Part 1”

Beginning of “PL Factory Farm: Part 1”

This is the beginning of “Pure Love Factory Farm Pt 1”, appearing in “First Loves” (see “Buy the Books” [you don’t have to; this was our first attempt at a book.]

So this is our factory farm. Up here you can see pretty much the whole operation, from the giant glass aquariums filled to the brim with rich black dirt where we hold our earthworms before milking, to the stainless steel milking stations where our workers, dressed nattily — “lumberjack-chic”, we like to say — in heavy workboots and denim overalls with soft flannel shirts bursting brightly out the sides, pull Pure Love from the worms, worm by worm, using our patented Pure Love extraction equipment.

See how a little square of super-soft — cuddly, really — gray cloth is flung over an earthworm resting on the smooth wooden surface of one of those small square work tables? The blue wire attached to the back of the cloth sends a wake-up signal to the earthworm’s nervous system, exciting the earthworm and invigorating its thoughts and feelings — such as they are — and thus propelling Pure Love up to the forefront of its conscious or perhaps pseudo-conscious — as the case may be — experience (basic rule of thumb: awareness is most fundamentally Pure Love, so more awareness equals more Pure Love), and the red wire attached to the front of the cloth carries any Pure Love rubbed off the writhing worm into that little glass cylinder where the Pure Love catches Its breath and becomes more present in Its infinite expanse.

Behind the milking stations you can see the large wooden barrels where we store core upon core of everywhere- and forever-explosions of Pure Love. Each bottle in that conveyored line of bottles flowing under the barrel taps is filled with all the Pure Love it can hold—which, rigorously stated, is both an infinite and a non-existent amount. Over there on the far end towards the back door you can see another set of dirt-filled aquariums. That’s where we hold the earthworms once they’ve been milked. They recuperate in those tanks a minimum of 24 hours — notice how both sets of aquariums are on a long elliptical conveyor belt; the belts move one position to the left every three hours to ensure we process the earthworms in the correct order — , and then we drive them out and release them in the wild.

Beautiful, huh?! Our investors wanted cement floors because they’re cheaper than hardwood and a big windowless concoction of steel beams and vinyl siding instead of this comparatively pricey giant brick barn whose magnificent skylights and windows fill the space with not only natural light, but the whole of the outside world. But we explained that you simply cannot cut corners when dealing with Pure Love. The right mood is important for both harvesters and donors.

Let’s go to our dining area. I’ll buy you something to eat and drink and tell you a little about the details of the operation.
Here’s your coffee. You’re sure you’re not hungry? The food is quite good. Healthy too. None of that processed nonsense. Everything’s made right here with fresh, organic ingredients. And the animal products — no meat is served here, but we do offer eggs and dairy — all come from carefully raised, grass-fed, free-range critters. I really like the avocado omelet. With sweet and white home fries. And the most amazing aji verde!

Don’t be like that! It’ll only take a second — you can see that there’s no line. None of the workers are on a break or lunch at the moment. Here, watch my iced tea — I want a good approximation of how much volume each ice cube loses while I’m away.
That bit about the ice cubes was a joke! Just sit back and relax! Make yourself at home! Help yourself to some ice cubes from my glass!

That bit about taking the ice cubes from my glass was a joke!
You don’t want any ice cubes yourself do you? In a cup?
OK.

Here you go. Smells good, right? Follow me to the patio — it’d be a shame to miss out on such a clear bright day!
Incredible! Incredible! And free! That’s nature for you! Wow! Great outdoors: can’t get enough of the stuff myself. Let’s stop a second and breathe it in. You only live once! Well, I mean, who knows?, but surely there’s a sense in which you only live once.
So, is this the first Pure Love factory you’ve ever seen? They’re not as expensive to operate as you might think. The equipment doesn’t use that much electricity — on a sunny spring day the solar panels on the roof of the cafeteria/rec-room usually cover all our energy needs. Also, as you know, earthworms are basically free — and they are quite hardy. Though we do keep the place fairly cool all year round because that seems to keep them as full of life as they can be and thus as productive as possible.

Before we go on, let me first tell you how much I love iced tea with about a cup of ice and one-fourth lemon per pint. It isn’t just that it is cool and gentle yet sharply refreshing. There’s something more to it than that, or something within that crisp tang that is somehow more than the sum of its parts, something that connects me to deeper things, to the soft yet clear-edged, sometimes blue-, sometimes-gray-skied world of my youth and to the creek winding its way through those days. I like to watch moving water, especially on a bright day when its constantly shifting peaks and valleys reflect the sunlight in infinitely wondrous and unpredictable ways. It always gives me the feeling that there is something more to this play of atoms and voids in my watching mind than atoms and voids or even my own watching. But I suppose all that goes without saying. Philosophers debate whether or not, or in what way, and/or to what degree that sense of a deeper core to this life is accurate. But we’ve all seen creeks in the sunlight; and that experience is the bulk of what we really know about the matter. Many of us revel in a glass of freshly brewed, unsweetened iced tea with ice cubes floating enmass in the upper portion of the glass and a lemon wedge — still somewhat folded-over from the twisting-squeeze — in the mix somewhere or other. But who can say what lies at the core of this joy?

Did you have any questions about the factory or the product?
No: As far as we can tell, the worms don’t suffer or get damaged in any way by being milked. And we don’t think they lose any Pure Love. According to everything we’ve observed, you can no more remove or lessen the infinite dollop of Pure Love shining at the core of a creature than you can keep The One Light — aka: Pure Love — from creating, sustaining, and shining through all things. But even if the milking doesn’t damage the worms, they should still spend the bulk of their days writhing eagerly through the earth’s immense, and — from the earthworm’s perspective, which we of course need to be sensitive to — immensely invigorating and inexhaustibly fascinating crust.

You’re right: moral concerns are even more important to a Pure Love factory farm than to more conventional factory farms. As an aside I will note that torturing chickens to death to save a few cents on eggs and poultry, and cramping livestock together, plumping them up with hormones, and keeping the stressed-out brutes alive with antibiotics instead of more traditional methods like allowing them space to move is probably neither practically wise nor morally acceptable. However, that’s not really my industry and it’s not really what you’ve come to learn about today.

I won’t spend too long on our metaphysical and ethical positions. If you’re interested, you can read about them more fully on our website. There you’ll also find a good synopsis of our philosophical positions and how we try to connect them to our real-world operations in our business statement.

{It goes on like that.
Buy “First Loves” if you want to keep hearing this kind of pitter-patter. We understand if you’d just as soon let it pass. But we thought we’d let everybody know what all we’d published in “Buy the Books”

— B. Willard / A. Whistletown
copyright holder is AM Watson
}

An Advertisement for “Objectively Cute” baby-wrap

An Advertisement for “Objectively Cute” baby-wrap

Citizens of the world past, present, and future:

This is an advertisement for Wandering Albatross Press’s newest product: A tiny little onepiece for very young children (babies, really) with the words “Objectively Cute” emblazoned on the front in what I can only suppose is a basically safe acrylic-type print.

A white onepiece for infants, with "Objectively Cute" in black block letters.
Click along to purchase this item of clothing for $18

$18 for a dab of cotton welded into a shirt with leg holes and a button-up butt-wrap. Outrageous! But then write “Objectively Cute” on the garment. So! Now, we’ve got a novelty item; now we’ve got an idea that you can buy and so to some degree join, vote for, collaborate with, even–by adding to your collection of purchase-nods–take credit for. Now we’ve got a conversation starter.

Now we’ve got something for Søren and Regine to exchange pleasantries over as they meet on cool cobblestones beneath the thin northern sun. “Oh, yes! Clever! And there’s perhaps something to it: by the inward appropriation of the delightful fire your child lights in your heart, your subjective understanding grows in its relationship to the objective reality.” “Yeah, I know–but it’s also kind of funny, right? How everyone says of course they know they’re partial to their children and that that colors their views and that the truth is that of course all babies are very cute–but really, let the friends head off and leave a mother and father to confer alone, and quick as a wink it’s: ‘of course, our little one really is the most attractive of the bunch!’” “Oh, yes, quite! And yet the tender glowing love that a parent has for a child, and the open-hearted love beaming out of infants even more so–these spiritual support-beams of the phenomenon of infantile cuteness are solemn and profound hints about the nature of divine love; and so this little onepiece leads the mind round and round the enchanting paradox that for mortal minds and hearts, the objective can be gained only through the subjective: we cannot mentally or emotionally grasp the nature of the one true objective reality–the divinity of God and how that divinity relates to Gods’ creation–, but through the inward process of experiencing, accepting, willing, and celebrating the love that radiates into and out of our souls, we inwardly appropriate a subjective knowledge of the divine and its ties to this world; that is to say: we grow in subjective knowledge of the objective reality.” “Oh, yes, certainly–the T-shirt reminds us that though love is a subjective experience, it is also our only clear path to experiencing the one objective reality–the Love of God in, through, and as the world. We thought it was an interesting and a fun little garment–got it from Wandering Albatross Press, are you familiar with them?” “No, no, I don’t believe–perhaps they don’t publish very many theological books; but so wonderful to see you! Such a blessing to find you so well!” “Yes, you too! It really is!”

What, people, do you really want? To halt capitalism and materialism and have everyone grow their own food and knit their own outfits?

Allow me to suggest: you want what you already have: a reality made entirely out of Pure Love, and a divine light working its way through all the forms, kindly and unstoppably shepherding us all home–deeper into the path of wisdom, of a knowing goodness. And so, by all means: let’s get it together–admit we are all of one cloth and all in this together and that the direction towards better and better understanding and following love is the only path that offers any hope for any of us; by all means! By all means, let’s quit pretending we are different from the people we think we disagree with and work together before it is too late (to keep from destroying this world and this particular adventure–not “too late” in an eternal sense; but if you like me think there are still neat things that could be done as humans, then you have a “too late” to worry about)! Certainly–by all means. But beyond that, what can we say except that this Wandering Albatross Press company is–given its setting–probably an OK thought: we’ll sell the same novelty type products you buy anyway, the ones that tickle your fancy and make a nice gift in a world where cute ideas are appreciated and gift-giving generally involves converting raw materials into finished products that are sold, admired, used for a while, and then discarded; but we’ll try to push further towards the art end of novelty gifts and also to wrap our gifts within more layers of art and thought, letting our longing to make beautiful art bleed more into novelty knick-knack capitalism, and vice-versa. Why not? Probably won’t make things worse, and might, by encouraging reflection in both us dreamy artists / bold capitalist entrepreneurs and you dreamy art-lovers / poor sheep consumers, do some good. So we throw our thoughts on your table.

Would you like to buy this product? Kind of charming. Might make a good gift.

This released on Memorial Day, which prompted a reflection which I’ve decided to move to another post.

Published May 25, 2015
Author, excepting for the concluding poem: Bartleby Willard
Editor/ad-director/copyright keeper: Andy Watson

About this project:

We’re letting Bartleby write his book; we’re even publishing it for him; it is a loosely bound sketchbook: stories of his time here at Wandering Albatross Press interspersed with writings from that time or from now but somehow connected to that time; the supplementary writings will be mostly stories about manufacturing, marketing, distributing, and selling Pure Love (Love at a Reasonable Price) (The Apocrypha you have to pay a little more for because it isn’t really canon; it’s just other writings that happened around the same time and the same themes). This blog will consist of extracts from the book’s chapters as they are released into the lumiferous aether. You can buy BW’s book as he writes it here. You can also consider this blog a long advertisement for Wandering Albatross Press’s some-such-several wonderful products; like . You can also view this blog as it’s own thing–a good unto itself–and as such a sweet, chaste little kiss running through the infomaterous aether (the theory of a lumiferous ether through which electromagetic waves move is no longer widely accepted and its originators all long dead; it is very much in the public domain and so publishing houses, such as the beautiful WAP, can use it any way they please). But insofar as this is a commercial venture, we still need it fundamentally grounded not in profit-motive, but in kind delight. So cross your fingers for us; say a prayer for us; keep a gentle but stern, a wary but hopeful eye on us. Help us to try. Or at least let us try.

Author: Bartleby Willard, fictional character

Copyright holder/editor: Andrew Mackenzie Watson (of the Sand Springs Watsons)

Biographical 1: Salesmen pouting in the hall of the mountain king

Biographical 1: Salesmen pouting in the hall of the mountain king

Chapters of Diary of an Adamant Seducer

[update October 2018: Yeah, we think we’re going to go forward with this evolving ebook. If you think you might like to subscribe to it, please join our mailing list at the bottom of this page.]

[update November 2021: Now we’re going forward with this evolving ebook. We’re not talking about subscriptions at the moment. You can see the link to the chapters above. What is here called “Andy Watson” has now become “Amble Whistletown”. Andy Watson is not a fictional character; he is a legal entity; he holds the copyright and buys the groceries.]

Bartleby Willard and Andy Watson, who do not approve of anything or anyone, are here to sell everyone various products, from cat-themed totes to stories about buying and selling Pure Love (an eternal good: Pure Love is infinitely kind; normal love partakes to some degree of Pure Love, but because tainted with impurities like greed and boredom, normal love’s vision of what to do and how to do it is to some degree off).

They live in the hall of the mountain king. The hall is open-air, lined with gnarled pines. Its flooring is angular stones and thick green grass. At one end of the hall, the mountain king with the wrinkled round head and big pocked nose sits potbellied on his throne, conversing — by appointment only — with the many mountain monsters. He drinks cold mountain water from a chalice carved out of pine and wears a bearskin robe over his hairy knobby shoulders. Bartleby Willard and Andy Watson stand back towards the end of the hall. They cross their arms across their gila-monster-bellies and lean a little back and more on one foot than another. They have rounded fratboy muscles and wear maui flip-flops, baggy athletic shorts, and maroon T-shirts emblazoned with several random Greek letters in puffy white. They wear ball caps with concave-down brims backwards. They keep to themselves and circle their jaws and squint their eyes as they nod and back-throat laugh and cool and know it all.

They used to live in the Wandering Albatross Press Building in Somewhere Sometime Wall Street, but have decided to remove themselves to the hall of the mountain king and forget about their olden days. Still, under contract and having nothing better to do, they draft blogposts and fit together storybook entries.

Would you buy anything from these cynical dropouts from humankind? Would they sell anything to you slop-hop bloat-boast lazy loafers?

Would a dragon get into a violent argument with a giant ground unicorn, necessitating the intervention of the reluctant mountain king? Would the scrawny little tree troll journey up from the valley to request an audience with his royal mountainness? Would this skeletally-waify canined apparition (picture a three-fingered aye-aye stretched out into a three-foot-tall humanoid with fur everywhere except for his strangely bald and appallingly gray face) wax eloquent about the need for a normalization of mountain thaw runoff policies?

You see: Stranger things always and forevermore happen, and the crimson chord of capitalism binds us all, keeping us tightly packed together so long as it doesn’t snap and toss us asunder, down into our angry chasms and the blast.

Chapters of Diary of an Adamant Seducer

From Before:

This is the first Fictionish writing in Bartleby’s Diary of an Adamant Lover. For more on this book and what all else’s going on in this blog, see the words beneath these words.

About our ebooks project:

We’re letting Bartleby write his book; we’re even publishing it for him; it is two loosely bound sketchbooks:

(1) Love at a Reasonable Price: Stories of his magically timeless time here at Wandering Albatross Press interspersed with writings from that time or from now but somehow connected to that time–stories about manufacturing, marketing, distributing, and selling Pure Love;
and
(2) Diary of an Adamant Lover: Stories of his current time here all alone with the quiet squeaking floorboards and the rats thumping in the ceiling: Stories of his cries for help in the ruins of Wandering Albatross Press, the black and dark time after the hope and before the answer.

The books will be sold [when?? Maybe Love at a Reasonable Price will be out by Christmas 2018.] here:
Buy the Books/Chapter
That page also includes a current list of chapters for each book.

If you think you might like to buy Love at a Reasonable Price and/or subscribe to Diary of an Adamant Lover (which we think we’ll release as an eSerialnovel, beginning maybe early 2019) and/or just maybe want to hear from us from time to time:

Subscribe to our mailing list

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Author: Bartleby Willard, fictional character

Copyright holder/editor: Andrew Mackenzie Watson (of the Sand Springs Watsons)

Blog Book Project Introduction

Blog Book Project Introduction

Blog Book Introduction

Hello Worlds!

This is Love at a Reasonable Price, a blog and a book by the fictional Bartleby Willard, an originally unbidden but now beloved writer-in-residence at Wandering Albatross Press, the world’s only truly eternal (existing prior to timespace and within every momentspot) publishing house.

The plan: Each week, Bartleby, who has been writing and forgetting for years, and his editor Andy Watson, who has been sheepishly shrugging his shoulders for years, will select something from the dusty pile; edit and otherwise complete it; write a blog entry that in some way compliments the selection; and then release the former into an evolving ebook and the latter into this blog.

For intro and access to the ebook, float up to the upper right hand corner of this blog–up to the “Buy the Book” link; or just fall yourself through this Book Link. What will Bartleby’s wondrous first book be? Will it be anything at all? Hmmmm. Buying this evolving and so not yet evolved book is a risk of ten US American dollars. But purchasing literary endeavors is always a risk of time and money (insofar as time = money, we can speak of a risk of timemoney).

Please keep in mind that this blog is enmeshed within the international capitalistic economy. Not only is it hawking a book version of itself, it is raising awareness for the entire product line of Wandering Albatross Press, which currently includes TOTES DECORATED WITH WHIMSYING CATS

But to return to the fly-by-night within this book writing procedure: Yes, I, Bartleby Willard, your author, your dashing young novelty, am still the sorcerer’s understudy. Perhaps, indeed most likely or rather almost certainly, any book that arrives through the above outlined process will be but a sketchbook, a book of literary doodles. How could such a wildly respectable publishing house publish the sketchbook of a young, wind-swept, wave-tossed, bramble-beaten, muddy-eyed fictional personage? But Wandering Albatross Press, you see, has a great affinity for great sweeping works of doodling. And no one here in the WAP office in Somewhere Sometime Wall Street; I say, no one here can stand another year of BW writing, AMW shrugging, and the papers piling up and up and up. So let them try something! Anything! Please!

Enough; it is not time for me to write a novel, nor even a collection of short stories, and yet it is time for me to write something, and so here comes this jumble tumble. But with some kind of cohesion: Much will be said about manufacturing, marketing, distributing, and selling Pure Love (an eternal good: the essential core of all particular loves;–giving infinitely, without looking for any justification or recompense); and much about Wandering Albatross Press and its new uninvited, unhired, but befriended and encouraged author.

Yours in the inevitability of kindness and the incidentallity of all else,

Bartleby Willard, self-imposed live-in staff writer for the bemused Wandering Albatross Press
Not so very long ago
The thundering Wandering Albatross Press Building at sometime somewhere Wall Street, NYC

——

The long-play version of this introduction includes another possible explanation for the contradictory plot lines, some charming metaphysical assumptions, and a few other flourishes. The book is

We do sell Cat Totes

——-

About this project:

We’re letting Bartleby write his book; we’re even publishing it for him; it is a loosely bound sketchbook: stories of his time here at Wandering Albatross Press interspersed with writings from that time or from now but somehow connected to that time; the supplementary writings will be mostly stories about manufacturing, marketing, distributing, and selling Pure Love. This blog will consist of extracts from the book’s chapters as they are released into the lumiferous aether. You can buy BW’s book as he writes it here. You can also consider this blog a long advertisement for Wandering Albatross Press’s some-such-several wonderful products; like . You can also view this blog as it’s own thing–a good unto itself–and as such a sweet, chaste little kiss running through the infomaterous aether (the theory of a lumiferous ether through which electromagetic waves move is no longer widely accepted and its originators all long dead; it is very much in the public domain and so publishing houses, such as the beautiful WAP, can use it any way they please). But insofar as this is a commercial venture, we still need it fundamentally grounded not in profit-motive, but in kind delight. So cross your fingers for us; say a prayer for us; keep a gentle but stern, a wary but hopeful eye on us. Help us to try. Or at least let us try.

Author: Bartleby Willard, fictional character

Copyright holder/editor: Andrew Mackenzie Watson (of the Sand Springs Watsons)