I needed a good title for the sequel.  I thought about naming this one Revenge of the Pen Monkey but Chuck already used that title for one of his writing books.  Next was Dead Man’s Prostate, but that’s just a little too gross to publish across the interwebs.  The Quickening doesn’t sound bad, but I’m happy with what I picked. 

• Feculent turd-heads
• Eff that in the ay, emmer-effer
• I will beat you to death with a sock full of your own teeth
• Mornings tend to be when your brain is at its lemon-scented freshest
• Think of this as a narrative laxative
• Covers that look like someone just ingested a rod of uranium and threw up in a clown’s shoe
• Suddenly your voice is scratchy and dry like you’ve been gargling watch parts and cigarette butts for the last ten years
• Loosen your mind sphincter
• Shock-prod your brain-squirrels into powering the endeavor at hand
• Sad trombone
• Harvest all the delicious Idea Chilli *nom nom nom*
• Plot is like Soylent Green: it’s made of people.
• Sweaty genitals, which is the worst ice cream flavor ever
• Massaging the prostate of your soul
• Your artistic faucet won’t offer anything but a quivering, syphilitic drip
• You are not a sad friendless little tugboat
• It’s about throwing caution into a woodchipper
• coffee so black it might as well have been ink poured out of a squid’s behind.
• scream like a Tasered girl scout
• you were just rolling around in a dish of someone’s fingernail clippings and hoagie sweat
• Extract those wretched little nuggets of hard black hate-coal and use them to fuel the writing
• trees only read magazines about trees. Printed on the flesh of humans
• your jaw hangs loose like a broken porch swing
• Secrete enzymes to build your own authorial exoskeleton
• Ngggh
• we’re all gonna end up under the Grim Reaper’s riding mower
• it’ll slip through one of the many mouse-holes in your mind-floor
• chipping off the tiniest sliver of our intellectual granite
• Shake lose the barnacles you’ve gathered while floating inert in the murky harbor of your undoing.
• I’m allowed to make up new words because I have my Pennsylvania Writer’s License
• jet-lagged and dung-brained
• an autumnal orgy of sweet arctic fruit-sex
• SEIZE THE CARP. No matter how hard that fucking fish wriggles.
• Embrace the Viking immortality of having your ideas live forever.
• a rollicking case of the spiritual pee-shivers
• Cement your genital stamina

I’ve decided to keep track of my new favorite author’s metaphors/similes. The man is Chuck Wendig and I’m going to call these Wendigisms. The man is a prodigy when it comes to metaphor and creative use of the English language, the Maestro of Metaphor. I’ll be mining his metaphorical gold nuggets and keeping a list of my favorites. I’ll be mainlining those gold veins like a heroin junkie. That’s right, I’m addicted. I’m sure Chuck, er, the Maestro, could have created a better metaphor there; I am merely the keeper of the archive. He is a writer of many forms, and he pontificates over at Terribleminds. What … are you still here? I’ll wait… This is by no means a complete list, in fact it barely scratches the mildewed linoleum surface, but I intend to keep adding more. These are posted here with his permission. I welcome your suggestions. Here they are in no particular order:

• Built like a sagging brick wall, head like a melting lump of Play-Dough
• art-o-leptic fits of imagination
• squeeze out word-babies
• shoved deep into their colonic grotto*
• slower than a legless caterpillar rolling up a rocky knoll
• A gift basket of hookers
• wriggling free from a uterus made from fractal swirls
• count each pube on your story’s scrotum
• Spit ‘em out like broken teeth
• feel like he’s wearing a tuxedo made of bumblebees
• A hot fresh bucket of words
• we will now refer to lava as “earthjaculate”
• kicked in the junk drawer
• superheroically buoyant
• epic diaper-breach
• fleshy 3-D meatbags
• A burning nugget of possibility tumbling out of the bleak black nowhere
• high on your own stink, huffing your word-fumes
• a swirling hate vortex living in the space between your heart and your gut
• Fatigue nibbles at your marrow like an army of tiny chipmunks
• ejaculate your DNA into every cell of that story
• suicide shoes
• sky the color of a bruised cheek
• pinnacle of paroxysmic pleasure
• You need to master Manuscript Lovemaking 7
• Progress tastes like bacon
• Embrace the rewrite. From behind.
• It’s time to blast my six-shooters at the words and make those pesky f***ers dance
• You pull a mental hammy and s**t your brain-diapers
• work that was as pleasant as a dildo violation
• As if writing is a job on par with “unicorn tamer”
• Other days it feels like you're birthing a lawn chair from your hindquarters
• create quantum entanglement between your butt and your chair so that you write
• right in the catcher's mitt known as your "crotch."
• a thimble full of mouse turds
• align their chakras and birth their story on a beam of light
• bleeding imagination juice on the page
• *poop noise*