“Do you honestly want to know why I won’t buy your book?” another friend, Duckman, asked. “When you told me you were writing it, I asked you which would hypothetically take priority if you could only do one: get your book published, or save my life. You said ‘publish my book.’ If my life is worth that little to you then I’m never going to support you here.”

I used to try not to let Duckman and others bother me (it took my grandmother’s scolding before my aunt bought it; doctors who are in the book refused to buy it; numerous extended family still have not bought it or acknowledged its existence). It is not my place to tell others what to do with their time or how to spend their money, I thought.

And then I removed my cape. If the situation was reversed, I would support my friend or family without hesitation. If I was actually a character in a published book then of course I’d want to own a copy.

And then there’s Duckman. His odd, hypothetical question lead to my mocking response, claiming that I’d rather let him die if it meant getting my book published. Of course it was untrue, just as that scenario would never happen.

Duckman had been as excited as anyone when I told him I was writing a book. He had made me proud of my writing project, and happy to have finally spread the word instead of continuing to keep it a secret. But that was before his hypothetical question. Duckman is a bitter, spiteful individual, and so loyal that I’m sure he’ll stick to his guns and never read my book. What he—and others—doesn’t realize is TWICE is not just my book that I spent one-quarter of my life writing and trying to get published: sacrificing internships, grades, friends, jobs, activities, social gatherings, parties and clubs. TWICE is not just the most important thing I’ll ever produce. TWICE is not just the entity that I love more than anything in the world except for four to five people. TWICE is me; there is very little else I have to offer. So fuck Duckman. Life is too precious arguing the value of my life in writing. If he suddenly chooses to read it then I’ll be grateful. But I’ll never ask him again.

Keep reading:
ruBENstein Media: Part II of III