The Making of Blackwidow’s Exposition

There is something about this book. Everything was premeditated leading me to it. In 30 days, I worked straight sacrificing years of career in sales. Concepts and theories came like second life transpired from an unknown source. I was merely just asking questions the whole time. Days were full of despair. That space inside me is slowly emptied with loneliness. I kept asking myself if I was meant to do this.. if I’m even worthy of it.

Just when I’m about to give up, I got an an unexpected visit from my grandmother. She was there crying in disappointment. I woke up from a dream desperately finishing last few pages. There’s the warming of soul beyond all other things I have accomplished. Next few days drew harder.. the cover..the publishing..I was taught to follow my instincts. The closer I get to the will, a nebulous force keeps pulling me back. My hands are burning, peeling adamantly to paralyze. My legs are pounding in pulse I could barely walk to buy food. Conscious mind hits depression from time to time. Then I stopped to rationalize these coincidental circumstances, “what the fuck is happening?!”

Is this some sort of physiological responses to depression? Is it delusional manifestation of disconnection? Are some elements driving against my faith? I have no answers but whatever it is, no one is stopping this book. No fuckin’ unknown force nor self-destructive orientations. In a day or two, the world will know about this exposition. My faith gives you, “Theory of Love–Confessions of the Blackwidow.”

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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