I have written stories that I won't tell the Internet, and brother, they will make your eyes pop. Those words will change the world, but they would also change my life. I haven't decided whether it'd be for better or worse.
So when I die, go to my mattress. Cut open the box springs and you'll find a tiny gold hammer. Take the hammer to my neighbor Miss Olive's house, and ask for the Jelly Jar of Secrets. If she's moved, this part will be slower.
Take the jar and break it with the hammer. Inside will be a key. Thank her and, as you leave, use that key to lock the door behind you. Side note: You are now, her emergency contact in case she locks herself out. And if I know Olive, she will.
More than once.
Go back to my bed. This time, cut open the top mattress. Feel around until you find a notebook. Now it's yours. It's time. The world is ready for my words.
Almost.
Find a publisher. We aren't self-publishing this; it's way too important. There will be some legwork and a fair amount of promoting involved. My published friend Deedee said it's pretty time-consuming, but she didn't have you. Feel free to call her for tips. Also, return her leggings I borrowed in 2014.
You'll need some blurbs from famous authors for the book cover, so I hope you've been networking the last couple of decades. There will be some other tasks and costs, but don't worry, it'll totally be worth it.
Don't get lazy and just slap it on my blog like a lazyass. However, if you could shut that blog down, the password to everything I own is Channing Tatum's waist size and inseam.
I hope he hasn't let himself go.