I am not going to try to write another book. I'm done. The Origin of Power Penguin, what should have been one of my life's greatest achievements, has turned out to be one of my greatest failures. I've sold all of diddly-squat and only four people have ever read it. No one knows it exists. I've wasted hundreds of dollars trying to promote it on Amazon. I can't even give it away for free as a Kindle download. My own friends and family who know about it never mention it. Why should I waste my time trying to make the sequel to a book that no one has read? Why waste my life on such a fool's errand? It's been three years since Power Penguin was self-published. I have tried and failed, repeatedly, to write the sequel as well as an unrelated sci-fi war novel. In three years' time, I've produced nothing. Not a damn thing. I am not a writer. I was never meant to be one.

Therefore, effective immediately, "The Battle for Quotherox" (Power Penguin 2) and "Prophets of the Star Beast," are cancelled. I will not attempt to write them anymore. I'm finished. Done. Barring a literal miracle from God Himself, neither book will ever see the light of day. Too bad, so sad. No one cares anyway. The Origin of Power Penguin will fade away into obscurity. Not even hipsters will ever hear of it. It's over. I've lost. I'm admitting defeat. I will never attempt to write another book.

The End.