Hello, Dear Readers of NattyOrNot.com
I present you my newest book – “TREN: The Tale of Riki Violino”.
It’s a novel that focuses on the world of muscle. The main characters are Riki Violino, a veteran bodybuilder disgusted with the industry and Jimi, a young muscle constructor who wants to ascend as high as possible.
The two men develop a friendship and enter many difficult situations together. But then…
The story takes place in modern settings and includes many segments of the “hypertrophy business”.
As always, I have injected the book with numerous philosophical aspects.
Who Is This Book For?
If you have read the stories on the website, there is a strong chance that you will enjoy this book too as the atmosphere is similar and yet “wider” and more authentic.
This isn’t one of those books that claim to make you richer or bigger. But that’s obvious since it’s a novel. If you are a muscle head, there’s a very good chance that you will find it intriguing and fun.
“TREN: The Tale of Riki Violino” is my second novel.
When I completed 20% of the book, most written on my old ThinkPad X220 in various settings (cafes, random universities, parks…etc.), I made a switch to pencil and paper.
I would write 4 pages A4 format with a pencil and then type them on my computer.
Why? In 2017, I handwrote many of the intros to my posts and found out that this strategy produces words of better quality that require less editing.
I stuck with the method until the book was complete.
The process had the following benefits:
1. Eternal battery
My laptop’s battery can produce around 70 minutes of output. While that’s not too bad, it does not allow me to write for hours without an outlet whereas handwriting does. However, “analog” tools come with other requirements and limitations (e.g., lighting).
2. Easier editing
A keyboard allows you to write fast, but the editing process is very long… at least for me since I can type a lot faster than I can think.
When I wrote “A Desert in the Sky”, I did it all on a computer. But then I needed at least one hour to edit a page.
Handwriting sort of fixes this problem by slowing you down. I found out that a handwritten page requires a lot less polishing than one produced digitally.
Moreover, the process of typing what you’ve handwritten automatically adds another layer of editing.
Of course, there are downsides to handwriting too. The major one is that it’s slower and calms down your anger. If I was to write a rant, I would definitely do it on a keyboard if possible. There’s something very satisfying about punching keys when you are mad. You can’t achieve the same “fury flow” with a pen or a pencil.
Another negative side is that handwriting is harder on the joints since the stress is not distributed evenly. My right elbow began hurting from squeezing the pencil and pressing it against the pages of my notebook for hours. But since I am one of those people who believe that repetitive stress injuries from activities like writing are mostly in your head, I didn’t care much. I still don’t.
Would I do it again? Definitely, but not very soon. This book took a lot out of me. It tired me more than the previous novel even though “A Desert in the Sky” was a more personal project.
One can argue that “TREN: The Tell of Riki Violino” left me exhausted not because it was more difficult to write, but because it’s the successor to a heavier book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Virginal Receptors
Chapter 2: Predators
Chapter 3: Mike
Chapter 4: Supraspinatus
Chapter 5: Colorful
Chapter 6: Heat
Chapter 7: Royal Marketing
Chapter 8: Production
Chapter 9: Publicity
Chapter 10: Smiling Blood
Chapter 11: Not yet?
Chapter 12: Get Shredded Glutes or Die Trying
Chapter 13: Tricks
Chapter 14: Family
Excerpt from Chapter 1: Virginal Receptors
Riki Violino closed the door, silently put the parcel on the table and stabbed it with serious eyes carrying the intensity of a pianist in the midst of a challenging composition. The cardboard structure in front of him was far more seductive than the contours of any woman he’d ever crossed paths with. Females were fake. King Tren was real. The majestic juice in the syringe had never lied to him.
Riki launched symphony No. 5 in C minor, opened his pocket knife with a flick of the wrist, stood motionless for a second to prepare his psyche and delicately slid the sharp blade along the edges of the package, allowing the thoughts catalyzed by the chord progression to summon a spirit of mysticism within him.
30 seconds later, the box was opened. It contained four bottles of pristine, unaltered Trenbolone Acetate – the drops of yellow magic that made Riki who he was; the drops of gold separating the boss from the beggars; the majestic syrup printing his money.
The syringe was loaded. Riki pressed the needle against his skin covered in scars. His body electrified and murdered all distractions. He was about to perform the ritual one more time. An eternity had burned since his initiation, but the routine hadn’t fully lost its original effect on his emotional constellation. He felt a small pinch – the one protecting his ground in a hypocritical world made of bad actors.
After importing the magic that was about to bind to his worn-out androgen receptors resembling the bottom of a car tortured by the elements for decades, Riki leaned into his chair. A divine feeling of peace encapsulated him; he smiled at the ceiling – more glory days were coming.
After 15 minutes, he went to the bathroom, performed the classic most muscular pose and began dying his hair black with another set of chemicals part of his societal make-up.
“The essential is invisible to the eyes,” said Riki while examining his face and body in the mirror and laughed.
“The little prince is such a liar,” he thought.
Riki knew that appearance is everything. Nothing could reverse the restructuring that had taken place within his cranial cavity after marrying Tren. The consistent waves of worship changed him forever. To this very day, men were closing the mouths of their girlfriends when he was posing at the gym during a cut.
But the realization that a man’s looks determine his reality was a concept too painful even for him to meditate on. He didn’t want to dig any deeper. Riki knew that the world was vain but was already too old and numb to search for a way out.
His phone buzzed. It was Leona.
“How about tonight,” she’d written.
“Cool. 8 pm in front of Necropolis,” texted Riki and began organizing his gym bag.
It was Friday – an arm day.
Riki had tested more bodybuilding splits than there were plates in the gym. His conclusion was that a mind obsessed with routine architecture could belong only to an ignorant person. Riki’s experience had forged a single, unbreakable rule – enlightened men train arms on Friday. His reasoning had the properties of a concept that could be classified either as a shallow impulse or a realization of colossal intelligence.
Riki had selected Friday as a permanent biceps and triceps fest to strategically pump up his guns before the most likely evening to go on a date. Many of his lifting colleagues were mocking his idea, but the Excel spreadsheet was clear – the number of women coming home with him had quadrupled since the implementation of the tactic.
I would like to thank all the people who have supported my work over the years. I wouldn’t have gone as far without you. I know that 100%.
The negative and positive comments have been a major motivation to keep writing and generating content. I am thankful for the opportunity to produce a product that has its supporters.
Last edit: February, 2020
Format: PDF, Mobi (Kindle), ePub (all in one package)
Delivery: Instant download.