A Monster Born in Hungarian
The Lemondrilla was never meant to be international.
At the beginning, I imagined it as a Hungarian project, with a Hungarian domain, built entirely around Hungarian wordplay.
A place where a beginner writer — one who dreams of going international — could share his failures, rejections, and the absurd rituals of literary survival.
It was born out of rejection.
Inspiration
The idea was inspired by rejectomancy.com, that wonderful shrine to rejection letters.
But instead of reading the tea leaves of “NO” with sober analysis, I wanted something darker, stranger, more grotesque.
The Name
In Hungarian, lemondás means “resignation” — the act of giving up.
Combine it with a gorilla, and you get a linguistic abomination: the Lemondrilla.
- 🍋 Half lemon, half beast.
- 🦍 A pulp-soaked monster that embodies both defeat and brute persistence.
And here I realized: it was just as absurd in English. A typewriting gorilla, cursed to always receive lemons from life, while secretly longing for something sweeter — a mango, or whatever gorillas actually eat.
Mutation
So I let the beast mutate.
I taught it English curse words.
I gave it an international passport.
And the Lemondrilla crawled out of its Hungarian cage and set up camp at lemondrilla.com.
Today
Now it’s no longer just a local joke.
It’s a grotesque totem for every writer who has ever been rejected, in any language.
- Half lemon, half gorilla.
- Half resignation, half rage.
- A pulp-soaked monster that refuses to stay quiet, pounding on the typewriter even when the world keeps saying “NO.”
Motto
“When life gives you rejection… unleash the Lemondrilla.” 🍋🦍
The Writer Behind the Beast
My name is Ádám Porkoláb, a writer and poet in the making.
Under my pen name, Andrew Pierce Ashfield, I send my work into the world, aiming to build an international writing career.
I hold a PhD in linguistics (summa cum laude), which means I’ve spent years dissecting language at its most intricate. Today, I work as a programmer, bending logic into code — and in parallel, I bend words into stories and poems.
And yes — expect a healthy dose of shameless self-promotion here. A grotesque mix of pulp, angst, and the occasional victory lap. Because if the Lemondrilla is going to roar, it might as well roar about me.
The Lemondrilla isn’t about failure — it’s about persistence. It’s my absurd reminder that every “NO” is pulp for the beast, every rejection a chance to advertise myself just a little more loudly.