Today I completed my 12th book, The Circle, a non-fiction account of the good/bad old days of the mid-1990’s. It’s still in rough form; I’m probably going to sweat it a bit this coming month; but it’s done. The process has been cathartic, to say the least. I cannot believe the amount of forgotten memories that bubbled to the surface merely in the process of typing on the keyboard. Events and conversations I haven’t considered in well over a decade… I laughed, I shook my head, I sighed and experienced empathy, anger, regret. This was by far the easiest of my various books to write, as well — 2 1/2 months, 66,000 words — because it was mostly straight regurgitation sprinkled hither and yon with punch-drunk rants and slipshod punk-prose, to elucidate the mindset and/or just to give a string of words a clever ring.
I think it may be my best book, as well … ironic, considering I can never publish it (unless under anon.) or really even distribute it among my close friends.
blurbandblather 