A word about the "novel"

Nobody gets to read it. That means you.

Here's the thing. Without going into too much detail, let me just say that the fifty thousand words I wrote are less of a novel and more of a confession. The resulting book is not fictional enough to share with anyone who was not involved, and far too autobiographical to share with anyone who was.

I wrote the book for me, not to ever publish or share, but to purge some stuff in me that I had to get out of my system once and for all. The result is not pretty. Oh, it's poetic in parts in its crude way and all too painfully true. But I'm not going to get all woe is me and emo crap on you. An urge to write roman à clef is the bane of first-time novelists, and I will not succumb to it.

I was suffering from a creative constipation. Now that it's been cleared, I am ready to do some real work. When and if the results of that are released, you won't be able to get me to shut up about it. I guarantee.

Tags:

• writing