I moved. This house has fewer bear traps and a bigger smile.
I did NaNoWriMo for like 4 days and gave up. November was a terrible month to attempt this. Boring and Pointless: This Could Go On Forever (my NaNo novel) is going to continue, probably in some kind of onlne serial format. I will probably begin posting them in January. It'll be just like a weekly TV show only more boring and not as loud (I recommend listening to music really loud while reading it, to give it more of that TV feel). If it has more than two readers, it'll probably be an annual kind of thing.
I wrote the story behind the story of My Fake War and posted it on Amazon as a review. Only like 2 out of a hundred people found the review helpful. It looks like Amazon has removed the review. Because I think it highly informs the novel (If you haven't read it yet, you really should. Reading it will make you glow and give you the ability to shoot lightning bolts from your fingertips.) I'm reposting the review here. Also, while you're on Amazon, you should check out my zombie bromance, Morning is Dead. As of this second, it's real cheap (under 8 dollars).
THE MAKING OF MY FAKE WAR
I began writing My Fake War in 1978 at the suggestion of Kurt Vonnegut (RIP). We were in the library of Truman Capote’s New York apartment comparing tweed blazers. His had buttons. Mine had duct tape. Vonnegut kept making me smoke unfiltered Pall Malls and I tried to tell him that I had TB so he would stop. He didn’t. I told him he looked like he should be in porn and he told me I looked like a paper bag. I don’t remember much of what else happened that night but I awoke the next morning with the desire to write my magnum opus. Actually, it would be my first book. Or my fifth or something. Things were hazy then. I imagined it to be 1,503 pages long. I decided to take three years off for research and preparation. I divided those three years between Los Angeles, Tijuana, and Tibet. I decided to get busy writing and then realized my lease had expired and I no longer had a home. I called my agent and harangued her until she gave me the number of J.D. Salinger’s agent. I called J.D. Salinger’s agent and harangued him until he put me in touch with J.D. Salinger. I told the agent I was a very powerful man. I told him I was the King of Datsuns. J.D. (or “Jerry”, as I called him) allowed me to stay in the basement of his New Hampshire home provided I didn’t “talk too much.” I spent a week in Jerry’s basement, writing, drinking Miller High Life, and punching myself in the mouth every time I spoke out loud. At the end of the week I had finished five pages. By this time I was feeling burned out and fatigued. It was 1981. I decided to take the next twenty-eight years off. I explored the Great Ohio Desert. I was nearly consumed by an airborne toxic event. I was told this was not an exit. I moved to a modest house in posh Dayton, Ohio, and picked up where I had left off. I decided I was too lazy to write and decided to amass a sweatshop of unemployed elderly from around the neighborhood. They were non-threatening but cranky. I put them in my basement, gave them old typewriters and told them to get to work. Most of them had arthritis. A couple of them had no hands. I was a bad recruiter. Their work ethic was poor, their ingenuity non-existent. I told them I would do it myself. They made coffee for me while I worked for the next six months. The coffee they made was sub-par. I suspect it was instant. By the time I was finished I had my 1,503 pages. I submitted it to my editor and she suggested I “whittle it down.” She also pointed out the fact that there was no evident research and suggested I had come unhinged from reality. I laughed but was quickly consumed by a black wave of depression. I told my sweatshop to get to whittling. They were finished sometime later and I was able to submit it to my editor under the original title: A Treatise on Porn Enthusiasm. She made me change the title and a month later it was on the New York Times Bestseller List. Success, Mr. Prunty! Raging success!