I am a firm believer that you cannot write about what you do not know. What’s the best way to know something? Experience it. Good, or bad, experience is the mother of all teachers. A good book, a good poem, and a good song cannot be written without someone going through some shit. The most fucked up pasts provide the best stories. Years before I wrote my three books, people told me I should write a book with the amount of fucked up shit I’ve been through.
Let me just state this (and yes, I created an entirely new paragraph to emphasize this): I, by no means, have the most fucked up stories a person can have. I haven’t been raped, stabbed (where it successfully broke the skin), shot, or some other traumatic experiences. That being said, how all of this shit has happened in my life, I don’t know. How was having my job sent to India, getting divorced, and being sued for $250,000 in the same year even possible? It happened to me.
I’m no Stephen King! I mean, I haven’t been so coked out that I don’t remember writing whole books, nor do I endlessly drone on about useless details in a book. I write about fucked up shit because I’ve gone through some fucked up shit. It’s all a spectrum. Some of my shit is tiny compared to others while it might be catastrophic to some.
Long story, longer… I think I finally figured out the storyline for my fourth book. I’m keeping what has been written, but I’m taking it in a different direction than originally pictured. I am going to keep working on it. Eventually, I’ll get it finished.