Everything changed. I am now a man of leisure, thanks to the incompetence of the caretakers of the venerable industry that once produced and inspired men like William Randolph Hearst and women like Katherine Graham.
Newspapers aren't dying. They're dead. Everything that's happening now is decomposition.
And thank God for that, right? If not for the self-destruction of the newspaper industry, what an author (to paraphrase Nero, of all people), the world would have lost in me.
That's right. It's time. If Ace Atkins and Tim Dorsey can do it, so can I.
So, if you ever knew me or are related to me or ran across me even for a moment over the past 39 years, watch out. You're fair game. Who knows? I might make you immortal in prose. Doug Fernandes? I'm pointing right at you.
That goes especially for you, Sebring. See? I knew those two years of purgatory would some day pay off. What a gold mine that town will be as I explore the boundaries (self-imposed?) of what I have always (rather arrogantly) believed to be a prodigious artistic talent.
Here we go. Let the rejections begin!
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