a long time ago now, i wrote an unfinished 200-page novel that no one will ever read because it is so bad i want to throw myself off a cliff. i put an ampersand in the title, which is dumb as hell. there are maybe one or two good chapters and the rest are trash. and i dedicated it to my good friend leila (i’m sorry leila).
anyway: i had planned to add another 150 pages, but that’s never going to happen because it is utterly unsalvageable. i began writing it over a decade ago, for god’s sake! lord help me, it must be left to fester in some hidden folder somewhere on my computer, lest it escape.
and since i have abandoned it, i have written three novellas and am almost done with another novel which is maybe spiritually linked to this one in ways only i would understand. and so INJURY & AFTERMATH has become PHANTOM LIMB IN LIMBO, which is about an unlicensed private detective named boris mojo who lives alone in a capsule tower in a city where it is permanently snowing because of some insane weather patterns. and he is going insane from an untreated syphilis infection, and his left eye is failing him and producing world-ending hallucinations, and occasionally his estranged wife petra mojo leaves cryptic letters in his PO box. the white house is on the moon, and the president’s vice president is his twin brother. somewhere along the way, boris meets a band of octogenarians who have been court-ordered to tour the world forever, and who have been doing so ceaselessly for over 50 years on account of their inciting a riot at a music festival which cost many human lives and included property damages in the billions.
maybe i’ll go ahead and publish that one. maybe someone will publish it for me! all i can tell you is that INJURY & AFTERMATH exists now only in the basement of my mind. i will never read it again.
(i wonder whatever happened to janet george? i liked her. she was cool. oh well~)