From September 1998 through April 2000, I wrote this rambling chronicle of excess and waste, originally called "Dope Classic" but later christened "Memoirs of a Suicide Bomber." I started, but didn't finish the sequel/prequel--"Confessions of a Domestic Terrorist" in 2005. The final chapter, "Redemption Song" was begun in 2010.

All three novels, incomplete and raw, were lost when my laptop crashed a few years ago. Oddly, I didn't particularly mourn their loss. I wouldn't have wanted my parents to read any of them. They're gone now.

"Dixieland" came in a flash--68,000 words from March to July 2017. It was the first thing I wrote that had a definite start, middle, and end. I had little to do with it. The story came from somewhere else. I was a vessel.

I wrote a short story, "Kudzu," immediately after. It's 4000 words. I'm working on another novel now, "Water Tower." I'm 35,000 words in since August.

The words are flowing freely now. They didn't always. It has brought a peace that has mostly been elusive. An idle mind is the Devil's workshop, they say. In my case, it's a breeding ground for anxiety and stress. I welcome the words...