I have to be careful in specifying which elements of this book are autobiographical. The plot involves people I know who died, and I might have to wait for the statute of limitations to expire before clarifying certain plot points and story elements.
That said, this is the best thing I've written or ever will write. It's the only one of my books to follow adolescents, or to deal with the passage of time (something like a decade goes by in the course of the book).
I laid out the bare bones structure of the work more than a decade ago, left the outline in a box for four years which I spent in the army, and then I returned to life, from the war, and I resumed work on the book. "Up in the Treehouse" languished for two years with a fly-by-night publisher who was stealing royalties from writers, so they never bothered to publish the book even after acquiring it. Eventually a whistle-blower from the imprint told me what was happening and offered to publish the book herself. I agreed, the work saw print, and someone who had written a romance novel with the same title accused me of trying to ride her coattails (despite the fact that I had conceived this novel probably half a decade before she started work on hers). The book was met with indifference in most quarters, but a few people gave it a chance and saw what I was hoping they would see. I feel vindicated by the book's very existence, and have faith that eventually it will be rediscovered, maybe after my death.