Like Sylvia Plath's diary before me, I come out of left field with my 20th century journals, in an attempt to publish each type of writing that is experimental text, quote books, short stories, and all the rest of Literature's grand design. I moved from L.A. to Colorado at the age of three, in the early '70s, and have become a semi-native of the latter ever since. So, my now-deceased mother bought me my first journal in 1984 (that 'Orwell' thing) and inside it I cover some intense love affairs, the Littleton scene, sex assaults I suffered. Don't miss the1990 France entries. And somebody has to acquire the movie rights to S.P.'s The Bell Jar A.S.A.P. Welcome. Fine. How pretentious am I? Fine.