Published, Sort Of

Well, what do you know, I published a book, but not really a book like novels and biographies are books, just a collection of essays from the last few years, so I can't really call it a book, although I'll allow others to call it a book if they choose, but if they don't it's okay with me because, as I said, I don't consider it a real book because it isn't and I hesitate to be compared with real authors who write real books.

Anyway, it's called Discovering My Artichoke and can be ordered through Amazon and Barnes & Noble, but those sites include it in the Books section because it doesn't really fit anywhere else. As you'll see it looks like a book but if you acquire it you'll find it doesn't read like a book with a narrative or plot or consistently compelling theme. This doesn't mean the non-book is non-entertaining; it contains some interesting characters (like me) who've experienced life's highs and lows, plus a fair amount of nonsensical whimsy. Because it's not a genuine book you needn't worry about starting it, then stopping it for a while and losing your place. There really is no place to lose because all it is is a bunch of loosely connected pieces about things which may or may not hold your interest. If your interest isn't held I shall not be offended because I have other things to worry about, like figuring out what do do with the rest of my life.

By the way, if you want to know what the title means you'll have to read the book, although it's not technically a book because . . . oh just get the damn thing.