Thank you, Carson, for you kind words at a time that seems most troubling to me. The shit I'm going through now compares nothing with the OD's, the gutter sleeps, the hangovers, but still it's not looking good. They can't take away my PT Cruiser, can they?
I agree with you that despite what I had portrayed as truth in my book, A Million Little Peices, I should still be considered one of the best writers of our time. I mean my knack for dialogue is superior to that of most of today's "writers". Sure, I didn't use quotation marks when talking to people in my head. The real people weren't interesting enough. And I had to write something. I'm just surprised that this came up so late. I can't believe how far I got.
I was born with a gift. An imagination. Sure some of the drugs I've taken over the years--I ate crack rock, mostly--has given me a "challenge" in remembering fact from fiction. But you have to admit that I set up a pretty good scene of me on my knees snorting coke of a dude's dick. Wheather that happened or not is besides the point (Who would make that shit up other than me?). I'm a crazy son-of-a-bith. No doubt. But Oprah loves me. Or she did. When The Smoking Gun article came out yesterday, I shit myself, no really. Literally, I should say. And after I cleaned up that mess I called up Harpo, or the number they had given me, just to make sure she still loves me, and, though she wasn't around, or didn't call me back. I can bet, and you can quote me on this one if you want, that she's not upset with me. I made her cry, kept her up at night, how could she hate me? How could my Oprah regret that she let me on her show (twice!). If you think that her bookclub's next book will be my other, My Friend Lenord, I hope your right. When she announces the title to her club's list this Monday, I'll be close to me set and encourage you to do so also. My Friend Lenord is classified as fiction, as I'm sure you know (working at that good-paying bookstore of yours), and her selecting this just makes sense. I mean MLP, as the kids are calling it these days, was is non-fiction (shelved in Recovery). Oprah's next books should be fiction, which is what MFL (the kids, again)is based on. They're making a movie about one of my two books. And who better to play a most fucked up fictional charcter than me. I'd make a great James Frey.
I'm wrting to ask for your support, your well-read blog's help. Help make me the James Frey character that I have created. Tell your friends that I was once a druggie, that I did preform homosexual acts for money and drugs, that I came out of it all alive, well, and fucking rich as shit. But, and I'll say this to you, as an internet exclusive: I am not a liar. I'm a writer. The best there every was. Is, I mean.
Your hero and mine,
Jimbo
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