Part I · The Art of War
As I’m wont to do on occasions where I need good council, I was taste-testing a new batch of old bourbon. With me was my best friend and a confirmed scotch snob who was drinking some concocted swill called Rusty Nails. When Mike Stokey began poking at ice cubes with a pinky finger, it seemed the time was right to discuss what was on my mind, which was writing a book about my life.
“Might be some juicy stuff right there.” Mike sucked scotch and grinned. “But I’d advise caution. Might be best if you tried something like a roman à clef.”
“Might work…” I fiddled with a coaster stolen from some Hollywood red carpet event. “If I knew what the hell a roman à clef was.”
Mike sighed. It was his way of indicating I should know such things but didn’t, as usual. “A roman à clef is generally a novel in which actual persons or places are depicted in a fictional guise.”
“Yes. A truthful book lightly layered with bullshit. The same kind of bullshit you usually write.”
“And you should. Write about your life and times. You have lived a very weird life. People might be interested.”
Well, let’s just see about that.