Five years ago I wrote a book;
trust me, you likely never took a look.
The book was okay, and really quite safe;
nothing to make conservatives chafe.
I told my agent then, there’s this book I wanna write
He said, “no, don’t write that,” I said “HEY! MAYBE I MIGHT!”
But in the end I gave up and did what he wanted,
and wrote a daddy book that my amazingness taunted.
Oh, it was good, and so sweet, and to some a delight
But it wasn’t the memoir that I needed to write…
Because deep in my soul, there was somethin’ there tinglin’
Itchin’ to surface, and with paper start minglin’.
So the next time around, a brand new agent I got
He said, “send me some pages, whatever you want!
A few chapters will do, there’s no need for more.
Just try not to be safe, and please don’t be a bore.”
I liked this guy! He was my hot cup of tea!
With his blessing in place, I’d finally be free
to write the memoir I wanted to write just for me
and share it with at least twelve people or three.
I sketched out an outline and chose a few chapters to start
And like a painter with canvas my words soon became art
HEY! All art is art, and only each viewer will know
If they find it stupid, or weird, or if it speaks to their soul.
One chapter, then two, then three, and then four.
I could send it right then, but I had to write more!
Yes, this memoir was just bursting to come out of me,
and I wrote the last chapter by the end of week three.
I took a deep breath, completely quite drained
So much of my life was just splurged and explained
What had I just written? I wasn’t quite sure.
It wasn’t safe, or all happy, or made of unicorn fur.
I had confessed things I never had planned to confess,
and so many would see that I’m a bit of a mess.
Oh, it was funny as hell, so many laughs were within,
but they were mixed with the realness of human chagrin.
And without reading it over, since that would be scary
I sent it off to my agent, expecting him to be wary
“It’s a very rough draft,” I said, “don’t send it off yet.
I need time to edit, to fix, and let’s be honest, to fret.”
The very next day, a message my inbox did bring
which said, “hey chump! You ain’t changing a blasted ‘dern thing.
I’m sending it out to publishers first thing in the morning!
You gave me something not safe, and definitely not boring!”
“But, but, but…” I needed to change so damn much of it!
A night of good sleep made me fear it, not love it.
But I trusted this man, he was one of the best;
I guessed the universe would somehow take care of of the rest.
Within days, my phone was ringing and blaring
The editors loved it, and found it human and daring
There was so much dang interest, which was awesome, and not;
This book had my soul, my demons, and fights I had fought.
I held nothing back, no not even one thing;
I used language that would make my mother’s ears sting.
I told so many stories, and the lessons life taught;
I laughed and I cried, the more free that I got.
Some chapters would likely have people in stitches;
Others recounted the making of a mess in my britches;
And others explored things like pressure and religion;
And some looked at lying and even [gulp] masturbation.
I dove deep into that trickiest thing we call love;
I told stories of stupidity where push came to shove;
Adventures in sex, and in big secrets gone wrong;
And far too many stories in which I look like a dong.
Oh it all wasn’t crass, and much was really quite sweet
And when my new book was laid at publishers’ feet
The excitement was huge, and an auction day set
Okay, maybe money would make me fear less and forget…
Two and a half years ago, was when all that took place,
and all interest and excitement soon fell on its face.
The editors, they loved it, but the marketers said, “tisk, tisk.
a book like this, when the industry’s failing? It’s too much of a risk!”
One at a time, the answers all came back as “no.”
There wasn’t a major publisher who would take on this show.
“Just write something fluffy, all light-hearted, and funny!
We’ll publish that quickly; you’ll make so much money!”
And thinking back to the first time when I gave into the notion
that I should coat all my truths in rainbows and lotion,
I asked my dear agent, to sign the rights back to me
so I could publish it myself, and in so doing become free.
But he refused, so sure that it eventually would sell,
and for more than two years, it didn’t sell – quite well!
And finally the contract expired; the book was now mine
To finally publish it myself; yes it was time.
That was six months ago, and my friends, I confess…
I’ve been scared as all hell, to be thought of as less;
Or to have all my truths laid out so blatantly;
Or to offend those I love, because I wrote way too flagrantly.
And so I always found something that pushed the date back
When I would share this dang book, that might make my life splat.
After all, if I have a platform the size of Paul Bunyan’s axe,
and that’s not enough to make publishers relax?
Then maybe it’s something I should not share at all
Yes, maybe there’s a reason I’ve found great ways to stall
But then I remembered, just why I do write
And why I share things, that never first sit quite right.
Yes, every big piece I ever wrote and then shared,
first took a big gulp when I was actually quite scared.
“16 Ways I Blew My Marriage,” that one was fun.
“I’m Christian, Unless You’re Gay,” I thought you’d be gone.
“You just broke your child, congratulations,”
Yes, you’d likely despise me, not give adulations.
Weird boobs, little wieners, and friends not worth knowing,
“The disease called ‘perfection,’” would stop my blog from now growing.
And through our years together, I have laughed very often.
Laughing is what makes even the hardest things soften.
But it was only when I wrote the most difficult of things,
that it touched you in ways fluffiness never quite brings.
And it’s true, with every big piece that I finally dared
There were many who bailed and many who shared.
With each piece I was hated, and loved just the same,
for the words that I wrote, which my soul couldn’t tame.
And so, today I take that big gulp, and I give you my book.
It’s NOT safe, it IS funny; I hope you’ll just take a look.
I think it’s quite good, but I know that I’m biased,
so I sent a hundred free copies to the eager and finest.
“In exchange for this book, give an honest and real review.
And, friends, Just like any art, that will be up to you!”
Yes, I wanted all of YOU, on the day I announce it,
to decide if you’ll buy it based on real human feedback.
So visit the links, they’ll get you straight to the grit,
and show you the thoughts of those who loathed it or loved it.
And if you like what you see, please please PLEASE buy a copy!
You will laugh; you might cry (which can often get sloppy).
It is true, buying this book will definitely support me,
and let me continue to be a providing, good daddy.
And it might cost a bit more than mass-published books,
(Hey, I published it myself, and that’s not cheap to do!)
But far more than money, I want you please to just read it
Laugh, and scream, and scrunch your nose, and just feel it.
It’s a book about humaning, which is often so hard to do;
So let’s do it together. After all, we humans aren’t few.