Me: A Novel

PREFACE

When I gave Me: a novel to a friend in manuscript, she wanted to know if it was fact or fiction. I said, well, isn’t one man’s fact another man’s fiction? Facts can mask reality as easily as reveal it.

She said, okay, what about the facts in your book? Do they mask reality or reveal it?

Both, I said. That’s the point.

Did this story really happen? she asked.

I said, yes, it really happened, but I cannot say how much of it happened inside my head and how much outside.

She said, well, is Me: a novel a novel or is it a diary?

I said if it were a diary, I’d call it Me: a diary.

She said, okay, so why don’t you call it Me, plain and simple? I said because it isn’t me, plain and simple. It’s me, novelized. She said, is “novelized” similar to gilded? Retouched?

I said read it and see.

She said, well, let me try again. Is Me: a novel a true story?

I said, hey, I am a journalist. I don’t know the truth. I mark down dots. You connect them for yourself.

My friend said, okay. Keep your shirt on.

Sorry, said I.

SECOND PREFACE

The story that follows is my life as I remember it. Others may remember it differently. Who remembers it right? If you ask me, I do – but I may be the wrong person to ask.

The story is also other people’s lives as I remember them: friends, enemies, bit players, extras. They are almost certain to remember their lives differently. It would be uncanny if they did not. Who will be closer to the truth? I am content to leave that to the reader.

I call everyone in my story by his real name, though not necessarily her real name. I am a gentleman. At least I think I am. What others think is their business.

I’m telling tales out of school. That’s what writers do. People make friends with my kind at their peril....