When I first sat at my new computer to write the great American novel, after years of life's daily intrusions—family, children, work, struggling businesses, a wife or three—my mind was as blank as the screen. No plot came to mind. No genre. No story. My lifelong ambition lay fallow.
The only stories I had ever written or recited aloud were true stories. Stories of a troubled childhood, of "adventures," misadventures, of successes and failures. Coming-of-age and sexual awakening stories. Told in letters to former neighbors, or to buddies, separated from by military service, recited to my children at bedtime, to the women in the office, to anyone who would listen, and to new friends who had become parts of the story.
I had contributed to my high school newspaper, covered midget league football, and been a stringer for a weekly newspaper. I'd produced two monthly newsletters.
As many writers do, I kept a journal. It occurred to me that I'd not need a plot. That, within my journals, stories lay begging to be told. Especially so, were candid stories written during a two-year period in the early 2000s. Here were stories that would do much more than entertain. They would counter misconceptions. I could dispel people's harsh opinions, raise compassion and understanding for a dishonored niche of society I had come to know and to care for. And, on occassion, grown fond of. I had become acquainted with and developed friendships among several drug-addicted, homeless female prostitutes, and with some of the men who accompanied them in their anomie world: hangers-on or enablers. Men known as sugar daddies, clients, or johns. Men who might themselves have once or still been addicts, perhaps homeless, perhaps with handy rooms or transportation. Men with guns.
And so it was that the stories I chose to tell appear in three volumes, any one of which might have brought you to this site. The first, Toot Toot: On becoming a john, begins the raw, revealing story that continues in the second, Beep Beep: On being a john. The third, built from anecdotal childhood memories, is the poignant I Like to Walk: A Child's Journey to Understanding.
Those volumes, and other musings included here—See Honk Honk: Recovery—might prompt you to want to contribute your own relevant stories. Those contributions are welcome. You are able to do so using the Contact page that follows. You might also have questions.
I will answer your questions honestly or not at all. I will offer no advice, but will happily receive yours.
For a more private communication, reach me at charliemol@verizon.net
Happy reading!