I say to Charlie, If you don't believe your music is good how can you ever expect anyone else to believe it?
I agree, he responds.
Believing must be the hardest part.
Tonight I submitted to the book, put it in the hands of the most sociopathic editor found on Earth. I am lucky to have him. He will cremate it, hold the ashes of it in the palm of his hand, smile and blow them in my face. Thank you, Adam.
It wasn't until the fourth draft, after fighting demons of control, expectations and a complete loss of self before I was able to say, This is it.
This is the book. This is worthy. I believe it.
For you, I have shots from the cell windows of which I escaped. I affectionately call it the asylum weekend.