A couple of posts ago, I stated that I had the idea for a non-fiction book–to wit: An academic satire; a good-natured Manchurian bloodletting of a humorless subject–but one in which I repair most of the wounds at the end.  Sure, the scar tissue is unsightly and nasty, but what good is a wholesale marauding if I don’t get to mean at least some of it?

I just looked:  Not a single detectable send-up of my subject matter in the mainstream. Anywhere. And in a world where you can’t even get to the moon without finding litter, pennant’s and tire tracks, that’s not a bad place to be–especially when the subject matter is growing exponentially in the professional world.

That said:

1) PROLOGUE:  DONE!

2) INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER: DONE!

Oddly enough, I think these were the hardest.  A couple more chapters and I’ll have a the propositional makings for trodding the Lombard Street of Getting Noticed.