“I Didn’t Marry a Prostitute…”

The Perfect Anti-Valentine Available on Valentine’s Day

For those few who routinely read things I write, you know that last year was what my mother would call a rude awakening. Frankly, 2022 was a shitshow on levels I had not encountered before.

On Valentine’s Day I’m launching my latest Literate Ape Press venture “I Didn’t Marry a Prostitute: A Sordid Tale of Deceit, Disillusionment, and Divorce” available through Amazon.

Originally the book was to be the sixteen short stories I wrote in the six weeks immediately following my ex-wife’s confession that she not only had a lover for the last three years of our marriage and was not interested in cutting it off but that she had been secretly working as a prostitute for two and half years in Vegas and, again, was going to continue. In hindsight, I believe she had convinced herself that I would go along with her plans because she saw me more as a source of security than a partner. I did not go along.

We determined to get divorced but, instead of kicking her out like most reasonable people would have, we agreed that she would stay in the apartment with me until she found a place. This lasted three weeks of awkwardly navigating a one bedroom apartment and sharing my car. I also agreed to keeping a wrap on the specifics until either she clued her family in on the details or I left Nevada. So I sat down and wrote fictional allegories to illustrate how I felt in those days after my legs had been blown off. The first eight were written with her in the room.

I also wrote essays detailing my confusion as to what the hell someone in my shoes was supposed to do. The first set of them were written as I sat by myself in that apartment, hiding from the frequent stumbling upon her with other men, some who I knew but others not. The last few were written once I emigrated to Kansas, less anxious but no less confused about what a husband does when his wife turns out to have been living a double life for three years.

Why publish a book about this?

First, because as I was publishing the stories on Literate Ape, I received a few email responses from men I hadn’t spoken to in thirty-eight years letting me know that they were in their own broken-hearted divorces but the hugeness of my story softened some of their angst. Given that 50% of marriages end in divorce, it seems like a bizarre self help book.

Second, because I’m a writer so what the hell else am I supposed to do with this melodramatic nonsense? I became weary of explaining it so I’ll publish the book, get some author copies, and if I ever go on a date again, I’ll just hand her a copy and say “Read this first.”

Third, I’m a creature of grand gestures. I like big benchmarks and given that I’m not going to burn myself alive or castrate myself in anguish, a book seems appropriate and might allow me to close that chapter of my life with something on the bookshelf.

I hope you put a copy on your shelf. I hope if you read it, it provides some sort of salacious comfort knowing it didn’t happen to you (like 127 Hours but without the amputation). I hope you never have to live this yourself.

If you do grab yourself a copy, I’d appreciate an Amazon review even if you find it tedious and whiny. I mean, Prince Harry whined for an entire ghostwritten book and people loved that shit, amiright?

You can find links to purchase it on the Literate Ape Bookshelf and on my Amazon Author page.