Not, of course, to be confused with my debut novel (which comes out next month), I cranked out the launching pad for my eventual literary career in 1987, when I was a freshman in high school. Banged painstakingly out (I still can’t type with more than three fingers) on the dernier cri electric typewriter for which I begged when I graduated from the eight grade, “M.J. Horne’s” Bermuda Triangle predates my first National Novel Writing Month by nearly 20 years, and thus must be counted as my “first novel.” You know, to the extent that 33 numbered-in-pencil pages can be considered a novel.
My original plan, for scrapping which you can thank me later, was to publish my Masterpiece in its entirety here. Like in a series, ramping up to Kiss Me, Straight‘s release, portrait of the artist as a young man, that sort of thing. Continue reading