I'm finishing the manuscript for my first book, Anal Cancer is Really Sh*tty. It's a darkly humorous, brutally honest, and sometimes insane rant about a disease that nearly drove me out of my mind, but so far hasn't driven me out of my body. I'm alive and well and living with an ostomy bag. And that will be the subject of my second book. A Colostomy's Not a Catastrophe, But it WILL Provide Many Opportunities to Have One. My ex had a relative who committed suicide when she was told she had to have a colostomy. On the anniversary of her death, her grief-stricken parents drove to her graveside and followed her out of this world with a shotgun blast to each of their heads. The way I figure it, if she'd had a book as funny and optimistic as mine to read, three lives would have been saved. Don't do anything crazy. You haven't LIVED until you feel a fart blow right through a hole in your abdominal wall, into a bag that muffles the noise, eliminates the odor, and lets the gas seep slowly through a filter, eliminating the chance that you'll look like you have a balloon inflating in your pants. I'll be publishing both books in one volume, soon to be available on Amazon.com. You'll envy me the cancer and the bag, by the time I'm done.