I've given birth to a telephone book. It was a messy two week procedure, and like most pregnancies it started with a couple of drinks, and some shoving, and then became all about vomiting, sleepless nights, and a lot of research. Like most artistic endeavors, all I can see now are the faults, due partly to the things I couldn't help. But because I have a rampant and untameable ego, I know that I did good work under the conditions. How the world will look at it is another matter entirely.
I'm, of course, talking about an article I wrote for Jail Babes Magazine about circumcision.