If you’ve been dropping by this space with any regularity you may recall that when I originally embarked upon this modest, little literary enterprise some years back, I did so largely out of a desperate desire to jump start what had by that time become a hopelessly stalled “memoir project.”

It’s more than a little embarrassing to admit, especially to myself, that even after having invested copious amounts of “sweat equity” and having explored lots of clever, eclectic new creative writing techniques, my elusive memoir remained just that.

Fortunately, the publishing world has devised lots of clever tools designed to deal with problems of exactly this sort. One in particular has proven to be a highly reliable method of resolving conundrums like the one I found myself struggling with back then.

Here’s how it works: when contracting with notable public figures (for example, entertainers, axe murderers, dot-com billionaires, motorcycle daredevils, brain surgeons, plastic surgeons, tree surgeons, the vast majority of whom turn out not to be skilled writers) the publisher simply signs up an experienced professional author as a “collaborator” on the project. If everything works out the way it’s supposed too, the creative logjam is miraculously disbursed and before you can say “Bob’s your uncle” and — voila! Instant bestseller.

At this very moment the glossy offspring of these literary trysts are being marketed right alongside the works of such established wordsmiths as Stephen King, Nora Roberts and John Grisham. You’ll find them on the shelves, in the point of purchase displays, and let’s not forget the “90% OFF!” discount bins of whichever mega-bookseller recently gobbled up all the other mega-booksellers over at your local shopping mall.

These books come in a variety of shapes and sizes and often feature eye-catching headshots of their high-face-recognition “authors” accompanied by bold, mega-font titles, which leave little doubt as to what’s lurking between the covers. Titles along the lines of:

“We Never Should Have Started That Stupid War!” by Gen. Robert Bunkerblast (as told to Penelope Penholder)

“Why I Finally Quit The Band” by Ace Axegrinder (with Harold Herdital)

It’s a perfectly serviceable technique, yet somehow it just didn’t seem right for me at the time. The reasons for this go beyond mere vanity.

For one thing, at that point in my career I’d already experienced an embarrassing “pride goes before a fall” moment.

It had happened several years earlier when, after blithely signing a book contract (and pocketing a size-able advance check), I suddenly realized that a long list of prior commitments had left me with too little available time to have any chance of meeting my publisher’s looming deadline.

After scarfing down a large slice of humble pie, I picked up the phone and called for help. Instead of dialing a ghostwriter, however, I ended up speaking with a flesh and blood one, my lifelong pal (and now co-author) Stephen Bither.

By tapping into the longstanding friendly rivalry we’d forged on-stage during the years we’d played in bar bands together, Steve and I managed to crank out the manuscript in record time.

The result was a lighthearted tome with enough commercial appeal to show up (albeit briefly) on the local bestseller lists. Oh, yeah, I almost forget, the best part? We’d actually had fun writing it.

Unfortunately, if I hoped to have that much fun collaborating with a ghostwriter I suspected I might need to enlist a spiritualist in an attempt to contact one who’d actually “passed on.” It seemed reasonable that, since taking up residence in the eternal realm even the great Mark Twain might have some open dates in his day planner.

If for some reason Twain wasn’t available I could always pitch it to George Burns, who at the ripe old age of ninety-something had quipped: “I want to live to be one hundred years old. You hardly ever hear of anybody dying over the age of one hundred.”

The problem with this approach, aside from the obvious metaphysical challenges, is that by the time these famous writers were finished polishing my memoir it would inevitably end up sounding a lot more like them than like me.

So, I decided to forge ahead on my own. And I’m pleased to report that, while it took slightly more decade to complete, my memoir is finally finished!

It’ll be available in bookstores any day now — and trust me it won’t be difficult to spot. It’ll be the one with a huge glossy photo of me on the cover and a provocative, bold-font title emblazoned beneath it.

Oh, here’s one more tip: If you can’t find it on the bestseller table be sure to check out the “90% OFF!” discount bin.