George Gilbert's darkly funny novel, Memoirs and Stories of a Madman, is a story within a story of a former feature writer for newspapers who has fallen from grace, ending up a god-forsaken cab driver in San Francisco. His only escape is writing stories about his alter ego, Wolf, a lecher and drunken ne'er do-well, whose many adventures take him to Mexico. There he meets a bevy of sexually insatiable babes and an American movie producer whose appetites are even more prodigious. Along the way, Wolf has a number of encounters with John Wayne, Cary Grant, William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, and other immortals. Memoirs and Stories of a Madman is uproariously entertaining, a seductive sex farce told with acid wit, imagination, and high style. It also offers an uncompromising look at a decaying society at the end of the millennium in the United States.

Disillusioned with the official religion and institution, artifice and constructs offered as "reality," author Jeffrey Charles Archer hit the road and discovered things are indeed not what they say. Shapeshifters, skinwalkers, sasquatch, fairies and other fantastic creatures and extraordinary experiences make up the true tellings of Memories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman.

A captivating and evocative work, Memoirs of a Madman is one of Flaubert's earliest writings, and forms the basis for his highly renowned L'Education Sentimentale. As a young man looks back on the years that have brought him to "madness," he recalls the innocence of his boyhood and his fond belief that he was blessed with a mind of genius. Yet, painfully, wretchedly, he also recounts his all-too-sudden entry into the adult world. For the day he caught sight of a beautiful woman by the sea marked the end of his flamboyant philosophizing, and the beginning of a tragic coming of age.

What you are about to read is dark and confronting. It represents a period, long gone, when my life collapsed, and I had no answers. Lack of purpose and immense grief pushed me into a marginal existence where life itself became irrelevant and at times I imagined death as offering the only release from pain. This is not uncommon; many people will have been through similar circumstances. Most survive and I am one of them. When I gave my draft to a good friend of mine for advice and comment she suggested that I write an introduction that showed that I had come through these events and that I had prospered. I have. At the time I saw no way through, I didn’t care to find a way through. Psychoanalysis and associated drugs, and support from friends, allowed a thinning of clouds over time. I do not believe my mind would have allowed me to rest without the release of medication and I do not believe medication would have been an option without professional help. When in a situation such as that depicted here, drugs offer a small clearance of light in a world of shadows. Yet, at the same time, I believe that trauma has a function. It slaps you in the face with a realignment of values that sometimes leads to growth. A growth partnered by change at a time when all your focus is on keeping things together; batting down the hatches to allow you to weather the storm. When the storm passes you find a new you. The first thing to suffer was business. Not only did I not care about it, but I held it partly responsible for some of the damage to my family. I was very fortunate to have some people who continued to grind away at their job, who offered support in the best way they knew how, by doing their job. It somehow survived though substantially diminished. I have never again really worked at it. The new me did not have the capacity for prolonged effort and I became a person of “projects”. Most were purely indulgent, others for gain. Enough have succeeded so that I do not have an empty box awaiting a tick. I have done OK