The author during a period of 'critical self-examinination,' combined with a completely useless attempt at lowering his cholesterol.
However, once you publish a book, you receive an upgrade from merely a lowly writer to a debt-ridden author. You suddenly find an irresistable urge to smoke a pipe, wear Cardigan sweaters and only use words with five syllables or more. People mob you in the produce section at Safeway, force you to autograph body parts and Google finally decides that you are moderately interesting.
Andy Warhol was right. Fifteen-minutes is about all you get.