I'm supposed to be writing my book on Quincy Jones. I have transcripts from four visits with the great musician to pore through, to mark up and put into potential chapters.

But I spent the other day reading a 300-page novel. It references Elvis Costello, Townes Van Zandt, Gram Parsons, Warren Zevon and other fine artists, but not Quincy Jones. So what was my excuse? It was No One You Know, the book by Michelle Richmond in which I serve as a supporting character. I blogged about this before, in the piece called "A Real Character." Michelle and her husband Kevin are friends, and for her story, about a woman's investigation into the mysterious death of her older sister, she wanted a Rolling Stone writer who'd met a pivotal character--a rock musician named Billy Boudreaux.

Anyway, when the book came out, I learned, quickly, that, along with Dianne, my wife, and our home here in Noe Valley, I surfaced in Chapter 25. But I got caught up in the story -- Michelle's writing does have a way of charming, engaging, and grabbing you -- so, as anxious and curious as I was about how she'd novelize me, I read the whole shebang.

I was especially curious, since I haven’t worked for Rolling Stone since the early ‘80s. No prob for Michelle. Turns out Boudreaux was in a band that lasted from 1975 to 1979, and that for some reason I’d done a piece about his struggles around 1984. Michelle has me telling Ellie, the central character, about Billy by singing a snatch of a tune: “All strung out on heroin on the outskirts of town.”

“His singing voice was clear and deep,” Michelle wrote. “Maybe all that karaoke paid off. ‘Know that one?’ he asked. It felt like it was a test. I was glad I knew the answer. ‘Warren Zevon. “Carmelita.”’

Fun stuff. My character tells Ellie that I also ran into Billy around 1990—a crucial date in the time line of her sister’s demise. Ellie follows me downstairs to my office and sees a gallery of wedding photos in the hallway, an entire wedding day shot by Annie Leibovitz. Guests include Jann Wenner, the founder of Rolling Stone. He was indeed there. And Cameron Crowe, who was not. (In 1976, he was still a kid, living at home in San Diego.)

And in my office, Ellie sees “photos of Ben with Ray Charles, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, George Harrison, Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, Bill Clinton.”

Here’s the sad thing: Back in those days, I never asked for photos with my subjects. I never met Johnny Cash, and only spoke with Janis over the phone, but boy, would I love to have shots from my visits with Ray Charles, Dylan, Morrison, Harrison and Slick. That’s what being the detached, objective reporter gets you: Bare walls.

There is a photo of me with President Clinton. I’ll tell that story another day. Anyway, Michelle explained that she’d taken liberties with her descriptions of our house and photographs, “but I was just kind of having fun with it and I was trying to get the spirit of you right, if not all the facts.”

She got it right. She’s got this book-writing thing right, too. She’s a brilliant writer, and No One You Know is a wonderful story—and stories within the story—and sets of reflections on the impact of – well, of taking liberties while telling a story – on real people, and real lives. With a dash of Warren Zevon, to boot.

In fact, when Michelle had her book launch party at Books Inc. (which also makes an appearance in No One You Know), Dianne and I attended, and I read my own quotes. The audience--it was a packed house at this sizeable store--rather enjoyed it. A video of our little recital is on my front page. The music on there is Zevon, alas, and not Quincy Jones...