Beloved Reader,
Welcome. A book is an invitation, one you need not accept. Few things are more precious than time and fewer things more demanding of that infinite resource than a book. It is not an invitation blithely taken nor given. But it is one you can always excuse yourself from. This book is no different.
This isn’t to say you leave all your choices behind once you accept it.
If you find something here that isn’t your preferred cuppa, by all means, pour it out and find a blend that matches your taste. There truly is something for everyone. Above all, this book was written for an audience of one. It is not a novel. Nor is it a collection of short stories, poetry, essays, or (god forbid) a textbook.
It is all of these things, which means it is none of these things. Exactly as I intended.
Intentions are very important and I believe an author ought to make their intention known. This is what genres are for.
This book is intended to be read like any other. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. But the choice is up to you. You can start here, as I intend, and work your way backwards until you reach December 6, 2016, the end of my book. Or you can go to December 6, 2016 and read forwards in time until you come back here, to the end of my book, also as I intended.
Or, you could print all these pages out, throw them in the air and then recollect them in haphazard order and read it that way. I doubt many will choose this. But this is the way life often presents itself. It’s rarely easy for anyone.
So what is the cost of this book? In terms of money, none at all. It took me six years to the day to finish this book and I will not accept a penny for it. I refuse to sell my birthright for a mess of pottage. Mark Twain said anyone who writes for a reason other than money is a fool. He’s right. And wrong. What he should have said is, anyone who writes for a reason other than payment is a fool. TANSTAFL (there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, Mr. Heinlein whispers to me).
Money is not the only form of payment. I’ve already pointed out the first cost, time. The second form I ask for is a promise. I’m not going to say what that is right now, if you read long enough, you’ll know it when you see it. But again, the choice is for you to make, a promise forced under exchange is no promise at all. The promise I’ll ask for is nothing less than one I made myself.
What is my intention here? Always beware when someone offers you something without asking for money.
This book is a feather. It’s a bowl of pudding.
And I give it to you.
Good luck and I wish you well now and in the future.
Consciousness, n.; The collar around your neck connected to the leash in your hand. In the other? A carrot and stick, best when used traditionally.
Hero’s Dictionary
