Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelt's Big Book of Forewords

Copyright (c) 2004 David R. Perry

ISBN 0-9753554-0-6

For more information about this title, or to order hard copies, please visit www.davidrperry.com.

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Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelt's Big Book of Forewords
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Preface

Let me begin by saying that I have a personal and moral objection against book introductions and prefaces.  My reasons are numerous, but I will be focusing on just two for the purpose of this unfortunate, but publisher-mandated, preface.   

The first is that the only reason they exist is to give would-be book buyers a convenient way to check over a book's contents before making a purchase.  To the consumer, I'm sure that this seems like a good and reasonable thing to expect.  After all, if someone is going to spend their hard-earned money on a stack of papers, they might like to have at least a false sense that somewhere in the middle of that stack is something of value and importance.  Yes, I'm sure that the consumer does in fact feel this way.   

Now let me tell you how I, the book author, feel.  I think it's stealing.  You stand around in the bookstore, killing time before you head off to your "real" entertainment for the evening, consisting of yet another regrettably awful Hollywood movie, and decide that you can at least browse over the preface of a book, hoping to find out what it is about, who this yahoo is that is writing it, and why can't they have comfortable chairs in this store anyway?  So you, or someone that looks suspiciously like you, will read through the whole introduction, decide that the book is too complicated - too much English - and put it back on the shelf.   

The reason I regard this as stealing is because it was my full intention for you to not realize this until well after you had purchased the book, taken it home, and cracked the spine of it so that the store wouldn't take it back.  This was a very well thought out, highly involved tactical exercise on my part that was to all but eliminate the possibility of having this book returned.  Additionally, my specific instructions have always been that the book should be constructed from the cheapest materials available, using bargain-basement quality glue as a page fastener; a fixative that would barely even hold up to the manhandling a book receives going through the checkout.  This is a book you were meant to purchase and then be stuck with forever - "forever" actually meaning "in a loose pile inside the store's bag."  In fact, I recall my initial conversation with my editor about how this book should be sold, which went a little something like this:
 

Me:  Ted, I think the preface is a bad idea.  I mean, you've read the book.  It's sheer genius.  Would you buy it if all you had a chance to read was a hastily thrown together preface, instead of the glorious prose inside?
Him (Ted):  Well, I mean it's difficult to say.  I haven't read the book.  You were supposed to turn it in last week, what is taking so long?  Plus, I would like to think that as a book editor I might be a little pickier about that kind of...
Me:  Just trust me that it is fantastic.  And no, Ted, you're not.  You're no pickier than the next person, who, unless someone else walks in here, happens to be me.  You're a man that buys x-brand kitty litter simply to make a point.  You've said so yourself.  And to be honest, I'm not even sure what that point is supposed to be.
Him:  I just don't think that you have to pay those outrageous, name brand prices just to get better clumping.  When I scoop up those little balls of dried urine, they are perfectly clumped.  You've seen them, I bring them in here all the time.
Me:  Yes, we've all seen the clumps...  But what I mean is that "picky" is never a word I would use in the same sentence as your name.  Unless, of course, that sentence happened to be "I picky Teddy for my teamy."
Him:  Cute, very cute.  Are you done?
Me:  "Does Teddy likey the drinkey?  Maybe he likey to picky another?"
Him:  Alright, I think I see where this is headed, and it's actually pretty annoying...
Me:  ...
Him:  (squirting a leftover packet of ketchup into his mouth, since he is not picky enough to care about the contents of his afternoon snack)
Me:  But as I was saying, prefaces are just really nasty and evil things.  And superfluous too: the commencement speech of Satan.  The public is over them, especially after all the mediocre ones that have come out the past few years.  In fact, I told my mother that there might have to be a preface, and now she won't even read the book.  Then she heard the same rumor from a friend, and is thinking about not inviting me home for Thanksgiving.  My own mother, Ted!  Do you see how a bad preface also makes the rest of my book look bad?  The people are turning on us already.
Him:  (still distracted and busy combining leftover packets of various origin into a buffet of condiments)  Well yeah, they'll do that.  The book is pretty bad; I think we can all agree on that.  But you said the preface was a bad idea.  There's nothing wrong with the preface, it's the pitiful excuse for a book that's the problem.  The preface is fine.
Me:  No, the book is the...  What are you talking about?  You just said you haven't read the book.  Put down your ketchup for five seconds and listen to me!  I haven't written the preface yet.  I'm telling you this now because I don't want to write it.
Him:  But they're actually very small things, these prefaces.  I mean it's only going to be about this big (at which point he puts his thumb and index finger together to indicate the approximate thickness of your average preface).  We can get a ghostwriter for it if that will make you feel better.
Me:  No no, it's not just that...  Look, I had an idea that I think will help the book sell much better.  Since I have a feeling I'm going to lose the preface war, think about this idea:  We should shrink-wrap the book.
Him:  Excuse me?
Me:  Shrink-wrap the thing, you know, like a CD, or a loaf of fancy bread.  I think the cover actually looks pretty good, and if you can't tell that there is a preface you'd think that the insides should be ok too.  So that's why I think we should shrink-wrap it, so that people don't know what's going on until after it's too late.
Him:  Well, it's just that books aren't normally wrapped in anything.  I mean, there are not too many people that will buy a book without being able to look at it first.
Me:  Surely there are some that are shrink-wrapped?
Him:  There are some gift-books, the kind that come in a box.  Those are occasionally sealed up...  Sometimes if there is a special promo item with the book, they'll shrink them together...  I think some comic books may still come in those bags.... and most of your dirty magazines are in wrappers nowadays, so that's probably...
Me:  See, now we're getting somewhere!  Perhaps we could sell these at adult bookstores then?  I mean it's kind of an adult item, since I don't foresee a lot of kids wanting to pick up something like this.
Him:  Well, I don't think that's really the point...  And fortunately we don't do a lot of business with those stores.
Me:  Ted, we're trying to think outside of the box here.  This is no time to be limiting ourselves.  I mean, come on, are you kidding me?  They're perfect!  The convenient access from the interstate, the bright neon lights... These places are practically begging to take over the book market.  All I'm saying is that we need to be developing core marketing strategies that are inclusive and not exclusive.  Adult bookstores.  Just live with the idea for a while, that's all I ask.
 
	
The conversation kept going like that, well on into the next day.  We stopped for dinner and the occasional bathroom break, but mainly we spent our time weighing the pros and cons of shrink-wrapping the book, and also of including a book preface.  As you can see, I lost that battle, and I'm more than a little bitter about it.

The second reason that I hate prefaces is that there are too many of them out there in the world already.  And what is a preface anyway?  It can't be anything of real importance, because if it was, wouldn't they - you know, "they" - have just put it in the body of the book to begin with?  Why the special section for extraneous material?  So it must be stuck up there at the front for no good reason.  Well, if it's just a little extra padding to round out your book, does it really even matter what the preface is or says?  No.  Heck no, even!  For this reason I would like to propose that from now on publishers just recycle prefaces from other books into new works they have coming out.  Think of the time and money that would be saved by recycling, by giving back to the world what was already theirs.  With that goal in mind, I would like to start the trend by declaring this particular preface is made up of no less than 68% post-consumer preface waste.  In fact, all of the words that you read on this page have been used before in other publications, as well as many of the phrases and sayings.  Some might call this style of writing "tired" and "lazy," or perhaps even "stealing," but I prefer to think of it as "frugal" and "efficient."  I think my choice of words puts a more positive spin on the whole affair.

It would be both easier and more practical to develop this idea further into a working trend for all books.  And I guarantee you that nine times out of ten neither you nor I would really even notice the difference.  Have you ever read the original preface to The Art Of War?  Well... actually, I haven't either, but I can pretty much guarantee you that if there is one, it is much more interesting, and informative, than this is turning out to be.  Just imagine with me how much better off we all would have been if I had only lifted that neglected preface from the annals of history and stuck it right down, smack dab at the front of my own book.  The acidic tone of my rambling would have been avoided, and perhaps we could have learned a little something about strategic positioning for surprise attacks on an enemy compound.  We all would have felt pretty good about that, wouldn't we?  Indeed we would have.  And for those that did pick up on the lifting, they could just consider it getting a bonus.  Nothing lost, and a little something extra gained.  Like the free prize at the bottom of the box of cereal, or the fruit nestled at the bottom of a cup of yogurt.  There is supposed to be fruit at the bottom, isn't there?

So in summary, I ask you... No, I beg you, shamelessly and beautifully as men are supposed to beg, that you petition your local book publishers of choice and demand that they quit wasting our precious time and their precious resources by having people write new book introductions and prefaces.  What's wrong with the old ones?  And again I say, nothing.  Nothing at all.
But forewords, now those are another matter entirely...

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Section 1:  The Preamble
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Introduction

If we open up our Bibles to the book of Ecclesiastes, and scan down to the beginning of the third chapter, we find the familiar passage "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:  A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."  It kind of keeps on going like that for a little while longer, but you get the basic gist of it.  There's a time for everything, and consequently, a need for everything.  Lately, I have been missing out on a few of those things.

It's getting about that time.  No no, not the time to kill...  Right now I'm feeling that it's time for a break, time for a rest.  For the past several years I have been dedicating myself to writing book forewords to everything from amateur moose-hunting guides to children's coloring books.  Years.  Sixteen long years, to be exact.  It's quite a long time (and if you don't believe me, just wait around for sixteen years and see how long it takes), and it's now the perfect opportunity to take a break, stretch my legs and go outside to see what the world has to offer.  So I plan on doing just that.   

For the next year it will be a time to relax and enjoy, and a time for me to take a much-needed vacation.  Where am I going?  What will I be doing?  Well, that's really none of your business, now is it?  No, I should think not.  Suffice it to say that where I'm going the ground will be cleaner, the fresh mountain spring water will be purer, and the sweet candy that the kiddies enjoy so much is available at the everyday low prices that you've come to expect.  Or at least that's the trip to the snacks aisle at the local convenience store that I will be making before I leave on vacation.   

But regardless of how much you insist on prying into my personal life, I still wanted to extend the courtesy of letting you know that I will soon be quite out of pocket.  So much so that I am leaving behind this collection of book forewords, to be used in the event that one is needed and I am not around to hand-deliver it personally.  They range in topic from niche cookbooks to pseudo-scientific journals.  And somewhere in the middle of all that, you will find me, offering up support and adding my name as credibility to these otherwise doomed ventures.  Not to say that they're all bad ideas, necessarily.  In fact, a couple of them might make more than adequate reading while stuck in a traffic standstill on the expressway - the irony of which should not be lost on anyone.   

But in the event of my untimely demise while traipsing through the jungles of the Amazon, or hiking up the treacherous peaks of Everest, or whatever it is that I'll be doing, I bequeath to the world my ultimate labor of love:  book forewords to anything that might possibly come along.  With some noteworthy exceptions, many of the books referenced herein have not actually been written - and we should all start praying right now that they never will be - but given the current literary climate, it seems to be an inevitable fact that not only will these books indeed be written, but they will subsequently be printed, distributed and marketed to the literate peoples of the free world.  And once again, I blame democracy for allowing this to happen.

But I'm not here to point out the shortcomings of these works, or even to giggle and snicker at the very idea of the books themselves.  No, I have a job to do, and that job is to simply write the forewords.  Someone has to do it, and I'm the best that there is, so it therefore makes perfect sense that regardless of the quality of the main body of text they would still require a consummate professional to come in and wave a little magic over the beginning, in a desperate, last-ditch effort to save the book from itself.  But my job is definitely not to critique and ridicule these worthless piles of wood pulp, so I will refrain.  And I'll do it honorably and with great reserves of dignity.

With that thought, my work here is done, and I am off to enjoy the fruits of my labor.  I plan on becoming tan, rested and pampered.  And the rest of you?  What will you be doing?  Well, I hope you are able to kill a few minutes of time with this book, while you are either waiting in the lobby of your family doctor to get that rash attended to, or perhaps while you are tragically stuck between floors in an elevator with a large, hairy man that considers patchouli a viable alternative to bathing.  Regardless of what you're doing, I wish you well.  And I in turn wish me the best of luck as I stretch out on the sunny beach of some clear-watered tropical paradise with a tall, cold beverage that I might be talked into enjoying; either that or hiking through the lush foliage on the side of a misty mountain at daybreak, where the only sound to be heard is that of my camera's shutter.

To every thing there is a season.  And for every season there is a special vacation getaway package with great low fares.

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About The Author
Or "A Detailed Answer To All Your Questions"

I've always found it interesting that books will routinely include an about the author section towards the very last page.  So only after having finished reading an entire manuscript would the owner of a book want to know whom they've been listening to this whole time?  Odd.  An author's background and pedigree should be of casual interest to the fiction reader, and of tantamount importance to the non.  And on a purely self-indulgent note, I want you to know as much about me as possible before we get going.  I'm a fascinating and eccentric figure with whimsically colorful stories to tell.  And I enjoy soup.

However, book foreword authors occupy a rather unique position in the greater world.  For years I'm sure you've seen my name marqueed at the bottom of book covers.  It's not the first thing to grab your eye, but once you've discovered its presence you are ushered into a state of calm, bland serenity.  And why not, because as far as book foreword authors go, I suppose I'm as recognized as any.  And while it's not the most high profile of professions, it's not without its share of curious celebrity.  

Perhaps exaggerated stories of the lavish lifestyles we foreword writers lead have become too prevalent.  Tales of gold-plated bidets that spout champagne; urban legends of wardrobes made from nothing but sloth hides; rumors floating around the schoolyard about the house up on the hill owned by a madman who has built his own time machine from discarded engines off '68 Cobra Jet Mustangs.  Well, I won't deny them as false - primarily because they're more exciting than the truth, and good stories should live on - but it does hit at the double-edged blessing and curse of the trade.  Foreword writers are just famous enough to be misunderstood oddities, but not obscure enough to just be left alone.

I hope this new book will help to straighten out and clean up that mess.  I fully expect that once people have the opportunity to experience the power and grace of a whole collection of forewords, instead of just the random one here and there, that this misunderstood but necessary art form will finally be thrust into the limelight of public conscience to be scrutinized and defined and appreciated once and for all.  I'm also glad that I can be the catalyst for this change.  I am willing to give up my own personal privacy to the benefit of this greater good.  I am sure that at first the constant interviews and media attention will feel strangely narcissistic and pretentious... but I'll get over it.  It's a small sacrifice to make in order to receive so much understanding from the world.

But once people have come to terms with the what and why of forewords, they will eventually get down to the who.  Who are these writers?  And more importantly, who am I?  Who do I think that I am?  Who has written treatises on who I probably think that I am?  Who further has editorialized those treatises with the so forth and the so on?  These are all excellent questions.

Instead of answering them directly - please, let me keep a shred of mystery for the media hounds to sniff out - I would like to give you the brief synopsis of my literary journey, told not through lyric prose but instead through the broken stuttering of the common man.

1962.  It was a harsh winter in South Carolina.  However, seeing as I lived in South Dakota, I only gave it a casual thought.  Personally, I've always been of the opinion that once a country has so many states that you have to further break them up into geographical namesakes, well, that's just too much of a good thing.  But still geography intrigued me as far as I needed it to, and being a fellow "Southerner" I was busy keeping up with the regional home of my favorite author, Jesse L. Butterfield.  As a young lad I would spend hours and hours during that and many other snowbound weekends poring over Butterfield's work.  They were rich and satisfying crime novels.  And there were only two of them.  And I was not the best reader in school.  But these books captivated me, each centered on the small town dealings of an honorable cop in the corrupt, seedy underbelly of rural South Carolina.  His tales were populated with interesting and bizarrely idiosyncratic characters (read: suspects), all with sinister motives, and all spouting severely flamboyant backwoods Southern-isms, such as "You'uns coppers t'aint ne'er gonna step foot one on my property, no how!"

So I guess you could say that reading that sentence is what made me decide to become a writer.  But I didn't just rush right into it.  No sir, that's not how things are done in South Dakota.  In fact, I purposefully decided to wait many years until just the right time to begin honing my craft, and in the meantime determined that it was best to simply begin building life experiences about which to later novelize.  In fact, I made a list of things that seemed to be essential fodder for book writing, for quaint and nostalgic flashbacks, and planned out the next few years of my life in order to fit them all in and keep myself on a schedule.  Some of the many activities that I willingly took part in for the sake of the greater literary good included:
	
1.  A traumatic and short-lived career in little league baseball, complete with catching my first and only centerfield fly ball with my head.
	
2.  A science experiment gone horribly wrong that culminated in a brief expulsion from school, and afflicted my lab partner with a lazy eye.
	
3.  Letting two friends talk me into throwing rocks at passing cars, one of which turned out to be my Mom's.
	
4.  An awkward first kiss behind the gym at school, interrupted by her swiftly moving hand to my cheek, followed by the words "I said 'no', now leave me alone."
	
5.  Whining for five weeks about how I simply had to have the latest fad tennis shoes, only to realize just two years later how utterly ridiculous they really looked.
	
6.  Sneaking out, again with the same two friends, to attend my first rock concert at the downtown municipal auditorium.  I ended up having to secretly soak my clothes after the experience, as the smell of "liberation" would have been too strong to explain to the parental units come laundry day.
	
7.  Smoking my first cigarette.
	
8.  Getting sick in front of a girl I had a crush on after smoking my first cigarette.
	
9.  Skipping school, again with the same two friends (those knuckleheads... whatever happened to Ronnie and Merv, anyhow?), only to realize that all the rest of our friends were still back in class and we didn't have a car, so we walked down to the movie theater and caught a matinee of... I don't remember what it was, something about aliens living among us.  It wasn't nearly as good as it sounds.
	
10.  Getting in a fight with an older boy, that had obviously been in fights before, and losing badly.  Then later explaining to my Mom why my lip was busted and swollen by making up some story about trying to "show off in front of the cute girls hanging outside the cafeteria.  Boy, I learned never to do that again..."  Yes, even back then I was beginning to hone my skills as a storyteller.

By the time I was ready to go to college, I had managed to check off most of the things on my life experience list.  I felt able and ready to get this degree thing that would help propel me into the fast-paced world of writing.  I opted for a Bachelor of Arts degree with an emphasis in journalism, because much to my dismay, they did not offer an emphasis in novel writing.  But I was still excited, because hey, journalism can be fun too, right?  

Sadly, no, it can't.  I was to find that out the hard way after taking my first job out of school as a writer for the local paper.  Keeping in mind that I was still in South Dakota.  And I was working at a local paper.  In South Dakota.  At this point, many writers would begin describing to you, with an excruciating amount of adverbs and adjectives, exactly how and why this scenario might not have been exciting.  But as is the case with most adverbs, that's unnecessary.  It takes up my time and tries your patience.  All I really need to do is re-emphasize the words "local paper" and "South Dakota."  I rest my case.

But I persevered.  I made the best of a tedious situation, took a little creative liberty, and actually learned a few things that would benefit me later down the road.  For example, when you're writing news articles, or any material based on current events or other "facts," you find yourself in the habit of doing a lot of research.  Frantic, coffee-fueled research.  A wise older writer explained the tricks of the trade to me that you don't have to read a whole article to pick up background information.  Simply scan the first and last two paragraphs of said article and mentally fill in the blanks for the rest.  Sometimes it's not even necessary to do that much.  Also, it's typically a good idea to generalize your sources instead of naming them specifically.  "A reliable source" is much more difficult to verify and/or refute than is "Deputy Sheriff Scotty Lochs."  (I'd like to pause for just a moment here and address any of the youth that might be reading.  Students:  the techniques and shortcuts described in this paragraph are not to be taken and applied to schoolwork.  Research on term papers and bug collections is of critical importance to your educational career.  You are our future, as difficult as that is for both of us to swallow.  Stay in school.  Your pal, Lewis.)

So write, write, write on the local paper continued for a couple years there in South Dakota.  Eventually I decided that I had learned all I could about school board meetings and highway expansion.  It was time to move onward and upward to the Big City.  No more small town soup and salad, I was ready for the main course.  A buffet of opportunities awaited my arrival in the hustle and bustle of the metropolis.  A veritable smorgasbord of options was available to me.  So I did what any small fry of a newspaper writer fresh out of the sticks would do when the world is their oyster:  I starved.

Turns out that for some reason they didn't need my expertise in.... well, anything.  They pretty much had most things covered.  I lived on various and exotic varieties of bologna and managed to scrape by cleaning up at the dog tracks (after the dogs, that is).  One of my coworkers, an out of work transvestite party clown by the name of "Whistling Trixie," actually got me my first foreword assignment.  I remember the day well, as Trixie walked up with a shovel in one hand and the hem of his dress in the other and said, "Shhh-ugar, didn't you tell me that you was a writer?" all the while pursing his lips as if a rubber band was keeping them tightly together.  I stared silently at his latest outfit for the better part of half a minute because I couldn't even comprehend how it came to be an actual outfit that someone would wear.  Fishnet stockings on top of ripped pantyhose underneath a pink party dress, complementing a leather bikers jacket with 'Road Queen' beaded on the back.  It was almost as if a flea market exploded and smothered the poor man... woman... or party clown.  I finally tore my eyes away long enough to manage, "I'm sorry, what did you say?  I couldn't help but stare at your ridiculous clothes."

"Oh stop it, you tease," he whistled, apparently thinking that we were always playfully going on this way.  "I have this friend that needs a little help with her book on makeup for the modern woman, you see?  And I told her, I said 'There's a guy scooping poop with me at the factory that does some writing!'"  (Trixie was always referring to the dog track as "the factory," not simply as a reference to the industrious evacuation of our particular canines, but I suspect also as an effort to imbue our plight with more masculine undertones, which suited him/her just fine.)

This friend of Trixie's, the one writing this book about makeup for the modern woman, was also neither modern nor a woman.  Nor was (s)he doing much writing.  So the previous request for "help" was a touch misleading, but I'm always up for a challenge.  I pride myself in being a versatile writer with an array of styles from which to pull.  And given the fact that I had seen lots of magazine advertisements for different types of makeup, I decided to give it a shot.  Two weeks and five eyebrow pencils later we had finished the book: I, the ghostwriter, and Maxine - or Max for short - providing the important role of makeup tester.

At some point during the photo shoot phase, Max pointed out that we should really have a foreword to the book, explaining the importance of makeup to the modern woman.  I thought this sounded like a reasonable idea, because since the book was indeed about makeup for the modern woman... well, it just made sense.  And really when he mentioned that "we" should have a foreword, that of course meant my putting one together.  I used my own name, because to be perfectly frank, it was a very good foreword.  I challenge anyone to find a better foreword to a book about makeup for the modern woman.

That book went on to sell over five copies, one of which made its way into the hands of my current agent, who still claims that he purchased it for his aunt.  The rest, of course, is history, primarily because it also happened in the past.

Since then I have written well over three filing cabinets full of book forewords, with more work in the wings.  It's funny how life can pull a detour sign out from behind its back and send you down a two-lane country road in the middle of nowhere.  But I really can't complain.  Oh, I've still never been able to finish that novel I started - the one about aliens living among us, intended to fix some of the problems with the movie we saw as teenagers - but there's always a desire to make room for a good story.

But forewords are why we're all here today.  There have been other prominent writers in the field - Fizzlepot and Cranwreath come to mind, usually as the result of heartburn - but it is my hope that my work in this collection will finally get the art form out of its infancy and up walking around and bumping into coffee tables.  The coffee tables, of course, that I'm sure will all be holding copies of this book, as well as remote controls for flipping between television channels of the many late-night shows featuring an appearance by yours truly describing the bizarre story of how I owe my career to a cross-dressing dog track janitor party clown in leather.

********************

Foreword
By Lord Byron S. Fizzlepot, III

It has been said that to be successful at anything, you must first sacrifice everything.  I don't quite remember who said that, or really even precisely what they were getting at, but it is a quote that has stuck with me for many years, and I have always wanted to use it at the beginning of a foreword.  So there you have it.

They're peculiar things, these forewords.  You would think that it would be an easy affair to preface a book that has already been written.  The main work is already done, so someone must simply go in and gush knowingly about either the brilliance of the author or the importance of the subject.  It's like giving a toast at a wedding reception:  it's not a time to freely speak your mind, or even necessarily to be honest, but rather it is your duty at that time and in that particular instance to smile, go through the motions, and praise the magnificence of the whole event.  Oftentimes you are being sincere.  But occasionally you can already feel the slime collecting on your skin.

Such is the predicament of anyone seeking to make their mark in the literary world by adding tag-alongs to other people's books.  Is it enjoyable work?  Oh, occasionally.  Is it honest work?  I suppose you could do worse.  But like anything else, it's a business, and as such it requires a certain amount of thick skin and flexible conscience.  Many times a foreword is written as a personal favor to the author, say from a trusted friend or colleague.  But just as often, whether due to impending deadlines or a momentary lapse of judgment, there is a need to pull out the big guns and bring in a professional to get the job done quickly and skillfully.  Either that or you find yourself with an author that has no friends or colleagues.

Which brings us to Dr. Turndevelt.  How he fits into any of the above equation, I'm not quite sure.  He is prolific.  And he is seasoned, I'll give him that much.  But other than that, I haven't the foggiest of ideas why anyone would either need or request his services for anything.  Is he a good writer?  I'm sure he is perfectly capable of jotting down a post-it note list of sundries to pick up from the market.  But as far as sheer literary abilities go... well, let's just say that some have called him the fast-food value meal of the book world.  (Actually, I said that, but I'm sure others have thought it as well... especially after I tell them as much at dinner parties.)  And it is my personal guess that his title of "Dr." is nothing more than a bizarre abbreviation for a first name.  Perhaps Darius or Darren?  I haven't quite decided.  But it is due to nothing more than dumb luck that he has been allowed to enjoy the career that he has.

I remember a time when mine was the only name in town to know when a quick and/or vaguely important-looking book foreword was needed.  I was on the short list of all the major publishers, as well as more than my fair share of fledgling startups.  Actually, I was the list.  For the better part of seventeen years I spent week after tedious workweek penning short and shockingly similar forewords to whatever book projects were thrown my way.  It was monotonous, menial work.  But it was work.  Fortunately, times are different now.  After doing time, as it were, I slowly but steadily built up enough contacts that someone was finally willing to take a chance on my pet project, my one true literary love:  an annotated history of the drinking straw from 1888-1937.  But it wasn't until my breakout book, It Sucks:  The Birth of the Modern Drinking Straw, that I was finally able to leave forewords behind as a means of primary income.

But since someone has to do it, they went out and found another someone.  They must not have looked very hard, but deadlines are just that.  Oh sure, Turndevelt had been around for years, but references to his name in those days were generally followed by the phrase, "and I hear he's out of rehab now."  So although I never meant to, I guess you could say that I inadvertently passed on the torch to Dr. Turndevelt. But where once the torch was a bellowing furnace of literary heat and fury, it has now dwindled to a disposable lighter with a filthy saying on its case that you might find at a truck stop (and this is in no way meant to cast any ill light upon truck stops, but you have to admit that they seem to be the only retail outlets that buy these items in bulk).  

I wish him the best.  This mighty task is not without its share of toil and heartache, but it can also occasionally provide the warm embrace of satisfaction.  But I fear for the profession as a whole.  Have we allowed the art to become watered down to the point where it's acceptable for the first thing you see inside a book cover to be a crude foreword that somehow tries to find it's humor by quoting a bumper sticker?  Perhaps we have.  And I throw the blame for this squarely on someone else's shoulders, because I have moved on.

Dr. Turndevelt, I wish you well.  May your forewords be long and generous, and may the books they accompany shed new light on all manner of Southern cuisine, lawnmower repair, and the history of plastic surgery.  May your rambling thoughts and meandering anecdotes be sutured up by some well-meaning editor who is most definitely underpaid and underappreciated.  Continually strive to surround yourself with an elaborate support system of researchers, managers and others who can keep your backside safely away from the fire.  Forewords are not particularly tricky business, but I'm sure you will do your best to make them appear that way.

********************

Re: Foreword
By Elliott L. Cranwreath

I am a friendly and caring man.  I have six cats, three pigeons, twelve pet mice and fourteen cousins - if you take into account several distant family members that I have only had the occasion to meet at infrequent, reunion-oriented gatherings - and none of them receive beatings by me, and in turn none of them has tried, successfully anyway, to eat one of the other members of this group.  So I pride myself in an overall civility that governs my actions, and a more often than not functioning moral compass that renders the thought of incivility detestable in most circumstances.  Therefore, it is with the greatest of restraint that I feel compelled to voice my opinions on the somewhat sad occasion of not being selected to write the foreword to this book.  As a personal favor from the author I have been given this space to express concern with this decision, and to hopefully avoid a similar occurrence in future works.  As such, I am not being paid, which I feel affords me the liberty to properly speak my mind on the matter without filtering it down to placate some with the checkbook and others with the editorial pen.  With that said, I would like to "dive right in" as the youngsters are saying these days - or at least they were, the last time I bothered to check in with them - to the subject at hand.

I am, by trade, a writer.  A bloody good one at that, if I might be allowed the opportunity to toot my own whistle, as it were.  I have been scribbling pen on paper for the better part of thirty years, and the worse part of twelve.  I wouldn't so much say that I have a niche in the writing world, as I aim to excel at whatever the task at hand happens to be (the ones that help pay for the more expensive bottles of scotch that are the staple of any good writer.  These are items which I might not normally be able to afford, at times leaving me with the cheaper, two-month-aged substitutes that hardly seem worth the effort to portion, although that has never stopped me before... but I do digress).  I guess if one were to weigh, and I do mean that in the literal sense, the various types of vignettes and treatises that I have penned over the years, one might be justified in saying that the overall winner, in terms of word volume and weight in kilos, would have to be ceded to that of forewords to books.  I would have to go back and actually count them all in order to give you a number with any amount of certainty, but if I had to guess I would put them somewhere in the five hundred range.  This may seem like a grand amount to the uninitiated, but the sheer volume of romance novels that are written every year would alone keep someone like me in business indefinitely.  Granted, I am not usually asked to preface anything that refined, but I think the example gets the point across.

But what I'm trying to say is that I am a professional at this sort of thing.  I've done it before and I'll bloody well do it again.  I can sculpt a deep, thoughtful foreword on grave matters of the day.  I can crank out cheap, disposable forewords as quick as you please.  It's as natural to me as saying, "Yes, I'd love another."  Indeed, I even write forewords in my sleep nowadays, which to be perfectly honest yields some rather cheeky results.  It's madness and exuberance all at once.  In fact, I now prefer to not even read what I am discussing.  I feel that it cheapens the art and dulls the spontaneity of the text.  It should be fresh enough to eat, but just salty enough that it can keep for a while if necessary.  In fact, I dare say that there is a science, or a tried and true system, to the whole thing that is regrettably formulaic but nevertheless necessary to properly introduce something.  Or anything.  It could be a cookbook devoted to leeks and barley, a pictorial essay on leaf blowing, or even a novella based on a made for television movie.  It doesn't matter, and speaking from experience on all three examples it shouldn't matter.  A foreword is a foreword is a foreword.  In fact, even though I pride myself in being an expert foreword writer, I will also admit that I've recycled myself on occasion.  They're spaced out, of course, so that their preponderance is not obvious.  And you'd be surprised at how well a foreword to a murder-romance novel can be resurrected verbatim into a handbook for beginning yoga.  It's frightfully easy.  In fact, just the other day I was writing a rather charming, although unsolicited, foreword to a presidential biography, for whenever the need might present itself, and I was struck with how well it might also work in a study of 19th-century breakthroughs in horticulture.  It's uncanny, this perverted circle of life that sometimes waves at you from across the pub.  "Hello there," it might say, pint raised to either signal a greeting or the need for a replacement.

So imagine my horror... no, "horror" is much too bland a word for this discussion... imagine my sudden incontinence at the discovery that not only had I been overlooked to provide the foreword for this book, but the second slap in the face upon realizing that the honor had instead gone to none other than Lord Byron S. Stinkypants, XXIV.  I understand the good Dr. wanting to "bury the hatchet" - in a symbolic sense, mind you - with his former arch-rival by giving him the honor of writing a foreword to his forewords book, but let us move on and forget this man who has been a boil on our backside for far too long.  Please do not misunderstand, I have no quarrels with "Loud Bryan" in matters to which he is obviously more experienced - pruning comes to mind - but I feel that it is simple negligence on someone's part that he is in any way considered more of an expert in this field than am I.  In fact, to be perfectly honest with you, his having left the field of foreword writing to pursue his "art" was generally met with loud and boisterous parties throughout the publishing industry.  "Good Riddance" was, I believe, the slogan for that year.    Not to mention that you generally want someone competent to pen a word or two for you.  And when dealing with the foreword to an important anthology of the genre, and a work of sheer finesse and brilliance such as this one - or at least I assume; I haven't actually read the book in question but this is an example of something I might say if I wished to appear that I had - I don't think that is too much to demand.

I feel certain that the obvious error - and perhaps slight to me personally, although I will try to refrain from delving into that line of reasoning - for this whole predicament lies squarely in the untrained, gnarled and deformed hands of whatever cockney editor was put in charge of this book.  The mad, hungry ogre and his band of flatulent trolls...  It's incomprehensible that anyone with half a brain stem would have allowed this travesty to take place.  When I think about the demented fools that must crawl to their workstations only long enough to coat their desktop with a fresh layer of drool, I can only weep at the insanity that must crush their souls, and pray for their sterility.  I happen to be quite good friends with the author of this book, or we were at least mentioned in the same quarterly once, and I must advise him as a friend to quickly and efficiently terminate his editor's life support system - since I would assume that an error of this magnitude could only be performed by a person that has been comatose for some time - before he is given the ability and/or authority to wreck this otherwise perfect and blameless literary masterpiece.  (Yes... sometimes I amaze even myself with how good I am at these sorts of things.)

But since I have been graciously given this platform to voice my concern at this dirty whore of a mistake, I suppose I can't be too harsh.  Many younger and less secure writers than myself might have taken this opportunity to verbally attack the situation and those involved in it.  Personally, I think that's just tacky.  It lacks taste, which I have in spades.  Refinement.  And today is too beautiful and life is too short to be consumed with who did what and this or that editor that should be carved up and served to wild dogs.  In fact, I wish him well.  I can only honestly hope that this misunderstanding will go unnoticed by the general populace and that riots don't break out in the streets, resulting in trash cans and telephone booths being thrown through no particular editor's window on the first floor of a publishing firm that should probably remain anonymous, due to the fact that mail-bombs and death threats seem to be more common these days.  No, I'm sure nothing of that sort will come to pass.  After all, forewords are rather trivial things if you really think about them.  Nothing more than an opening slot at a concert.  No one's really there for them anyway, except to maybe encourage them ever so civilly to let the main act have a go at the stage.

But I try not to go through life with too many regrets.  It's only natural to hope that some opportunities will in fact pass you by.  There are only so many hours in the day that a foreword writer can keep writing them without having to run to the store for another bottle of scotch.  So perhaps I have said enough already.  It is getting late, isn't it?  I don't see my jacket anywhere... should still be in the parlor, I suppose... well, no matter.

In closing, I feel that, despite the lack of a proper foreword, one can still derive a small portion of enjoyment from this excruciatingly wonderful book.  I know I might have done so myself.

********************

Endorsement
by Robert Q. Finley
Interim-President, Mid-Southwestern Kentucky Book Nook Club

It is indeed an honor to be able to endorse a book such as this.  When we, the Mid-Southwestern Kentucky Book Nook Club, first heard rumor of it's being in the works, well, let's just say that we promptly postponed our meeting that evening to find out what, if any, information we could dig up on the good old Internet regarding the book's contents.  I remember that on that particular evening we were scheduled to discuss the eighth chapter of some John Steinbeck novel, and frankly this particular series of discussions had become a bore.  Many of us - well, actually everyone except Glenda, who recommended the book, and which is not her real name by the way - had found this particular book to be quite the snoozer.  In fact, I can't even recall which title it was, as we never really felt the urge to continue on after this break.  I know I speak for at least myself, Elizabeth, the Gibsons, Samuel Jr. and Stan and Fran H. when I say that much of the group soon remembered why it hadn't read any Steinbeck since high school.  It's dreadfully taxing and depressing, and actually caused us to lose three members during that short time.  Since we really can't afford to lose any members, it was decided by a simple majority vote that Glenda no longer has any say in books that are proposed for discussion.

So news of this book was not only a welcome diversion to our club drudgery, but also an exciting highpoint for the entire year, especially since we had declared it the "Year of the Southern Author."  And although this particular author isn't necessarily Southern by either birthplace or current residence, he has publicly admitted to enjoying sweet tea, and in the end we decided that was probably close enough. 

Also, many of us had the occasion to meet the author in person.  It was at a book signing in St. Louis, which was in support of his first effort, Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelt's Big Book of Bibliographies.  And although St. Louis is not actually in the immediate Mid-Southwestern Kentucky area, it still seemed close enough to justify a road trip with some of our group.  After all, how often do opportunities like this come along?  Not everyday, unfortunately.  The signing turned out to be a wonderful success, and we all immensely enjoyed our little excursion.  I am now the lucky owner of a signed first-edition debut, which will not  - I repeat, NOT! - be removed from it's protective Mylar sleeve for any reason.

With such fond memories of the trip, I was wondering how our little group could become involved in and show support of the new book.  The usual fliers around our local independent bookstore and incendiary, anonymous letters to the editor of the newspaper didn't quite seem to be enough for a book of this stature.  We wracked our brains for several hours during one particular meeting and still came up with nothing.  Finally, when we were nearing the end of our rope of ideas, a voice from the back said, "Why don't we ask to write a foreword to the book?"  It was perhaps the most half-baked idea we had heard all evening, but it was the last thing to be mentioned, so we decided to give it a shot.  Personally, I had my doubts that forewords were even used for the type of books he normally writes, but I must admit that I was a little bit giddy just entertaining the thought of being involved in some way.  What an opportunity if we could somehow make it work!

Well, I soon pulled out the ole quill and ink and began fashioning a letter to the author suggesting our willing proposal.  I think my main selling point was, "with the involvement of our organization, it is sure to bring some celebrity to the region and in turn make the book a hit throughout Mid-Southwestern Kentucky."  I sent the letter off and waited for what seemed like years, but was actually only seven weeks and five days.  The returning envelope had an antiqued parchment look and felt very thick.  Professional, I guess is how it seemed.  I feared for the response, knowing that the odds of rejection were quite high. Our club treasurer, who happens to be a part-time accountant and quite good with numbers, put them at something like 1,038,597 to 1.  But I was undaunted, knowing that our motives were pure and that an author that could write such endearing prose could not possibly have a completely calloused ear.  I felt that there was nothing to lose, so I carefully steamed open the envelope - which I have also saved for posterity - and began reading the response.  The author graciously thanked us for our interest in the book and said that although there was no need for an additional "foreword, per se" - those are his words, and I have the letter in it's own protective Mylar sleeve to prove it.  "Per Se."  How French! - that he would still be glad to include an endorsement from our group in the book itself!

So that is where we are right now.  And let's get right to it, shall we?  At the current time I have no idea what the book will be about.  If I had to guess, and if my colleagues on the author's Usenet group are correct with their wild and varied but nonetheless persistent speculations, it is quite possible that it will involve a Brazilian drug czar of some sort, and a bizarre chain of events that sets the fragile ecosystem of that country on its head.  Or at least I certainly hope so.  Either that or a gripping romance novel set during the Civil War that involves a dying Confederate soldier trying to come to grips with a war against his fellow countrymen.  Some of the other guesses that I have heard have been little more than attempts to turn the book into an exposé on government scandals and conspiracy theories that reach right on up to the White House and beyond.  Chances are good that it will not be another book about bibliographies - or another glorious book about heart-breaking bibliographies, and true love!  But it can be dangerous to speak for another, and even now I fear for my life.  All that to say, buy the book.

Regardless of the book's subject matter, I would like to propose to the people of this great land of ours that this would be an excellent time to start up a book discussion group within your area or social group.  As the members of the Mid-Southwestern Kentucky Book Nook Club can attest, it has certainly altered our complete perspective on life, in everything from breakfast cereals to disputes over dry cleaning bills.  There is a certain harnessing of large, unused portions of the brain that quickly become engorged with knowledge and insight once one becomes sucked into stimulating thought over a well-written book.  There are so many advantages that I couldn't possibly begin to name them all.  Suffice it to say that you would be a complete moron to not at least try it out for yourself.  Grab a book, any book, and sit down with some random strangers, who will soon become your closest confidantes.

No one should have to wander through the wilderness of book discussions alone.  Sometimes it can be very beneficial to have some initial questions prepared to spur on more enlightened dialogue.  Depending on what you are studying, there may already be wonderful resources available to you from brilliant minds that have picked apart and bled the very life out of some of the most popular books from throughout the centuries.  I highly suggest that you invest in some or all of these to help you along the way.

In the event that there are not supplemental materials available for your chosen title, don't fret.  There are vast amounts of undocumented but otherwise lengthy dissertations on books of various types available on the Internet, with new ones popping up every day.  But perhaps you are researching a brand new book.  You're a pioneer, alone out on the wild tundra of the literary world.  Never fear.  I have prepared a few generic questions that should help you along.  Even though we do not yet know the subject of this book, there are certain key questions that you should store away for whatever book you are reading.  Use these as a starting point for your own enlightening discussions:
 
1.  What are the key trigger events behind the main character's repressed homosexuality?
2.  What is the author trying to show us about racial injustice in our modern world?
3.  Describe in one hundred words or less how the dialogue, or lack thereof, contributed to the overall tone of silence that is inferred between chapter breaks.
4.  Why?
5.  What about the little children?  And when?
6.  How far have you read?  Are you enjoying it?

********************

Interjection
By The Editor

Standards.  That's what we need around here.  Big, scary standards that are etched into the base of a gigantic stone monument that stares you down as you walk through the entrance to our building.  A monstrous hunk of chiseled granite, perhaps in the shape of an eagle, or a greek god, or even the Queen Mother herself that would hold forth our stated aims and unwavering principles for all to see.  The talons, or arms, as the case may be, would hold the top of a seemingly endless scroll that slithers down the entire length of the statue, becoming one with the very floor tiling itself to list out everything that we've ever thought, decreed, or even joked about during the course of our business.  Nothing should be left out.

Yes, standards are what we need.  I, all of a sudden, realize this great need for standards because it would appear as if we have allowed them to slip as of late.  As a publishing house, there are things that we do, things that we won't do, and things that we couldn't do even if we wanted very badly for them to be done.  We have been in business for over thirteen years, and in that time have devoted ourselves to one thing: making books.  We make books and that's all we do.  And we do it well, I might add.  Just a glance over the trophy cabinet near the executive washroom - just a glance mind you, as to stare any longer at the sheer blinding brilliance of a well-polished faux gold leaf bookend is enough to make even the most seasoned awards viewer avert his gaze in hopes of finding a more dull-finished honorable mention plaque at the bottom - well, is quite enough, frankly.  But we have evidence of having published a successful book or three in our day.

We plan on continuing this business of book publishing for some time to come.  We rather enjoy it, and even though it is largely without glamour or tangible reward, we can't really imagine doing anything else.  One of those "else" things would be running a newspaper.  I bring this up only because it would seem that is what this tepid excuse for a book introductory section has amounted to so far.  The thought of a bad editorial being paraded around the front of one of our publications... well, that's just shameful and wrong on so many levels.  But so far, and I would like to end this now before it progresses any further, that is all this book has amounted to: one appallingly bad amateur editorial after another.  

As the editor, I have allowed it to progress much farther than any sane editor should - which is to say not at all.  I do apologize.  Silly me, I was hoping that our standard form letters of "No thank you, we do not require any book foreword services at this time" or "I cannot decipher your handwritten request but I am sure that it could be better handled by our customer service department than the editor to which it was sent" or perhaps "Please reference our previous notice to you stating our full intent to press charges if you badger us with any more letters of this sort" would suffice for most reasonable people.  But you see, that's where I was mistaken, in assuming that I was indeed dealing with reasonable people.

I would like to point out that as of now I am the only sane person involved in this project.  I have been "requested" to include three rather sad forewords to a book that is still being finished, mind you.  To say that I am disappointed that these requests are all I have heard from the actual author in weeks would be my ever-recurring understatement.  I am having difficulty stomaching the notion that this is all happening simply based on some loopholes in our standard author contract, which quite frankly is long overdue for an update.

Which brings us back to standards.  Standards are more necessary now than ever, because without them I will be doomed to "editing" - which in this case is a rather loose and unfortunate term, as to bring the current submissions up to code would involve my having to rewrite them from scratch, and that hardly seems in keeping with the spirit of the word "editing" - the existing text for others to read.

I am filled with regret, remorse, and fatigue.  And I'm hungry.  But in case the situation does not improve and I am left with my current task for an unforeseen number of additions to come, please do us all a favor and skip straight to the index.  At least one of us can be spared.  Godspeed.

********************
Section 2:  The Forewords
********************

American English Dictionary
Expanded Edition

As a writer, I depend upon words for my very livelihood.  Time was, not too far in the past, that there were only a few dozen words to choose from.  If you walked into any given debate hall, sparring minds would simply stare back at each other with insulting eyebrow raises and infantile mouth gestures, because there was an insufficient amount of words to bear the full load of an intellectual discourse with rebuttal.  Likewise, if you wished to begin a brawl at the local pub, your choice of childish taunts were limited to grunts and whistles, so much so that the only effective way to get some action brewing was to pull some unsuspecting chap's suspenders, or sacrifice your own bottle of beer on his bony head.  The lack of words was quickly tearing this country apart, and the cloud of confusion hung thick and heavy over the grunting and whistling populace.

Those were dark days for all citizens, but especially writers; so scientists set out to correct the problem and provide us with more and variant word options.  Working long hours in their damp, stifling basements, these lab-coated technicians devoted themselves tirelessly to filling in the linguistic gaps with big and impressive words, words so necessary to a modern society.  It's hard to believe that at one point people were at a complete loss as to a term for a group of military officers holding state power in a country after a coup d'etat.  But now we just take it for granted that we can throw around the word "junta" and converse with clarity and brevity with our fellow man.

So we are all indebted to the brave fellows - and gals, since modern feminism has provocatively shimmied its way into the highest ranks of the dictionary world... and in the process has provided us with words such as "provocative" and "shimmy" - who have sacrificed everything in order to beef up our anemic vocabularies.  These brave and selfless pioneers saw the pathetic lay of the land, with people simply using the words "bypass" and "avoid" over and over, and expertly decided to create "circumvent" as a way of adding a little spice to an otherwise bland conversation.  These dictionarians - and if that's not a real word, then I humbly suggest that it most certainly should be - have not only serviced a need for more and better words, but have gone one further and created a myriad of words that most people will never even know about.  Some folks might call that showing off, but I like to point to it as an example of good old-fashioned hustle.  For my money you can't have too many synonyms.

So in the grand tradition of making more words than anyone could ever possibly need, we present to you the new Expanded Edition of the American English Dictionary.  Building upon the sturdy foundation of the Regular Edition, the new Expanded Edition takes a good thing and just goes one better with it.  One of the first advances that you will notice is the addition of over 5,000 new scientific and technical terms.  No longer will you have to settle for saying "doohickey" and "protruding dingus."  No, we now have official terms for that stuff.  And if a nuclear engineer ever comes over to do some basic repairs on your core reactor, you won't have to be the sucker for getting stuck with extra parts and labor charges that you didn't understand the need for.  Nope, because chances are good that we're now including those words too.

Another feature to the Expanded Edition is the expansion of our illustrations.  As any comic book reader will quickly tell you, pictures only enhance the power of the written word.  They're what make the story.  This was recognized and reflected in this new version, with the addition of countless photographs and illustrations to back up the premise that words really do mean something.  For example, you're pretty sure that you know what a phylactery is, but sometimes a quick glance at a photo can go a long way towards helping jog your memory.  And for the novice dictionary reader, the colorful black-and-white photos are a fun way to get started in the exciting world of definitions.

Part of the dynamic of our modern culture is that language, particularly in the case of English, is constantly morphing and changing to help better meet the needs of those who use it.  For example, a simple greeting between friends can sound remarkably different depending upon region, and sometimes even within the same city.  One set of strangers might acknowledge each other by saying "Good morning, how are you?" while yet another group might employ the phrase "Whaddup, dawg?" in a gay use of urban slang that is fun for the whole family.  To help reflect and better understand these rapidly changing linguistic needs, the new Expanded Edition has included a wide assortment of newly developed words and phrases from popular culture, some of which are fresh off the streets.  And for the kids out there that just can't get enough of the naughty cursings that seem to be so popular amongst the youngsters today - much to the chagrin of their parents - this new edition has included many of those as well, each complete with a bland, semi-inoffensive definition to help you more quickly and accurately understand how your friends are ridiculing you.

The American English Dictionary, Expanded Edition, has been redesigned from the ground up to offer the finest in ergonomic comfort.  Experts from the fields of typesetting, paper manufacturing and embossing were all brought in as consultants for this new publication, in a collaborative effort to offer you the finest and most functional dictionary ever created.  A common problem in the past has been the strain on both the hands and the eyes that ensues from continuous definition reading, as the hours tick one past the other.  To help combat this, new fonts have been utilized to help maximize fluid page justification and minimize eyestrain.  Also, specially treated paper has been manufactured that offers the most comfortable page-turning experience that you've probably ever had.  And if that wasn't enough, new hardbound covers have been scientifically calibrated to lie naturally and sturdily on any desk or podium.  No more hunting around to find just the right dictionary surface.  All of this was done as a labor of love to provide you, the reader, with the most enjoyable and rewarding dictionary reading experience possible.  

But the real test of any dictionary comes in its everyday use.  Is it something that the average person - let's say you, for example - can prop open on a lazy Saturday evening, while sipping a freshly-squeezed glass of mango-tangerine-persimmon juice?  Or to put it another way, is the dictionary what we in the literary profession would call a "page turner?"  After countless nights of juice and turning, this writer for one thinks he is dangerously close to possibly maybe being able to answer that cryptic question with a hesitant "yes?"  And the reason is because I - and you as well, as you will soon find out - realized, somewhere in the middle of the G's, that this dictionary is indeed speaking my language.  I read the definition for grunion, and finally got it.  Not only did grunions and their spawning habits begin to come alive for me, but so did all the rest of the words that followed.  And why?  Because anyone can take the time to carefully roll out the dough of the English language, sprinkle some extra flour of organization around to keep it from sticking to everything, throw in some sliced apples of accessibility, maybe a cup of sugar of enhancements, definitely some cinnamon of layout design, a generous portion of the butter of simplicity, and then bake it for 45 minutes at 350 degrees.  But what these guys remembered that is so often forgotten is that you really need to put all that stuff in a pan first.  And sometimes that is the most important step of all.  

And don't forget that most wonderful, and mysteriously intangible, dictionary element that can make or break the most carefully researched of editions:  Love.  And this, my friends, is truly made for people who love dictionaries by people who love dictionaries.  Enjoy with a loved one.

********************

Modern Advances In Construction:
Working Together For You

Buildings.  You see them everywhere but how in the world did they ever get where they are?  Is it magic?  Perhaps.  But maybe there's more to it than that.  I've been doing some research, with the able help of this fine book, and I've stumbled upon some answers that may shock you.  Indeed, they may just frighten you.  But hopefully, in the end, they will untangle some of the knots that you keep tying.  And we really wish you would quit doing that, because it's really annoying, and just creates more work for the rest of us.

Buildings have historically been and probably always will be made from stuff.  From the moment we discovered that there was dirt just lying around on the ground for the taking, we began collecting it up and constructing things with it.  First we made little balls.  Then we mashed in the center of those little balls and learned how to make bowls.  Sometime after that we learned to make edges and corners, and thus rectangles were eventually born.  And then, of course, after rectangles, we quickly advanced to putting them together to form skyscrapers.  And it all started simply enough by just finding some materials with which to work. 

But there is a limit to the types of materials that can be used for buildings.  Stone, wood, brick and vinyl siding have long been popular choices.  However, water, yarn and tuna casserole have yet to capture the public fancy.  And although not without value, Jell-O has never found its rightful place among building contractors.  Perhaps it is too many episodes of This Old House, but it seems we have become set in our ways concerning acceptable building materials, and it once appeared doubtful that feelings would change anytime soon.

But in the words of that great national anthem that talked about changes, "they're coming to America... Today."   In fact, "Today" it is not uncommon to see burly construction workers and pale, whining design students working side by side to come up with new ways to fashion crude tract housing and pre-fab office complexes with ideas that are fresh and exciting.  Take, for example, the recent trend in using wood to create a more natural feel for furniture.  And the recent introduction of linoleum has revolutionized the kitchen industry.  Yes, never before have so many diverse elements come together to make a cohesive whole.  

And it's not just newfangled trendsetters that are making all the waves.  Longstanding stalwarts in the housing industry are also feeling frisky.  Why just yesterday shag carpet was all the rage.  But when people started losing pocket change and small animals in its evil clutches, the carpet industry stepped in with bold, innovative, new plans.  Thin, wimpy carpet is now the flooring of choice in many of your more popular dentist offices, and for good reason.  Its low profile and quick wear make it ideal for low-ceiling areas.  And for those of you without vertical space issues - such as those with vaulted ceilings, or others who are bedridden - there is, of course, the option of plush, spongy carpet, with its patented whisper-quiet touch, for those times when you fall smack on your rump roast, but you'd rather the neighbors didn't know.

Exterior construction and interior coverings are all well and good, but what about good, practical storage for my loot?  Well, you're in luck - and by "you", I of course mean "me."  Cabinet technology is light years ahead of where it used to be.  There once was a time, not too long after we triumphantly emerged from the primordial slime wielding beanie babies and baggy pants, one had to actually open and close cabinet doors in order to retrieve their treasured stuff.  Well, no more I say.  Today, we have a grand assortment of sliding and rolling mechanisms that can keep doors and their nasty edges safely out of the way.  Or, if you prefer, there is also a modern design trend borrowed from the fun-loving Danish known as minimalism, which suggests a way to clean up your living space by having your dwelling stripped of everything but essentials that are openly displayed in cabinets that have no doors at all.  It's wild and reckless fun from those crazy Danes.

But possibly the greatest boon to modern homeowners, that are perhaps doing some construction of their own - as well as landlords that are too cheap to contract out their maintenance repairs - has been the lowered cost and ready availability of power tools for the consumer.  Any trip past your local hardware mega-store is sure to tell you that not only does every single human being in America converge there at any given time, but that we should all sell our stock in tech firms and invest it instead in manufacturers of wood screws.  The consumers have spoken, and occasionally it has been through naughty words as they desperately search for an empty space in the parking lot.

Part of the popularity of these stores lies in the fact that power tools are just plain fun.  What lucky kid wouldn't love to receive a bench grinder under the tree come Christmas?  And just the thought of what could be done with a jigsaw is enough to make even the most urban of males long for the thrill that can only come from etching out an intricate back for a homemade rocking chair.  And what housewife wouldn't want to have her own arc welder, for whenever the urge strikes to make a grill for the backyard completely from scratch, or when you just want to touch up those little jobs around the house.  It's amazing and utterly boggles the mind the breadth and scope of tools we have at our disposal.  And the marvels of levels that use lasers to do their dirty work are so far beyond the scope of this manuscript that you might as well be asking us how computers work.

Speaking of, computers have come a long way in modernizing not only power tools, but also the overall functionality of the home/building.  Originally conceived for network play of Doom and internet porn, computers are now being used for more practical applications, such as bringing efficiency to electronic, radioactive ovens - or "microwaves" - as well as playing an integral role in the design of digital sound reproduction platters, otherwise known among intelligentsia as "compact discs."  It seems there is no end to what computers can do.  "The possibilities are endless, and the limits aren't too shabby either," said Microsoft founder Bill Gates, in a keynote address regarding how computers can benefit even traditionally backwoods industries such as waffle manufacturers.  

"So what does all this progress mean?  How does it help me, a lowly consumer?" you may be asking yourself.  Well, sadly it won't help you a whole stinking lot.  Were you just a little smarter, or a little richer, or a little bit better looking, you might have a small shred of hope of improving your quality of life with these technological marvels.  But unfortunately, and lamentably, that will never happen for you.  These wonderful and strange apparitions are well beyond the reach of a simpleton such as yourself.  In fact, I suggest you give up now and throw in the towel while you still can.  Leave the big toys for the big boys, as they say somewhere in the swamps of the South.  

As you read through this book, there will undoubtedly be questions spring up in your mind that are just plain common sense to the average Dick and Jane, but will cause you undue emotional distress.  You will be simultaneously shocked, aroused, and confused by what you discover in the how-to sections, but I urge you to not actually bother your already perplexed mind with trying to decipher the meaning in any of this.  You might want to frequently just put the book down and take a walk.  In fact, by all means, please walk around, enjoy the buildings and admire the fact that they were constructed at all.  Notice their vinyl siding and seamless gutters.  Marvel at the faux hardwood floors of your neighbors, and perhaps even ask to see an extra can of the sealer they used on their back deck.  But please, whatever you do, don't try to further confuse your pea-sized mind with how any of this actually came to be.  Just accept the fact that progress is being made, and leave it at that.  To borrow a phrase from one of the chapter headings of this book, Progress:  Going Forward.  For you.

********************

The Wonders of Water

(As a literary exercise, I have been asked to play devil's advocate regarding the merits of water and everything it does for us.  The author of this book felt that it would be a good idea to start the topic off with a challenge.  Sort of throwing the gauntlet down, if you will, for why we should give water a second thought.  So please keep in mind that what follows is an attempt to do just that.  I secretly relish the exquisite taste and refreshing qualities of water and would hate to get on its bad side simply because of a little jokingly antagonistic foreword I was asked to write.  After all, it's just in fun.  You know, Ha Ha.  For giggles, and all that.  Please, water, don't cut me off.  I beg of you...)
 
 
Look, I don't mean to sound picky or even ungrateful, but it is my feeling that water has been getting a free ride for far too long.  Ever since I was a little kid in science class, all I've heard is "Ooh, water's so great.  Building block of life.  A hundred-and-thirty-thousand-percent of your body is made up of it," or whatever.  Well, pardon my bluntness, but what have you done for me lately, water?

Let's examine what this substance is all about.  First off, water is a drink.  Not only is it a drink, but it's also the basis for all other drinks.  Okay, fair enough.  But answer me this:  If water is so great, why has it been living in complacency for all these years?  At least Coke had the guts to branch out and try New Coke.  It was a really stupid idea, but at least they went for it, and in spite of this slight misstep they've still managed to eek out a multi-bajillion dollar company.  And coffee had been stuck for years at a quarter a cup at gas stations, until Starbucks came along and proceeded to turn it into a premium blend, complete with a premium price.  See, that's the kind of innovation I'm talking about.   

What has water done in all this time?  It managed to create a cozy niche business of bottled water that has surprisingly high returns.  Well, whoop-te-freaking-do, Water!  Like what liquid isn't in bottles these days and doing better because of it?  Can you imagine the shame that would come to the dairy business if you could only get milk out of a drinking fountain?  A bottle is a good start, but what else you got?  And pretty much every other major beverage out there has bested you in the appearance department.  Sure, clear water is minimal and somewhat classy - in a conservative "less is more" type of way - but we are currently awash in beverages of every conceivable color and opacity.  We've got yellow drinks and green drinks and red drinks and purple drinks.  And if you go to a fountain machine, you can even mix a few of your favorites together and make a whole new color (that still always ends up brown, but you know what I'm getting at).  The rest of the drink industry is definitely in high gear when it comes to color.  Water, how long do you really think you can survive in that kind of competitive global market?   

And let's talk about taste for a second.  What does water even taste like?  Nothing.  And that is exactly my point.  Who wants to sit around drinking nothing, can I see the hands?  "Hey Bob, would you rather have a cool, refreshingly sweet citrus-flavored soft drink as some respite from the numbing heat, or this clear stuff that doesn't really taste like anything?"  I don't know Bob - and to be honest, I'm not sure why I'd be offering him a drink, but since I've started this example I should probably go ahead and follow through with it - but I'm willing to bet he's already eyeing that sweet nectar of citrus goodness, even before I finish my statement.  Because when you think of clear, what conclusion does your mind automatically come to about whatever it is that's clear?  That's right, it's thinking that a lazy wad of high-school dropouts didn't even have time to give something a color.  At least white is something, even if it's not very creative - and tune in next week, when I'll be giving the milk industry a piece of my mind.

Ok ok, I'll go easy on water's imaging and product innovation, mainly because I realize that for the past few years water has had a notoriously bad R&D team working for them.  But let's focus on a much more fundamental problem that has really been getting me going.  I guess the source of my frustration is that for all my life, we've been singing the praises of water, waxing poetically about its many virtues.  But when was the last time water ever actually did anything?  Huh, can anyone tell me that?  As best I can figure we've pretty much been stuck with the same amount of water for as long as anyone can remember.  It just moves around.  If it's frozen, it melts.  If it's liquid, it evaporates.  And if it's evaporated, it just condenses and turns right back to liquid.  Even the stuff that we drink, or that is consumed by plant and animal life, it eventually just gets {ahem} "recycled" back out into the wild.  And then, weather patterns, gravity and a host of other things see to it that water gets distributed back around where it should be.  But through all of this (even the {ahem} "recycling" part) water is just along for the ride.  And what has it actually been doing to perpetuate itself?  Exactly diddly-squat, that's what.

But you know what?  I'm a fair man.  I'm a patient man.  And I'm open to whatever water would like to say in defense of its worthless, lazy, good-for-nothing self.  I'm sure it has another side of the story - probably that someone else has come up with - that would shed a different light - and perhaps a lazy, clear, taste-free light - on the subject.  Far be it from me to judge before all the facts are in.  And although I'm not holding out a lot of hope for water to step up to the plate even now, I am still willing to extend it the hand of courtesy.  And if need be, I will also use that hand to smack water across the face, wake it up from it's nap and repeat everything that I've just said in order to get this discussion moving along.

So with that in mind, please enjoy this propaganda-laced book on why water thinks it's so great. 

********************

The Children's Emotional Development Series

You know, it's not easy being a parent, especially in this day and age.  Kids are growing up by the minute and parents can't do a thing to stop them, try as they might.  These kids are just going to get bigger and bigger.  And that's where the problems start.  If kids would just stay the size of a football, everything would be fine.  You could cart them around in pretty much anything - wicker baskets and grocery bags come to mind - and if they were ever harassed by the other children for being little you could always calm them down by saying "Don't you worry, the other kids are all the size of footballs too."  And then cheer them back up by smiling and saying in your best snookums voice "And who's my little NCAA regulation size?  That's right, it's you!  It's YOU!" and then playfully tickle their nose; or their stitching, if you're lucky enough to have a child that's actually a football... but perhaps I'm starting to take this analogy too far.

But you know what, these kids are sure enough gonna start growing up on you.  And as they do, there are going to be new challenges that they face every step of the way.  Just when you get them walking, they have to be potty-trained.  And just when you get them potty-trained, they want to get their ears pierced.  And the moment you let them get their ears pierced... well, that's when they start getting hooked on the illegal drugs.  Am I being a little bit melodramatic?  Oh, but I wish that I was, you simpletons.  You poor, gullible, naive dolts.  My pity and condescension go out to you.

But being the responsible parent that you are, you are probably wondering, "How?  How can I protect my child from all the heartache and pain and cruelty that can stem from growing up in these troubled times?"  You do well to ask these tough questions of yourself.  And you do even weller to come to us with these questions, because the good people of this book have spent long, tedious hours doing the research necessary to develop a system of learning materials that will help you equip your children to better cope with life in a trouble-free, non-confrontational manner.  They call it the Children's Emotional Development Series.

The need for this series has been around since the dawn of man.  And although there's nothing we can do about the poor saps that grew up before scientists and doctors were able to construct these learning materials, you can at least thank your sweet behind that they're around now.  The goal for the Children's Emotional Development Series is to offer the emotional learning tools necessary to help parents mold the little kiddies of today into the non-rebellious teens of tomorrow, and subsequently into the business majors of the future.  The key is to give children educational tools that are simultaneously creative, but not so creative that they require any special talents; challenging, but not so challenging that they could ever make a child frustrated; and that are super easy on their fragile egos.  Nothing zaps a kid's desire to learn faster than something that is either too hard or that is not reflective of their own unique set of abilities.  So with the Children's Emotional Development Series they've hit the perfect balance of easy enough to entertain and challenging enough to be considered semi-educational.  And we hope you will agree.

The first installment in this series is a line of coloring books.  It was important to start the program out first for the younger kids, in a desperate attempt to reach them before it's too late.  Some of the older children that have progressed on into the 5-6 age range... well, forget it.  You might as well teach them how to sweep chimneys now because they'll never amount to anythi... uh... I mean, the development of more advanced tools will begin as soon as possible.  Please keep checking the website for updates!

But these coloring books are really something super special.  The thought process behind them was "Let's make coloring books for children that don't really know how to color, by people that don't really know how to draw."  One of the many frustrating parts of being a child is that as coloring is one of the first hand-eye coordination skills we try to teach them, we run the risk of already alienating those that are not particularly... oh, how do we say, "creatively enhanced" or "motor centered."  Normally, kids might see a page from a coloring book, with its complex character shapes and pre-determined color objectives - things with sky and grass, and other objects that are easy to color "wrong" - and just throw up their hands and say "Screw this, man.  I'm gonna go grab me a juice box."  And you know what, they have every reason to be upset.

So how are these books different?  First off, people have been hired that can't draw to save their lives to create these coloring books.  We think you'll agree that these are truly some of the most gifted untalented people around.  And after a hastily thrown together brainstorming session, these savants scribble down whatever it is that first pops into their heads and it is rushed to the printers before there's even been a chance to clean up the insides.  

The reason this is all so important is that by taking out some of the glitz and polish that characterize so many other coloring books on the market, some of the barriers have been broken down that exist for many of the less-than-coordinated or under-creative children out there.  They look at these simple, raw books and realize that finally someone is communicating to them on their level.  Finally, there are books that are neither overly challenging nor do they even demand much creativity.  In fact, hopefully they are so bad and so simple that pretty much any child that's even awake could draw circles around what's in there - and really, if they can draw circles then they are far too advanced for these books and can move on up to the second level series - giving them a much needed self confidence boost.  And that's the whole point of this endeavor:  helping children feel better about themselves.

The first book is subtly titled Bob's Lazy Afternoon.  It follows Bob as he sits around his house, watches TV, and maybe takes a nap or something.  Children will feel very much at ease, as they have done many of these same things.  Bob is someone that the children can relate to.  And Bob is certainly not cavorting around with strange and colorful animals that would only serve to confuse children.  And he is definitely not busy having exciting adventures that would only give children ideas for getting into mischief.  No, Bob mostly just sits there and practices being quiet.  Kids will love it!

There are so many other exciting releases planned.  Currently the finishing touches are being put down on a set of reading primers, the first of which is called Bob Knows Ten Words.  The whole book is just made up of ten words, so children will not feel overwhelmed by all the many weird and confusing combinations of letters that you get in so many other books.  It lets them learn at a gradual and measured pace.  The sequel is called Bob Now Knows Seventeen Words, but this book should not be rushed into, so the publication date is being deliberately delayed for another year or so.  This is just another of the many services provided with the Children's Emotional Development Series.

I guess the bottom line is this.  Challenges:  Kids don't like them and sometimes they cause low self-esteem.  Kids have enough problems these days fitting in, what with the pressure to wear baggy pants and carry cell phones and all, that there is no reason to tax them more than they already are.  Listening is key, and just as important for parents as it is for the youngsters.  Let's start listening to what our children feel comfortable reading and studying.  Perhaps then we'll all learn something.  

So give the Children's Emotional Development Series a try, and see the importance that alternatives can bring.  Finally there's a book series for every child.

********************

Complete Spelunker's Guide to Clarksville, TN

Assuming that the sun was shining and that the birds were chirping, one could say that it was a sunshiny, bird-chirping day that heralded my visit to some of the caves of Clarksville, TN.  The sun actually was shining, and the birds were indeed chirping, so I guess what they say is true.

I've always been intrigued by the word "spelunking."  Who can fathom what wonders it entails, and what mysteries it shrouds?  It seems that with every mesmerizing syllable, a new petal of wonder is revealed, while twelve more become strangely veiled.  How miraculous!  How bizarre!  My brain was relentlessly turning somersaults in an attempt to unlock the secrets of this obfuscating, splendiferous word.  So while I looked up those two words, I also took the liberty of finally checking out spelunking as well.   
Turns out, it's actually just a fancy-pants way of saying "going to check out some caves or something."  Those that practice this art regularly will argue at length about the proper use of the term, as some of these die-hards consider spelunkers nothing more than wannabe posers and that any real caver would rather be called just that: a caver.  Obviously these people have issues that are much deeper than just some silly holes in the ground, so we will leave them alone to sink ever downward into their private pain.  But for the rest of us, magical wonders await.

Spelunking.  Besides just being a cool sounding word, spelunking is also an excellent hobby for those of you that haven't been able to settle on one yet.  It's not something that you can do just anywhere, so make sure that there are actually spelunking opportunities in your area before you get yourself all worked up.  Or just have plenty of gas money and a fresh air filter, because you'll need to do some driving.

The world of spelunking is an exciting one for those that happen to live in northwest Tennessee.  Home of the infamous Dunbar Cave State Park, Clarksville, TN, is visited every year by literally millions upon millions of avid spelunkers.  Perhaps that figure has been inflated drastically by yours truly for shock value, but I think you still get the point.  It is visited.  And definitely by people.  And occasionally those people are spelunkers, or are at least aware of the term.

For me, my fascination with the strange underworld of caving began the moment I stepped into Clarksville's legendary caves.  It also ended the moment I walked out, but I'll never forget those six minutes.  It was mystically magically special (and neat).  I happened to stumble upon a tour that was already in progress, and even though I hadn't paid the required fee, I decided to grab a quick freebie anyway by listening in to a small bit of what the guide was explaining.  As it turns out, the caves were created by the seepage into the ground of carbonic acid, which he described as being more or less like carbonated water.  If this is true, the parents of the world have a great rebuttal to tell their kids whenever they scream and yell for a soft drink.  But that was all I learned, so please don't ask me any more questions.  Unless it is about the dank.  

There is something to be said for well-preserved dank.  The kind of dank that you can't shake off no matter how hard you try, and the kind that seems to swallow its surroundings, regardless of the time of day.  Dunbar's dank is second to none.  And so are its fresh piles of guano, so please be careful where you step.  And even a casual stroll through the cavernous structure should yield ample opportunity for wondering out loud what the whole deal is with bats.  Why all the secrecy?  Why the sleeping upside down, and what's with all the horror stories and bad rep?  Is it just so they can have the caves all to themselves?  I've said it before, and I'll say it again:  bats are selfish little turds.

The walls tell a grand and colorful story about the history of not only the cave, but of the whole area itself.  I wish I had had the time to check out those walls, and maybe press my ear against them for a quick story, but as it so happened there was a fallen, decaying tree trunk on one of the walking trails nearby, and it was needing attention from my good kicking foot.  But no matter, I feel pretty confident that this book will go into long, tedious detail about the history of the region, it's geological importance to speleologists - guys and gals that really get into having a technical name for going caving - and some other yadda yadda that you'll probably end up skimming through at a brisk pace.
But before you think that Dunbar Cave is all there is to spelunking in Clarksville, think again!  ...Please, for the sake of this book, think again.  And just keep thinking about that while the author tries to dig up some more places to go see.  I'll try to buy us some time, so I urge you to just keep thinking...

Ok, got it.  Apparently, Dunbar Cave State Park contains some eight miles of underground caverns.  Now, according to our calculations, the park itself is only about... well, maybe two miles or so squared.  Is it?  We're still looking into that.  But the point is, since the park is located in the middle of a residential neighborhood, there's bound to be some good caving action underneath the residents homes in the surrounding area.  Kids, grab your shovels, because if there was ever a time to find your own super-cool and super-secret Fortress Of Super Cool Secretness, now is that time.  We promise you, scout's honor, that if you discover some caverns tucked way underneath your back yard, you'll probably also eventually hit upon some skeletons and bats while you're at it.  Plus it will really give us something else to use to help flesh out this book a little more.  Thanks!

But as I was saying, caving is a wonderful pastime that the whole family can enjoy (keep digging while I stall them!) with many wonderful and great, big wonderful bits of wonder to be had and wonderfully enjoyed throughout the year.  (Faster, you little booger-eaters, faster!)  So as you thoughtfully consider your options for weekend recreation (come on, more digging, less playing!) or perhaps even a frolicking summer vacation that is sure to both entertain and educate the little ones (hurry up!  I'm starting to lose them...), we ask that you give caving a second thought.  A long, hard, thoughtful thought (have you found anything yet?  I swear, what am I paying you kids for?), complete with furrowed brows and sober head nods (look, I am going to feed you to the bats myself if you don't make with some caves!)...  And don't forget the word "spelunking."  Ha Ha.... Any pastime with a word that fun has got to be....

Oh, forget it.  I'm just gonna go snorkeling.

********************

My Life And Times
By Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelt


I try to be very sensitive to the fact that, on occasion, my ideas are too ambitious and revolutionary for their own good.  My life has been riddled with radical concepts and inventive systems that for whatever reason are just too ahead of the times.  But the times they are a changing, just not quickly enough.  So until they pick up some more speed, I will need to tone down my genius and let everyone else just catch up for awhile.  

The reason for this admission on my part - and unfortunately what makes the whole thing even sadder - is that I have received a publisher mandate to revise and condense my autobiography.  A work in progress for the better part of 40 years, my autobiography has quietly been turning the literary world on its ear, and spinning it around like a dreidel during Hanukkah.  I have no idea how turning something on its ear makes any sense, but I'm not the one that comes up with these sayings.  No, I have been busy doing other things.  And those other things are the subject of my ongoing autobiography.

As soon as I became literate, I decided that it was in the world's best interest for me to begin documenting my life and times for posterity.  In the event that I ever became famous, I knew that this info would prove invaluable to future generations that desired to know exactly who Lewis B. Turndevelt was and what made him tick, and all that.  And what better way to accurately chronicle a life than to capture it in real time.  So every year I have been publishing a report on my happenings, thoughts, developments and overall hijinks.  And so it has become an ongoing and quite fascinating "as it happens" account of truly one of the most written about figures of our time:  Me.

The downside to this literary phenomenon is that the complete set has grown to quite a lengthy collection.  I believe it was my editor who, on the occasion of the printing of my 28th volume, called me up to say, "This set is about 27 volumes too big."  Now one could make the argument that that is actually much, much too short to fully capture how one person has spent their entire life, but I think the point he was trying to make was that its current volume precludes it from becoming what they in the industry call a "beach read."  And it's a point well taken.  And although the set has seen brisk sales - perhaps brisk is a little misleading, but we do move about five or six copies a year, so that family members can keep up with my whereabouts - the business side of me can understand the need for something that is a bit more streamlined and commercial.  In a world where peanut butter and jelly are now available in the same jar - because when you're in a rush, you simply cannot be bothered with two - the idea of quick and fast has also quickly and fastly made it's way to the book world.  First there were abridged notes for school children to catch up on literary classics without having to actually read the stupid books.  And now we have condensed versions of multi-volume autobiographies.

Many people might see this as selling out on my part.  They notice the success that I have enjoyed and their jealous subconscious comes to the conclusion, "Well, I guess he'll do anything to make a quick book... er, buck."  And they might be right.  I have been known to take money and to subsequently run with it.  Sometimes even all the way to the bank, which, being a distance of three miles one way, can be quite strenuous.  But I can definitely see an upside to this whole thing.  Perhaps it will be used as a sampler for the real article.  Legions of new people will stumble upon this single-volume work, as it becomes the new hot item on everyone's holiday shopping list.  And once they taste the sweet, intoxicating liquor that is found within, they will become hooked.  Addicted.  They will desire more.  Yes, even need more.  Many of the youngsters will become so carelessly attached that they will begin selling everything they own in order to afford each new volume that is released.  And the black market?  Well, unfortunately the black market has always been a sore subject with me.

Even now, I feel that the tide is turning.  Through a shameless streak of self-promotion, I have been doing my part to point people in the proper direction of these works, hoping against all hope that even at this late hour we might be able to talk The Man back into individual volumes.  Why just yesterday I was brought in for questioning at the local police station.  As I was being interrogated under the searing heat of a 60-watt bulb, the pig pointedly asked me, "Where were you on the night of September 28, 2000?"  And even though I didn't have the foggiest clue what I might have been doing at that time, I was at least able to plug Volume 36 of my autobiography for his later perusal.  That's the power of this series, to magically transport the reader to another time and place, and relive someone else's experiences.  So much rich history in those books... So many tales of wonder...  So many questions left unanswered, that are then later answered in subsequent volumes as a cheap and flimsy sales gimmick.  

But anyway, for now at least that is the plan.  If things go well then perhaps the powers that be will see fit to at least release condensed versions of each volume in the anthology, instead of just this one super-condensed volume.  But we vote with our pocketbooks, and I need your vote.

In the end, it's all about exposure, and a little exposure here is definitely better than no exposure at all.  And may a little bit of exposure yield a little bit of inspiration.  I can only hope that my life will be as inspiring to you as it has been to me.  And also, I can only wish that you would take to heart these words that I've written.  But please only take them after you have paid for them.  It would be much appreciated.  Thank you.

********************

Things Too Horrible To Mention

Books of the horror genre have long had one thing in common:  they aren't very good.  "Why is that?" you may be asking out loud, in a crowded cafeteria, as the filling from your tuna fish sandwich carelessly eases loose from it's prison between the bread.  You reach down to pick up the lump and place it back inside, but are suddenly gripped with the shocking knowledge that you have absolutely no idea where your applesauce is that you were going to have for dessert.  You know it was around this morning when you packed your lunch, but now it's gone.  It's almost like it just vanished... into thin air!  

And therein lies the horror, and also the answer to your question.  You see, tuna fish and applesauce aside, there is nothing more frightening than the day-to-day horrors that lurk just around every corner.  Under the hood of your car.  Eating away at the underside of your deck.  In the backroom of any given fast-food burger joint.  Nothing but horror.  Pure, 100%, Grade-A, corn-fed horror.  

Slowly, horror writers are starting to come around to this fact.  Because in their effort to imagine and conjure up terrifying scenarios involving monsters, aliens, ghosts or even psychopathic slashers, they end up creating nothing more than a hollowness we feel deep on the inside that reminds us, "Pe-shaaaww!  That's not scary.  Scary is when your kid's diaper is full in the car and you realize you forgot to bring spares.  Now that is scary!  Try again, Mr. King."

So, the horror of the everyday has become a new popular subject among authors of the scary things, as even book people try to latch onto the pathetic success of reality television.  New reality books are literally cramming the shelves of your local bookstores and screaming for attention, much like a small child that wants candy.  But as they say in the dairy business, the cream will rise to the top.  And we are lucky to have cream like this new book, Things Too Horrible To Mention.   All we have to do is scrape it off the top and whip it like it's bound for market.  Rich, smooth whipped cream full of delicious, dairy-fresh horror.

But let's talk about the book.

Root Canals.  Pickled Eggs.  Toe Fungus.  Construction Delays.  Adam Sandler.  Generally when we think of the phrase "things too horrible to mention" these are the things that first spring to mind.  But that's not an entirely accurate category for them to fall under, because although all of them are capable of inducing fright to the point of insanity, none of them are in fact too horrible to mention.  The reason is because we just mentioned them, and therefore we have nullified their rightful place within that category.  "Unfathomable Evil" is probably much closer.  Because even though they can be mentioned, we still cannot fully fathom the depth and weight of their evil.

And such is the problem with the new book by the title of Things Too Horrible To Mention.  The title is a complete contradiction to the book itself, as it is nothing more than a rather lengthy discourse - and mention - on things that are purportedly too horrible to indeed mention.  However, the subjects that have been picked are about as close as you could probably come to filling this void.  Because I find that although they have been mentioned, they are truly far too horrible for me to further mention them to you.  I just can't do it.  Nothing in the world could possibly prepare me for even beginning to mention even the smallest hint or broader, watered-down version of most of them.  Too horrible.  Much, much too horrible to even mention.  Don't try to make me, because I can't.  I CAN'T!!!

But kudos must go to the author, for even as I began page one, I was immediately and intoxicatingly filled with an acute disgust for every single sentence I read.  That morbid indignation, mixed with an unwavering curiosity for how much worse it could possibly get, carried on with me till the very last page.  

The book is slow going, I'm not going to lie to you, since its reading requires frequent and repeated trips to the bathroom to either lose your lunch, or to try in vain to wash off the dirt from your soul.  I wish I could describe to you some of the horrific atrocities that are found within the book, but as I stated before, it's just not something that I am capable of mentioning.  I actually tried for three hours the other night to explain one of the chapters to a friend, and in between nervous stammering, I only succeeded in fainting three times, screaming in horror eight times, crying like a whipped pup for twenty minutes straight, and vomiting neatly into their lap two-and-a-half times (the "and-a-half" time was interrupted by more screaming).  But your results may vary, so please don't use me as a measuring stick.

It's amazing how little we really appreciate the delicate balance of our world and everything in it.  And how if we allow ourselves to slip up for even a moment, things can go devastatingly, horrifically wrong.  In fact, there is this one section in chapter nine that talks about... well, let's just say that it will be a good while before I feel comfortable operating a cheese grater again.

But in the end, there is a lot to be learned from a good scare.  Valuable life lessons about... well, stuff... and then some other stuff that I shudder to even mentally reference now.  But read the book and you'll see what I mean.  In fact, I have a feeling that as soon as you finish, you will want everyone you know to also read it.  Well, perhaps "want" is not the most appropriate word.  You will probably just suggest that they read it, not because they want to - and not because you actually enjoy remembering the atrocities you read about - but because it builds character, not unlike brussels sprouts, which are given a casual mention in chapter... actually, I've said too much already.

So although I probably haven't been able to mention as much as a book foreword would normally encourage me to, I feel strongly that it may not even be necessary.  Word-of-mouth is becoming quite overrated, and word-of-action will soon be all the rage.  Because there is a lot to be said for having a friend take you directly to a bookstore, drag you over to the horror section, quickly point to a title on the shelf and then run screaming like a schoolgirl back out of the building.  That's the kind of recommendation that stays with you.

********************

The Psychology Of Humor

The Pope and a lawyer are riding an elevator up to heaven.  Upon arrival at the pearly gates, there is a mad rush of angels, saints and other holy people eager to greet them.  As they step out of the elevator, the lawyer is quickly hoisted over the shoulders of the waiting throng and carried off, the angels cheering and celebrating excitedly the whole time.  They soon leave and the Pope is left alone, somewhat disappointed at his own lack of a joyous reception.  St. Peter notices this and comes over to him saying, "Don't feel bad.  We get Popes in here all the time, but it's not every day that we get a lawyer."

Ha Ha!  Oh, for fun...  You see, the above paragraph is an example of a joke.  For years, people have been busy coming up with these witty treats of anecdotal humor to entertain friends and bemuse strangers.  In fact, humor is one of the oldest means of expression between humans, dating back well before the invention of the crude finger gesture.  But perhaps you noticed that although the joke listed above was both entertaining and educational, it didn't make you laugh out loud.  In fact, it might not have even cracked a smile on your otherwise charming face.  And I can't say that I would be surprised if you glanced over the text without so much as a second thought as to its humorous effort.  Or perhaps you haven't laughed in years, are completely devoid of a soul, and can often be heard telling the nice little old ladies at the grocery store that hand out samples to "Bugger off, you little vultures!"

But why is this?  Why are we as a modern society less prone to laugh our silly heads off at the work of some of the world's finest and most skilled jokesmiths?  And if we're not laughing, then who is?  And where are they?  And how?  And if not soon, then why?  And for when not?

Fortunately for us, the answers to these questions are much simpler than we sometimes make them out to be.  The good news is that they are readily available due to the scholarly research found in this book, The Psychology Of Humor, which goes through great pains to discover and pinpoint exactly why we find humor entertaining, and how much of it we can hold at any one time before going into a spastic fit, much like sugar shock.  The bad news, however, is that this is actually a book that involves some reading, which is an activity that is neither entertaining nor humorous, but rather a dreadful burden of intellect that the learned shoulder and the guileless pity.  So perhaps you can find someone to read it for you.

Remember back with me, if you will, to your younger days on the elementary school playground.  Your friends, or perhaps you yourself, would enthrall the assembled masses with a joke passed down from an older sibling, or perhaps some junior high student on the school bus.  And then what would happen?  Laughter.  Hearty, juicy, scraped-knee, bubble gum in your pigtails laughter.  In fact, it seemed that back then whenever a joke was told there would be peels of laughter ringing loud and true from the teeter totter all the way over to the monkey bars.  But today, as you sit through a seminar, or perhaps even a sermon at church, where the topic is prefaced with a funny anecdote, there is generally only a grin or two from the crowd and then you quickly move on to the topic at hand.

This phenomenon is discussed quite thoroughly in the section regarding humor's economy of scale, and how its dramatic effect all boils down to the simple principle of supply and demand.  To go back to our playground example, we soon see that it wasn't the location or even the assembled audience that helped sell the joke, but rather the fact that that was like sixty years ago, or so it seems.  Back then, there were only about ten or twelve jokes in existence, and we were just glad to have those around.  In fact, if you think about it, half of those jokes started out with someone walking into a bar, and the other half were of the type that we'd dare not let our parents know that we knew.  But we didn't care about the content because we were thrilled that there were any jokes at all.

But times are different nowadays.  There have been so many jokes invented since then that we don't even know where to keep them all.  Books upon books of jokes have been written, movies starring some of Hollywood's most dreadful actors have paraded jokes before millions, and there is even a market for tried-and-failed jokes on bubble gum and candy wrappers.  There are so many jokes lying around the place today that we're knee deep in punch lines and we couldn't be more sick of them.  Most people feel it's time to thin the herd, and fast.  Jokes are taking up far too much precious space and unless we get rid of a good bulk of them, we're in danger of clogging up areas that could rightfully be filled with new and better forms of expression, such as punk band flyers and recipes on the inside of soup can labels.

But it's not simply the sheer volume of humor that we've created, it's also just a matter of the changing of the times.  Do you remember mood rings?  Sure, we all do, with their magical powers to tell us exactly how someone was feeling.  But now, unless you scrounge around at some of your more discriminating jewelers, mood rings can be a scarce commodity.  Where once the shelves were littered with the stuff - mood rings even being used as napkin holders and aquarium gravel - now they just sit in a dusty bowl at the "Everything's Under $1 Store."  Why?  Why is this?  For the love of cheap crap would someone please tell me why??!!  The reason is because mood rings, like most everything else that's sold in America, were a fad.  Sure they were popular for a while, but we've moved on to arguably bigger and better things.  Like nose rings, with their magical powers to become painfully annoying during a sinus infection.

But could humor be just like everything else, a fad?  The Psychology Of Humor seems to think that it might be.  According to extensive and painful research performed on caged animals undergoing bizarre probing experiments, the results are beginning to indicate that humor just isn't that funny to us anymore.  Oh sure, there are still some rural folks scattered about South Dakota that probably find it as interesting as they always have, but what you must understand is that South Dakota has traditionally been about six years behind the times.  Granted, they can grow a mean field of corn, but other than that they're not too up on the trends.  Come on, South Dakota, get with the program!

The Psychology Of Humor is an important study in a time in our nation's history when we are on the verge of taking ourselves too seriously.  And perhaps that is for the best.  There will always be a niche market for humor.  The comic strips in your daily paper are mostly safe, and the water cooler will still be used mainly for gossip and some anecdotal witticisms, much more than it will be for water.  And pretty much any humor that is off-color will stick around, at least as long as there are junior high boys being produced - and the book points out that currently the production of junior high boys is at an all-time high.  But the wind is blowing, and beginning to take some of the pollen of humor with it.  It will land somewhere, Canada perhaps, and continue to flourish for another season.  But don't be too surprised if you wake up one day and find that the humor you once thought so bright and promising is now as dull as Grandma's nice silver, that you're never allowed to use, and so it just sits there in its case, tarnishing itself to sleep.  The crazy thing is, you probably won't even mind.  Why?  Because our sources within the entertainment industry tell us that despair and gloom are hot in Paris right now, and set to make a big splash over here next spring.  We can hardly wait!  So long humor, you sucker.  We'll soon enough be weeping bitter tears over you.  And loving it!

********************

How To Be A Struggling Musician

It is the dream of every great American to at some point in their life stand up on a stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, grab the microphone with their free hand - the one that isn't brushing back their sweaty mat of hair - and say "Can I get some more vocals in my monitor?"

Grab any kid over the age of thirteen from anywhere in the country and chances are pretty good that he is either in a band, knows someone that is, or can at least point to some groups he's heard about in the neighboring county.  Everybody else is doing it so why not me?  He's playing music.  She's playing music.  The guy at the coffee shop is playing music.  Even you're playing music.

Which brings us to you.  Why do you want to be in a rock band, or be a solo folkie, or an eccentric punk screamer?  You have dreams of one day making it big out there, selling millions of albums and having people throw their spare undergarments up to you on stage, as well as some spare hotel keys, just for safekeeping, o