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Slim Foreword

Slim Foreword

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Published by J.M. Godwin
Tentative foreword to my second, WIP novel.
Tentative foreword to my second, WIP novel.

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Published by: J.M. Godwin on May 08, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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ForewordBy now you¶re wondering, have got to be wondering, who He is, who this mysteriousMan is that I¶m talking about for some four hundred pages. Who is this Man? What¶s the bigdeal with Him? Why is His not-name always capitalized? What makes Him so goddamnedspecial?I¶ll tell you, Reader, because I feel like you have the right to know a little more aboutwho you are going to spending the next several hundred pages with. It¶s important to me that youaren¶t left totally in the dark, helpless, alone, struggling, abandoned to fend for yourself in thisinfinite literary universe we call Storytelling.Scoot a little closer to the fire, Reader, inch closer to the light, to the deadly comfort of my voice, the sole comfort you¶ll have as long as these pages are open. Step closer and closeyour eyes. Lose yourself for one minute, one hour out of your undoubtedly busy life.This could be the most important story you¶ve ever heard.This could change your life.Think back with me, Reader, remember the first time you witnessed a car wreck. Maybeyou were watching from a cozy, warm restaurant down the street. Maybe you were a first-handvictim, the shaken survivor in the back seat of catastrophe. Remember, Reader, how it felt tohear that cataclysmic crunching, the bitter grating of steel on steel, plastic on machine-crafted plastic. Remember what you thought to yourself. It must have been a train, braking suddenly,you may have wondered as you watched from afar. Or, having been at ground zero, did Mom runover something, a skunk, a cyborg, metal-plated skunk?Remember how it felt, Reader, and then remember what came next. It¶s never morecacophony, more noise, more bitterness. Nobody really ever gets in a wreck and starts screaming
 profanity the second afterwards. It just doesn¶t happen that way. Nobody has that kind of balls,not in the face of what may have been certain death.We are talking serious car-intercourse here, not a fender bender. Windshield shattered.Airbags deployed, successfully or not. Tires popped or shredded or melted into steaming piles of rubber by the raging friction of car-to-car conflict. Your life flashing before your eyes, while yourealize it has never been worth living. Not really.A tremendous accident, and keep your ears peeled, Reader. What¶s that grotesque noiseyou hear in the aftermath? That¶s the ear-ringing silence of Nothingness. Of fear. Regret, maybe,who knows? That¶s called shell-shock, the slack-jawed disbelief of what has just happened toyou, the one thing you swore to yourself would never happen to you.That¶s called life.Better yet, car collision aside, take a walk out in the woods. Wait until it¶s dark, of course; daytime is for infants. Wait until it¶s dark and walk until you can¶t feel your toes insideyour tennis shoes. Then stop.Listen.Hold your breath, stop it long enough to really notice what¶s going on around you.That¶s called an uncomfortable silence, and the rustling that you thought you heard, thatstopped as suddenly as you did, take note of that rustling. That might be the most important not-sound you ever hear in your life, that shifting of the dead leaves, the dried grass that ceased itsidle chit-chat almost the very second you started paying attention to it.But don¶t look.Please.

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