Foreword
So, now it’s a collection of somewhat strange, curiously pedestrian, and often inside-outed short stories. Yes, a lot of recursion looping around in these scripts. Well, if nothing else, they got my mind off of my painful roids [sic] for a while.
I went ahead and printed them out. Yes, all four dozen. They are all over the desk. Some are on the coffee table, doubling as coasters. The coffee mug stain on the cover image is like a brown corona. A perfect concentric ring. Oh, and some are still in the bathroom. Perfect reads while on the crapper.
It’s not O. Henry by any stretch. There are some sparse stretches. Vacant terrain … for mental meandering?
Yes, I could see the ‘For Let’ signs (recalling my British vacation), but just wondered where the previous tenants were now. And that wasn’t getting me any closer to a paid lunch. Furthermore, I can’t afford any more expensive time off. This should give you a hint of what’s in store.
Well, there ya go. I start reading one these short stories and the lines for a short story come out like wine from a leaking oak cask. Maybe that was the desired effect. Maybe this is all encouragement. I think I’ll try my hand at this in the near future. I sure have enough notes now to mash up some fine typographic mess.
You know, speaking of wine, it’s that time. I sure hope that I didn’t drink all of the $5.99 Merlot last night. But, judging by this hangover, I think I did.
Hey, you could do worse things. We all could. But, let’s not.
- Herman S. Goetze, [Taos, New Mexico]