Count Fathom

I’m just a guy. I have my own complicated past, as many of us do. But that doesn’t matter. I was a reader from a young age, and I never stopped. I read aggressively for spurts, sometimes lasting years, but I’ve read casually for a long time now. I always knew I wanted to write books.

I’m not old, but I’m not young. If not now, then when. Writing has also been a part of my life, though far less than reading, and maybe lower than fifth on the hobby list. Until a few years ago that is. I’ve been writing for years, though I’m not sure it shows. I’m going to publish.

I’m going to write what I want to write. I’m not going to play dress-up. I’m naked in the words. I do wish I could invest in proper editing, and I want to apologize to the readers for the flaws they find in my work. I have many flaws. I’m not proud of them, but I don’t want to hide them. I feel that’s insincere. While I want to deliver the best product and the best possible experience to the reader, I can only be the best me, I maybe can’t be the best of all. I apologize.

I have to apologize for a host of other things too, more specific, that maybe need special attention. Is is right to call them all out by name? I’m sorry. I want to make something clear about me and my writing. I don’t believe anything I say. I don’t stand behind what I say or what I write. I refuse all moral culpability for the words in my books. Though I retain all commercial rights. You’ve got to be careful what you write, and I’m not.

I don’t have opinions. I take opinions as the mood suits me. Only by strongly advocating for one position can you appreciate the strength of evidence in support of that perspective. Then you must take the opposite position and argue as vehemently in turn. How, otherwise, can you take an honest measure of the scales? Sometimes you just want to be a little devil though, and argue for fun.

I don’t want to offend people. I want to entertain. I want to offer something, something I felt when I read the authors I like best. I feel connected to those people. Right inside their minds. The way they put thoughts together into sentences, I feel their personalities through the pages, and in those personalities I se reflections of myself. Thoughts we have in common, perspectives and feelings and the perceptions of the one life we all share. I have been given a great gift by the authors of the books I like. A validation for my meagre human experience. A sympathy. An understanding. A friend.

I write because I must before I die. I commit myself I will etch for posterity my thoughts on slivers of wood for others to interpret. I have you in mind, who is me, to share it with.

Count Fathom