No Matter What You Or Anyone Else

Once You Stop Believing In Santa Claus, The Whole World Just Goes Downhill.

Two Questions Form The Foundation Of All Novels: "what If?" And "what Next?" (a Third Question, "what Now?", Is One The Author Asks Himself Every 10 Minutes Or So; But It's More A Cry Than A Question.) Every Novel Begins With The Speculative Question, What If "x" Happened? That's How You Start.

And So Began Something That Had Not Quite Begun And Would Not Soon End, With Many People In Many Places Moving Off In Directions And On Missions Which They All Mistakenly Thought They Understood. That Was Just As Well. The Future Was Too Fearful For Contemplation, And Beyond The Expected, Illusory Finish Lines Were Things Fated By The Decisions Made This Morning -- And, Once Decided, Best Unseen.

There Is An Old Saying: In History Nothing Is True But The Names And Dates. In Fiction Everything Is True But The Names And Dates. The Difference Between Reality And Fiction? Fiction Has To Make Sense.

Life Was Such A Strange Thing, So Permanent When One Had It, So Fleeting When It Was Lost- And Those Who Lost It Could Never Tell You What It Was Like, Could They?