I had thought up a really great introduction for this story at one point, but by the time I got around to sitting down to write it, the whole thing had left my mind. All that's there now is a remnant of the idea; it was something of a metaphor about Dave being a lost king, something to introduce the fantasy themes of the book. Alas, I have and had no idea how I planned to do that, so instead I wrote a shoddy description warning the reader that this was a pretentious and boring read. I think that was a bad idea. I never liked what I wrote, but it felt necessary to be honest that the book wasn't going to be "riveting" or "exciting."
The book is really just about a guy who is really sad. It's about trying to navigate the 21st-century cityscape. I don't think of it as a critique. I didn't intend to write a critique. The whole thing is more observational, at least by intent.
I still think the banter is fun. I think it's sad. Above all, I get a feeling of sincerity when I reread this. I grew up surrounded by cynicism. I'm tired of cynicism. Cynicism is giving up, and don't ever want a reader to walk away from anything I've written with that feeling or idea in their head.
What terrible thing it is to rob a man of hope. Sure, optimism is dangerous, but pessimism is no more helpful. We must confront the truth of reality. We must be as honest as we possibly can be, and I think that begins with realizing that there are still many miles ahead in our collective journey. No one has arrived. We don't get to arrive. Keep walking, mister. And don't make anyone else carry your weight while you're at it.
Sincerely,
Remington Sloan
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Exit Sign: a Theatre of the Mind
General FictionWill Dave survive? It's like Seinfeld meets Sartre in a café to reenact *My Dinner with André*: Dave feels like life is a theatrical performance, and he's in the audience. He didn't buy tickets. He's not interested in the show, and nothing he can sa...
