And So It Continues...
I seem to be thinking about Walt Whitman a lot, lately. Possibly because it’s almost time for the herring to migrate up Black Creek, just a few miles south of here. Every time I think of Black Creek, I’m reminded that naturalist John Burroughs—who lived near it—took his friend Walt Whitman on hikes along its dark and foaming waterfalls.
Or maybe it’s just because I’m beginning to look like those two writers.
Certainly, like Whitman, I tend to revisit, rewrite, and add to things I’ve already finished. Last year, I wrote a little novella (Unbelievable), a book whose main character—Ignatius Kendry Vero—is an opinionated, irritating, know-it-all who often succeeds in tricking others into believing that he really knows wherof he speaks.
Of course, he doesn’t.
Naturally, this made writing about his foibles so enjoyable that I hated to give him up.
So, this year, I began to write a group of little stories about him. Each one plays with different interactions between Vero and an assortment of long-suffering listeners. So, like Whitman’s ever-growing (and as unmown as his beard) Leaves of Grass, I’ve attached the new stories to the existing novella. The stories form an appendix called “Verosimilitude: Various Vignettes.”
A friend asked me how I came to make up a character like Vero. Without a moment’s hesitation, I answered, “It’s simple. He’s me!” But—in writing fiction—writers get to make our characters do things we would never dream of doing, ourselves. Vero is exactly that—someone who starts very much like me, but is then carried to ridiculous extremes.
At least I think they’re ridiculous.
I’ve uploaded the revised text of the Kindle and paperback versions of the book today. They should be available in a couple of days. The sample, below, is Vero’s own introduction to “Verosimilitude.”
Foreword
You don’t know about me unless you have read a book by the name of Unbelievable, but that is no matter. That book was written by Mr. Gary Allen—and he told the truth. Mainly. There were things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I’ve never seen anybody who didn’t lie, at one time or another.
That last paragraph is a perfect example. The present author lifted it, almost verbatim, from Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. He swapped a few minor details in an attempt to give the false impression that I wrote the damned thing. But I didn’t.
He did.
Like Unbelievable, and the stories you are about to read, this foreword is all just made up. The author has repeatedly portrayed me as a conceited misinformed blow-hard—and then had the unmitigated gall to ask me to write this introduction. If I was the sort of person given to the use of clichés, I’d complain bitterly about having salt rubbed in a wound, or being kicked while I am down, or of twisting the knife, or adding fuel to the fire—but I would never stoop to anything like that.
Still, it’s oddly gratifying to see one’s name in print—even if only in scurrilous screeds such as this. One can only hope that there’s some truth in the old maxim that asserted, “there’s no such thing as bad press.” — Ignatius Kendry Vero
Paid subscribers to these substack pages get access to a complete edition of my novella: Noirvella is a modern story of revenge, told in the style of film noir. They can also read the first part of Unbelievable, a kind of rom-com that forms around a pompous guy who is conceited, misinformed, and undeservedly successful. Both books are sold by Amazon, but paid subscribers get them for free!
Also, substack pages (older than eight months) automatically slip behind a paywall—so only paid subscribers can read them. If you’re interested in reading any of them, you can subscribe, or wait until they are re-released in book form (something I’m in the process of considering).
Meanwhile, it is easy to become a paying subscriber (just like supporting your favorite NPR station). It’s entirely optional, and—even if you choose not to do so—you’ll continue to get my regular substack posts—and I’ll still be happy to have you as a reader.