Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelts Big Book of Forewords | Page 7

the dogs, that is). One of my coworkers, an out of work transvestite party clown by the name of "Whistling Trixie," actually got me my first foreword assignment. I remember the day well, as Trixie walked up with a shovel in one hand and the hem of his dress in the other and said, "Shhh-ugar, didn't you tell me that you was a writer?" all the while pursing his lips as if a rubber band was keeping them tightly together. I stared silently at his latest outfit for the better part of half a minute because I couldn't even comprehend how it came to be an actual outfit that someone would wear. Fishnet stockings on top of ripped pantyhose underneath a pink party dress, complementing a leather bikers jacket with 'Road Queen' beaded on the back. It was almost as if a flea market exploded and smothered the poor man... woman... or party clown. I finally tore my eyes away long enough to manage, "I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't help but stare at your ridiculous clothes."
"Oh stop it, you tease," he whistled, apparently thinking that we were always playfully going on this way. "I have this friend that needs a little help with her book on makeup for the modern woman, you see? And I told her, I said 'There's a guy scooping poop with me at the factory that does some writing!'" (Trixie was always referring to the dog track as "the factory," not simply as a reference to the industrious evacuation of our particular canines, but I suspect also as an effort to imbue our plight with more masculine undertones, which suited him/her just fine.)
This friend of Trixie's, the one writing this book about makeup for the modern woman, was also neither modern nor a woman. Nor was (s)he doing much writing. So the previous request for "help" was a touch misleading, but I'm always up for a challenge. I pride myself in being a versatile writer with an array of styles from which to pull. And given the fact that I had seen lots of magazine advertisements for different types of makeup, I decided to give it a shot. Two weeks and five eyebrow pencils later we had finished the book: I, the ghostwriter, and Maxine - or Max for short - providing the important role of makeup tester.
At some point during the photo shoot phase, Max pointed out that we should really have a foreword to the book, explaining the importance of makeup to the modern woman. I thought this sounded like a reasonable idea, because since the book was indeed about makeup for the modern woman... well, it just made sense. And really when he mentioned that "we" should have a foreword, that of course meant my putting one together. I used my own name, because to be perfectly frank, it was a very good foreword. I challenge anyone to find a better foreword to a book about makeup for the modern woman.
That book went on to sell over five copies, one of which made its way into the hands of my current agent, who still claims that he purchased it for his aunt. The rest, of course, is history, primarily because it also happened in the past.
Since then I have written well over three filing cabinets full of book forewords, with more work in the wings. It's funny how life can pull a detour sign out from behind its back and send you down a two-lane country road in the middle of nowhere. But I really can't complain. Oh, I've still never been able to finish that novel I started - the one about aliens living among us, intended to fix some of the problems with the movie we saw as teenagers - but there's always a desire to make room for a good story.
But forewords are why we're all here today. There have been other prominent writers in the field - Fizzlepot and Cranwreath come to mind, usually as the result of heartburn - but it is my hope that my work in this collection will finally get the art form out of its infancy and up walking around and bumping into coffee tables. The coffee tables, of course, that I'm sure will all be holding copies of this book, as well as remote controls for flipping between television channels of the many late-night shows featuring an appearance by yours truly describing the bizarre story of how I owe my career to a cross-dressing dog track janitor party clown in leather.
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Foreword By Lord Byron S. Fizzlepot, III
It has been said that to be successful at anything, you must first sacrifice everything. I don't quite remember who said that, or really even precisely what they were getting at, but it is