Dr. Lewis B. Turndevelts Big Book of Forewords | Page 8

a quote that has stuck with me for many years, and I have always wanted to use it at the beginning of a foreword. So there you have it.
They're peculiar things, these forewords. You would think that it would be an easy affair to preface a book that has already been written. The main work is already done, so someone must simply go in and gush knowingly about either the brilliance of the author or the importance of the subject. It's like giving a toast at a wedding reception: it's not a time to freely speak your mind, or even necessarily to be honest, but rather it is your duty at that time and in that particular instance to smile, go through the motions, and praise the magnificence of the whole event. Oftentimes you are being sincere. But occasionally you can already feel the slime collecting on your skin.
Such is the predicament of anyone seeking to make their mark in the literary world by adding tag-alongs to other people's books. Is it enjoyable work? Oh, occasionally. Is it honest work? I suppose you could do worse. But like anything else, it's a business, and as such it requires a certain amount of thick skin and flexible conscience. Many times a foreword is written as a personal favor to the author, say from a trusted friend or colleague. But just as often, whether due to impending deadlines or a momentary lapse of judgment, there is a need to pull out the big guns and bring in a professional to get the job done quickly and skillfully. Either that or you find yourself with an author that has no friends or colleagues.
Which brings us to Dr. Turndevelt. How he fits into any of the above equation, I'm not quite sure. He is prolific. And he is seasoned, I'll give him that much. But other than that, I haven't the foggiest of ideas why anyone would either need or request his services for anything. Is he a good writer? I'm sure he is perfectly capable of jotting down a post-it note list of sundries to pick up from the market. But as far as sheer literary abilities go... well, let's just say that some have called him the fast-food value meal of the book world. (Actually, I said that, but I'm sure others have thought it as well... especially after I tell them as much at dinner parties.) And it is my personal guess that his title of "Dr." is nothing more than a bizarre abbreviation for a first name. Perhaps Darius or Darren? I haven't quite decided. But it is due to nothing more than dumb luck that he has been allowed to enjoy the career that he has.
I remember a time when mine was the only name in town to know when a quick and/or vaguely important-looking book foreword was needed. I was on the short list of all the major publishers, as well as more than my fair share of fledgling startups. Actually, I was the list. For the better part of seventeen years I spent week after tedious workweek penning short and shockingly similar forewords to whatever book projects were thrown my way. It was monotonous, menial work. But it was work. Fortunately, times are different now. After doing time, as it were, I slowly but steadily built up enough contacts that someone was finally willing to take a chance on my pet project, my one true literary love: an annotated history of the drinking straw from 1888-1937. But it wasn't until my breakout book, It Sucks: The Birth of the Modern Drinking Straw, that I was finally able to leave forewords behind as a means of primary income.
But since someone has to do it, they went out and found another someone. They must not have looked very hard, but deadlines are just that. Oh sure, Turndevelt had been around for years, but references to his name in those days were generally followed by the phrase, "and I hear he's out of rehab now." So although I never meant to, I guess you could say that I inadvertently passed on the torch to Dr. Turndevelt. But where once the torch was a bellowing furnace of literary heat and fury, it has now dwindled to a disposable lighter with a filthy saying on its case that you might find at a truck stop (and this is in no way meant to cast any ill light upon truck stops, but you have to admit that they seem to be the only retail outlets that buy these items in bulk).
I wish him the best. This mighty task is not without its share of toil and heartache, but it can also occasionally provide the warm embrace of satisfaction. But I fear for the