I had lately been considering a number of non-fiction writing projects. I had so much to say, so much to share with the world. What would be the most effective way to accomplish this?
I will admit to you readily that my mind was not completely occupied with matters literary. I was diverting myself by chatting with my waitress, an extraordinarily beautiful young Mexican-American woman who was blessed with just the sort of looks I have always favored. Although the restaurant was crowded for the lunch hour, she seemed unable to tear herself away from my table and my conversation. Let us be frank: “flirtation” is possibly more accurate than “conversation.” Even now, I still feel some residual guilt at the thought that perhaps I unintentionally encouraged her hopeless yearning.
I was recently divorced from the now-famous Marlene Erskine. (Note that after all these years she still retains her married surname!) That marriage had been a melding of two profound souls, meeting, harmonizing, almost on an ethereal plane. Alas, our busy lives and absorbing interests had drawn us in separate directions. Please be assured that Marlene and I have never lost our deep regard and friendship for each other. At any rate, I had of course been utterly faithful to my sweet and beloved Marlene during our years of marriage, and I retained to some degree a feeling that, even after our divorce, any intimacy on my part with another woman would have been in some sense a betrayal of what we had shared.
In time, I hoped, both Marlene and I would find happiness with others, even though it could never approach, either spiritually or physically, what we had had together. Certainly, however, any woman with whom I eventually formed a liaison would have to be — to the degree possible — on an intellectual and artistic level close to my equal. No one would have thought that this charming young waitress, with her lovely dusky skin and shoulder-length black hair and almond-shaped eyes and dewy lips, could ever fill that role. But I am human, and I am a man, and I have the same needs as other men, and so I was pleased by her attentions and amused by her simple conversation, and so I indulged myself. I do hope she has had a satisfactory life in the decades since then and that, wherever she is and whatever her station in life, if she chances to read this book, she will remember our brief encounter with a fond smile.
In the midst of that conversation — I won’t go so far as to call it a dalliance — it struck me that what America needed most was a slap in the face.
The nation had become obsessed with the idea that there are easy steps to wealth and happiness, that processes and methods can be detailed in popular books that will inevitably lead those who follow the directions to a state of bliss. How silly! We all know that only hard work, steadiness, application, and a firm adherence to reality, to seeing things as they really are rather than as we wish they were, can earn us the happiness we desire.
As a patriot, as an American, as an artist and intellectual filled with love for my fellow citizens, it was my duty to make them understand this.
But how to undertake this heroic mission?
Why, of course! It was suddenly clear to me. I would create the grandest hoax in American history. I would pretend that I had received self-help business secrets from a galaxy-spanning consciousness, a being of immense knowledge and ancient experience. I would pretend to “channel” his thoughts in the form of a book.
If I did all of this convincingly enough — and I was confident in my ability to do so — then the book would be read by millions, all of whom would take the supposed “channeling” seriously. They would take seriously the existence of the invented cosmic being — on the spot, I decided to call him “Lukas of Aldebaran” — and my contact with him.
The eventual revelation that the channeling and Lukas and the book and all the rules contained within it had been nothing but an enormously clever hoax, a mighty joke, would constitute the slap in the face that my countrymen needed.
As you know, I followed this plan and achieved the huge readership that my selfless goal required. All that remained was to wait until the appropriate time had arrived to tell the truth. That time has now come.
Malcolm leaned back and reread the words glowing in the air above his desk, and, being Malcolm to the end, grinned happily and said, “Wow!”
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About the author:
David. Dvorkin was born in 1943 in England. His family moved to South Africa after World Two and then to the United States when David was a teenager. After attending college in Indiana, he worked in Houston at NASA on the Apollo program and then in Denver as an aerospace engineer, software developer, and technical writer. He and his wife, Leonore, have lived in Denver since 1971.
David has published a number of science fiction, horror, and mystery novels. He has also coauthored two science fiction novels with his son, Daniel. For details, as well as quite a bit of non-fiction reading material, please see David and Leonore’s Web site, http://www.dvorkin.com.
David is on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/DavidDvorkin and on Twitter at http://twitter.com/David_Dvorkin. His Smashwords author page is located at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/DavidDvorkin.
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