It was a dark and stormy night.
Well, it wasn’t really all that dark. And it wasn’t all that stormy, actually. It wasn‘t even nighttime yet. In fact, there was a considerable amount of light beaming down from the sky. But there was a storm brewing in the distance, somewhere off the coast; a storm that had a damn good chance of rolling inland. Well, eventually. That is, if the wind kicked it in the right direction.
But when this story began, it wasn’t all that stormy. At least, well, not at that particular moment anyway. There was a cloud or two lingering around, but it didn’t really make it all that dark. But in time, eventually, all of that could change.
So, well, let’s put it this way--there was some darkness and the chance of a storm was rapidly increasing as the day progressed. Night was set to fall in a few more hours, so, eventually, in time, there was a great possibility that it was going to turn into an evening that could potentially be something very close what some would certainly deem to be a dark and stormy night.
But for now, it was, well, something of a somewhat cloudy, hazy, late afternoon that was edging closer to sunset.
And with the clouds and the haze it was hard to tell exactly when sunset would fall. Warren Banali was never quite sure when sunset came on such cloudy and hazy days, and sometimes they were lingering in the streets before he could get back in time.
Instead of referring to the handsome gold watch that Warren Banali wore on his wrist, he used the lifetime habit of judging nightfall by the sky. But dammit, on those cloudy days, especially on those cloudy and hazy days, that method just didn’t seem to work. That was
why he chose to stay very close to the house on such days. On those damn cloudy and hazy days, you never knew when they were coming.
They?
They who?
When who were coming?
To anyone reading this for the first time, which is most of you [if you’ve even made it this far without flushing it or rushing back to the bookstore to get your money back…] you’ll be somewhat intrigued, if not infuriated, at the mention of the vague they earlier on this page and the page prior. Some of you will wonder if it’s a typo, if it was intended that way. And if so, why. What’s with the mysterious they’s? And if you are thinking things like that, well, then you might be contemplating:
They?
They who?
When who were coming?
Well, this mention of the they’s is intended to be mysterious; so very cryptic, of course, you know, one of those teasers that is supposed to drive readers crazy. Something that is designed to make them (yes, in this case, readers like you) read on, for it is the suspense that drives them, er…YOU!, to turn page…
after page…
after page…
after page…
You know, teasers. Those cheesy little gimmicks, those pathetic tricks concocted by those bastards in the publishing industry who simply want to make more money. Sadly, that’s what it’s about, after all. You know, making money. So, teasers, those particular teasers, they are simply mindless ways to make more money from people like, well, you!
And since the author of this particular book you are holding right now is one of the lowest rungs on the literary totem pole [if not the very lowest] and has virtually no backbone what-so-ever when standing up for his own work and characters and style, then such teasers do exist. And, of course, will continue to happen throughout this book. Yeah, get used to it. Go ahead…now would be a perfect time to flip this book over, turn this chunk of nonsense, over and take a gander at the picture of the punk on the back. Or, well, maybe you need to flip to one of the last pages of the book…somewhere near the back. I’m sure somewhere this a picture. Go ahead. You know you want to! But, look, before you do, I promise you, it isn’t pretty.
So, listen, take my advice, heed my warning, it might be wise to just stick to the text and completely disregard my suggestion for checking out the punk that wrote this bag of shite.
You looked, didn’t you?
Uh huh.
I knew it!
Pretty frightening, right?
Look, I know how strange this might seem, a writer addressing YOU, the reader. Makes you feel rather uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Sure, it’s always implied [or is it inferred?] that the writer is writing directly for you, and in many ways speaking to you, but this way, this highly unusual in-your-face direct way of talking directly to you has got to be rather unsettling, especially for a work of fiction. Feel weird, don’t you? But for some reason you can’t quite explain, you just can’t put this book down.
Can you?
You are entranced…enthralled…intrigued.
Go ahead…admit it. You like it. You like me talking to you. It makes you feel important. It makes it feel like this book is tailor-made especially for YOU and only you…and no one else in the entire universe. You’ve got to admit it, I’m making you feel all tingly inside. Come on, just admit it.
Uh huh…you’re welcome!
Anyway…back to the story.
Okay…where was I? That’s right…Warren Banali.
So, let’s go back to the start. Warren Banali and the not-so dark and stormy night.
Instead of referring to the handsome gold watch that Warren Banali wore on his wrist, [we’re back to the story here, by the way…] he, that’s Warren Banali, of course, used the lifetime habit of judging nightfall by the sky, but dammit, on those damn cloudy and hazy days, that method just didn’t seem to work. That was why he chose to stay very close to the house on such days. On those damn cloudy and hazy days, you never knew when they were coming.
Yeah, that paragraph should seem familiar to you. It first appeared a few pages back. I’m just trying to get you back into this with a little refresher. Don’t take it as an insult to your intelligence.
It’s simply to make sure you are on the right path. All these tangents might make you a little crazy. They might. And if they’re annoying now, woah, they are only going to get worse. So, if you want to chuck this annoying bag of crap, you can right now, and seemingly guilt-free since you’re only about ten or so pages in.
Okay, you were warned! Still want to continue?
Anyway, on those damn cloudy and hazy days, you never knew when they were coming.
And there it is again…they.
They.
Who is this mysterious they?
And how many times will it be written without revealing who they are?
Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. Maybe a thousand.
Keep reading and you’ll find out.
I AM CLICHE
a new novel
by
J. Todd Wilson
available @
blurb.com
Tuesday, November 25!
<")))><
