SOMETHING EMBARRASSING but true:
Salutations and good morrow, Mr. Howard,
In order to express the depth of my gratitude for your marvelous work of fiction,
I must first explain to you my most curious affliction;
Ten years, you see, have come and passed
tens years since the book I finished last.
Oh, I've started numerous others--piles, to be sure
of books that sit, half read or more--10th page to the last and then I'm lured
away from the story, by some other tale
and the tossed aside book begins to pale.
Some sense of dread, I think, at closing
the back cover and in reposing
loosing the experience--It can be had only once, after all,
and once its done, can't be recalled!
(unless one suffers amnesia, of course)
Such a plague, this trial has been!
Leaving books unfinished; a sin!
But try as I might, I can't complete
a single tome, a single tale, my love for the book becomes replete.
Enter Cabal, that worthless cad
So morally bankrupt, queer and mad!
How could I like this unmitigated ass?!
Cheering him on from page one to page last?
Obviously, there's something quite wrong with my brain--
But whatever. I finished the book and it's the first time in 10 years that I've been able to do so.
So HOORAY for Johannes Cabal and his author--that's you!
You've both granted me literary life anew.
Have Cabal send me a bill,
my soul I'd sign-over, free will.
Ahem--forgive my terrible poetry, sir. It's not my strong suit, or even my weak suit--in fact, I tend to keep it as far away from my wardrobe as can be arranged. But that just sort of fell out of my brain and I couldn't control it. You know how it goes.
At any rate, Yes--thanks for Johannes and his brilliant bastardry. I have recommended this fantastic novel to my droves of Steampunk friends to add to the list of "must reads" for the sliver of the genre. It really IS the first book I've been able to finish in ten years, and I can't wait for the next Cabal adventure, so that I can cheer for the villain yet again.
Much love offered and respect foistered upon you,
Edmund West, aka Eliot North