As an introduction, we offer the text of a letter we sent to a literary agency...who rudely ignored us. I put it to you, the real reading public to judge our work, and to make possible its' manifest destiny://
Harriet Hummingbird Agency
129 2nd Street
New York, NY 21212
Dear Ms. Hummingbird,
First, allow me a few words about myself. My name is Richard Krause, and I accidently got involved in a complete stranger's novel about a decade ago. Until the spring of '90, I lived in the Kansas City suburbs, doing freelance video. When hired to direct a series of training films at the Sunflower Ammunition Plant, scheduled for most the summer, I leased a cottage in Clearview City, not far from the production site.
The work progressed ahead of schedule, my crew's filming proceeding quicker than the government could prepare the next sets. As a result, I began to take long smoke breaks at nearby Sunflower Park. One foggy Monday in mid-June, I came across a jaundiced old gentleman with a giant walking stick, following a little three-legged Dachshund around the lake.
The old curmudgeon introduced his disabled canine as Pip, himself as Isadore M. Stone, and we began to shoot the breeze on a daily basis. A couple weeks later, Izzy spilled his guts. He'd been writing a novel for the better part of his onerous life, in total seclusion. Having reworked the manuscript as many times as productive, he learned I'd done some industrial script writing and asked me to help polish his prose.
Nine years later, four months after fulfilling my Defense Department contract, Izzy and I agreed we were done with In The Winds of Time. To say I was impressed by Izzy's big story would be a gross understatement; enthralled and inspired would be more precise. Nevertheless, I gave copies to several variably literate acquaintances, just in case I'd become overenthusiastic because of my intimate knowledge of the parable's true architect.
All but one who read it concurred with me, wholeheartedly; a few went so far as to say any important author, living or dead, would certainly wish he or she had hewn such an exhilarating, timeless tale.
Out of the blue, though, just before Easter last year, Isadore complained he had to go back into hiding, since certain persons would never allow him to live if they knew his whereabouts. Especially not after what he'd written for public consumption, allegory or not. Before vanishing, Iz recruited me as his representative.
In the days following, since I had no prior encounters with book publishers, I decided Izzy's manuscript was far too prophetic to be held in my callow hands.
I'm petitioning you, as the seasoned literary specialist and agent, to review I.M. Stone's maestropiece. If you decide to join in this exciting endeavor, I've been given full power of attorney to act on Mr. Stone's behalf. Additionally, in the event I do need to get in touch with Iz, I have a public telephone number where I can reach him any Sunday at a prearranged time.
A thousand persons could boast to you, and probably do, how their allusive friend's tome is a tour de force of biblic import; but you'll judge for yourself, of course. All I ask is you please read with well-focused eyes and wide-open mind.
Though the editorial prelude may ring of cosmic fiction, be assured the balance of I.M.'s revelation is quite down-to-earth, a contemporary journal of spiritual discovery in America. Whatever your feelings, do not wedge this messianic adventure into any single genre. It is its own.
Richard S. Krause