Writing a book is a lot like Dorothy’s journey to The Wizard of Oz. Finally you meet up with the truth you sought at the beginning. Out of Line was a great kvestch for a long time. Acquaint yourself with the Yiddish at the outset. You are going to meet a lot of it along the way.
Now, finally, this book is a celebration. You, the reader, are the last of my friends on this long rite of passage. What I have been searching for, over twenty-five years, is my sense of humour. It’s always been there, but like Dorothy I had to go back to my own Kansas to find it.
One begins alone, along a crooked path that finally leads to The Yellow Brick Road, and meets amazing new friends who take up one’s purpose, lead in front at times; at others, cheer from the side, encouraging one to finish the marathon.
The magic of writing a book is that it invites unexpected kindness from the most unlikely sources. Even someone who appears as an enemy turns out to be an ally, like a harsh critic who finally steers one back to the road.
Like Blanche du Bois, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. But where would Blanche be without Tennessee Williams, and how could Joe Cocker get by without a little help from The Beatles?
My great friend David Williams asked me thirty years back: “Will it ever be good enough for you?”
I think, finally, it is.