Wikipedia here tells me that Chopin “liberated the prelude”. By which it means, I’m sure, that Chopin was the first composer of note who got into the idea of writing "preludes to nothing". Pieces of music that clearly sound like they’re about to go somewhere, and then they don’t.
Well! I’ve been doing something like that for years. Though with the writing of books. I write a preface, and then sometimes I even make it to a prologue and an introduction and maybe even a chapter or two, on very rare occasions, and then … that’s it! I never come back to it.
Which means I’m a genius. Because Chopin was a genius.
But unfortunately, no. This is not Twitter. This is not a case of “they all said Galileo was a crackpot you know, so don’t you dare call me a crackpot”. Alas, I’m no Chopin-type inventing a new form of art. I’m just a bloke who’s got the concentration span of a goldfish.
Nevertheless! If you’re not in the mood for Chopin today, and you feel like having something silly to read, I’ve got just the thing for you, the very man. A collection of a few of what I’ve just started to think of as my own "preludes to nothing".
Thank you, and I will now hand you over to the one and only Richard for a word from him, who will then pass you onto the beautiful Diana for a prologue she has agreed to contribute. Because did I mention? No, I didn’t! Rude of me. I will now. As it turns out, I’m part of a little book club. And this collection of prefaces and introductions and so on that go nowhere will include not only my writings, but those of some of my closest friends, too. But enough from me. Richard, all, thank you.
(And Lauren, happy 18th birthday, coming right up in one hour and twenty minutes as I type. I can’t believe it!)
Charlie, 28 Jan 2023
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