I recognize that this is an unbelievably inappropriate start to the afterword of my first book, but when I was a child, I really didn’t care much for novels.
That alone is nothing to write home about, but even as an adult, I haven’t found that’s changed much.
I don’t mean to imply the very medium of the novel lacks any charm. When it comes to the creation of stories, I sense the most potential in novels, rather than movies or comics.
But most of the novels going around the world simply don’t measure up to my artistic standards - no, just kidding, it’s not that either.
There are countless writers whom I know I could never hope to live up to in my entire lifetime.
“So then why do you not like novels?” Actually, I wrote these sentences so as to make you ask me that question yourself.
Well, if you the reader fell for my scheme and have that question for me, I suppose I could answer it like this.
“There was someone who wrote about what I wanted. But they didn’t write it in the way I wanted. There was someone who wrote in the way I wanted. But they didn’t write about what I wanted.”
I believe that I’m in the wrong. Honestly speaking, it’s that my hobbies have been warped. Perhaps in my infancy.
Anyhow, my reason is that, while I won’t outright say there are hardly any books in this world that “stick” for me, it’s a situation remarkably identical to it.
So that’s why I came to think: “Rather than dig through a sea of books where only one out of every hundred is a warped one that I like, it would be a lot faster to just write my own.”
After finishing my first book and looking back on it, I’m honestly suspect whether the story I wrote is a warped one that satisfies me or not. But given the time I put into it, I believe I did all that I could.
I would appreciate if you took notice of any trace of that effort. And meanwhile, if you simply enjoyed the story without thinking anything, well.
I think there could be no greater honor for an author.
- Sugaru Miaki