Doyle Dalton's Desire for Truth
When Doyle Dalton's diary was found in Tome of Tubal-Cain, it was hidden in Burt Dalton's safe. It came in two volumes. The first volume was written mostly in English. The second wholly in a cryptic language that looked like Arabic but was not. No one could translate it, not even Mary Sutherland who had a doctorate in ancient languages. In Time by Einstein, Jamie learns to crack it. Doyle Dalton's Diary will be available April 25, 2025. Here is a sample of the "voice" who will narrate this book. And his promise to tell the truth. Again, dear reader, it is up to you to decide if he's telling the truth or weaving a greater lie:
This book is naked of the quixotic phrases often written in many a family history. If I may be honest—and I wish to be—such writing is rubbish, broaching upon propaganda. If you wish to know the truth about a family, read between the lines. The authenticity of life is buried there—sometimes too well buried that it may never be found!
Take, for example, the actions of a man who served twenty-one years in service to his country. Laud his bravery during war. But what became that man after the war? He never marries. He lives alone, an alcoholic, content with his books and beer. Sometimes he rides the rails like a hobo. Ah, and what of those adventures? The family historian may find those shameful and beneath his audience. Instead, the historian hides the raw truth behind the man’s medals. He never hints of insignificant adventure, which may or may not be equally riveting for the reader. In this example, I regard my friend, H. G. To the gentle reader, it may be more pleasurable to behold his heroics. This reader is content at leaving the man’s less noble feats buried between lines. (Who are we to judge what is noble and what is banal?)
With this diary my intent is to strip away the lines. I stand as judge to my own actions. My truth lies naked and exposed. While I don’t wish my contemporaries to know of this nakedness, this diary is not for them.
No longer am I the imaginative innocent beholding a new world. No longer do I feel nature’s drive to paint in purest and most scintillating colors. I no longer care about dirtying my brush with darker shades. Nor am I obsessed with proving my parents wrong in their opinions of me, their only son. In the way I was reared, nothing was handed to me lightly as you will quickly discover. But I am older now. I see the world through older eyes. And while I have enjoyed many superb adventures, I equally learned many lessons. All these hard-won. The adventures, the lessons—these are what I wish to tell here. And so shall I speak nothing but truth though it may pain me at times.
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