What?!

I am going to tell you a story about telling stories. It is a story about a liar supposedly by himself and the challenge of trying to figure out when ... or if he tells the truth. The liar at the heart of the story is long dead self-confessed criminal and his "autobiography" was "ghost-written" and published more than 200 years ago.

The book is a poisonous confection. It consists of layers of confessed crimes flavored with lies and misdirection and frosted with an indigestible sugary frosting of flowery language and superfluous classical allusions, resulting in a torte of torts.

... and yet ...

There are some great virtues to this book. I think it will be worthwhile for me to edit and expand it; to make it palatable for a modern audience and make it more meaningful than it has been.

From the little work that I have already done, I know that the effort will affect me, it already has, so it might be useful for me to document my reactions, what bubbles up from my life or seeps down into it as I go about the work of extracting his story.