My Heart Could Just Burst is dedicated to the author's mother but it is not about her—at least not directly.  It's about angels who tarry among us for a time.  Are there such people?  Are there those who try to be such people—people who sometimes fail at leading lives of loving kindness but pick themselves up and try again? It saddens me that the question has to be asked.  This book should tell you how I feel about the subject.  There are such spirits if you but look.

There are fragile people in our world.  There are those who would be dead had  someone not offered them water from their well of kindness.  On a lesser plane, you may have made someone's day with just a simple smile or a random act of kindness.  On a higher plane, you could brighten someone's very existence  by getting involved in their life or allowing them into yours.  You just never know.

I have no business offering advice to writers.  However, I have learned something of value.  I edited this book after surviving some intense sessions of successful chemotherapy as well as equally successful surgeries and episodes of cardiac treatment that included strong electrical shock and sedation.  I found myself struggling over language rules I once knew.  At such times you find yourself translating something between two vaguely familiar languages.  Medical people call it Chemo-Brain.  It gets better with time.  I find mistakes in my work as my mind clears further.  So be it.  The writer who edits his own work has a fool for a client.  Thanks for bearing with me.

For All My Days represents my practical attempt to be, uh, practical.  There are no doubt, many millions of books printed in the world in the time it takes a person to research and write one book.  By using the margins I used, I estimate I saved 40 pages of paper.  I was able to use the larger type and illustrations I wanted as well as the spacing I feel accommodates what I'm doing.  It's kind of an experiment and the dimensions are outside of industry standards.  It is also my contention that longer (and thus, fewer) lines make for an easier "read." It would be presumptuous of me to offer advice to any writer.  However, I learned a valuable lesson in editing my own work.  I edited these three works, including "For All My Days" after surviving some strong sessions of successful chemotherapy as well as equally successful surgeries and episodes of cardiac treatment that involved strong electrical shock and sedation.  As a result, I agonized over simple spelling and rules of grammar and punctuation once thoroughly drilled into me by some excellent teachers.  Words such as sight and site find themselves erroneously interchanged despite hours of staring them down. I found myself staring through colons, commas and such as if I were translating something from the original Martian. Those in the profession refer to it as Chemo-Brain. I'm told it gets better with time and it is getting much better. Live and learn.  The writer who edits his own work, has a fool for a client.  Thanks for bearing with me.

My madman is not Nietzsche's madman. In The Gay Science, Nietzsche writes of a madman who appears with a lantern and says he is searching for God.  He concludes God is dead and we killed him. I encountered my madman before I encountered his. Mine is not convinced God is dead or even dying.   I'll let you decide which madman, if either, is yours.


"My name is called Manuel" See: Matthew 1:23 of the Christian Bible.

A Writ Of Certiorari:  In the law, a writ of certiorari is an order from a higher court to a lower one.

Come and see: "And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.  (Revelation 6)

A Silence In Heaven: "And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour."  Revelation 8)