Feeding the Flame

It saves a lot of letters if I tell you why I have a certain title; it is said, 'It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.' In my first ten books I have tried to light a candle, or possibly two. In this, the eleventh book, I am trying to Feed the Flame.

Excerpt:

THE letter was short, sharp, and very much to the point. 'Sir,' it said, 'why do you waste so much paper in your books; who likes to read these pretty-pretty descriptions of Tibet? Tell us instead how to win the Irish Sweepstake.' The second one followed the theme very well. 'Dear Dr. Rampa,' wrote this brash young person, 'Why do you waste so much time writing about the NEXT life? Why not tell us how to make money in this one? I want to know how to make money now. I want to know how to make girls do what I want now. Never mind the next life, I'm still trying to live this one.

The Old Man put down the letter and sat back shaking his head sadly. 'I can write only in my own way,' he said, 'I am writing TRUTH, not fiction, so...'

Fog lay heavy on the river. Trailing tendrils swirled and billowed, redolent of sewage and garlic it swept yellow feelers like a living creature seeking entry to any habitation. From the invisible water came the urgent hoot of a tug, followed by furious yells in the French-Canadian patois. Overhead a dark red sun struggled to pierce the odorous gloom. The Old Man sitting in his wheelchair peered disgustedly around at the clammy building. Water dripped mournfully from some mouldering concrete wall. A vagrant breeze added a new dimension to the world of smells conjured up by the fog - decaying fish-heads. 'Pah.' muttered the Old Man, 'What a crummy dump!' With that profound thought, he propelled his chair back into the apartment and hastily closed the door.

The letter thumped through the letter-box. The Old Man opened it and snorted. 'No water tonight,' he said, 'no heat either.' Then, as an after-thought, 'and it says that for some hours there will be no electricity because some pipe or something has burst.' 'Write another book' said the People on the Other Side of Life. So the Old Man and Family Old Man went off in search of quiet. Quiet? Blaring radios, rumbling hi-fi's, and yowling children shrieking through the place. Quiet? Gaping sight-seers peering in through windows, banging on doors, demanding answers to stupid questions.