“Rented Space” is an experiment in serial fiction. Whereas in previous eras, an author might work for five years creating a clean, finished copy of a novel to send to a publisher, the Internet has the potential to make every person his or her own publisher. Thus I choose to publish the first draft of my work on-line, free for the public to read, not knowing whether one day I might seek a more traditional publishing venue.

I really do not know even whether I will finish this work. It is common for first experiments to fail, especially when I am responsible for the experiment. My literary efforts are severely handicapped by my mediocre intellect, lack of talent, and general laziness.

However, I have sufficient affection for the character who appears within these pages, the arrogant and anti-social poet laureate of the United States, Eugene Crabbe, that I hope he does not wither and die for want of attention, either by myself or readers. As my particular brain child, Crabbe deserves better treatment than I can give gim. But I am all he has got.

As the poet once said, “They fuck you up, your mum and dad.” Let’s hope I don’t fuck up this child of mine too badly.