I am quite impressed. My brother will have his first biography published this spring. Feel free to pre-order here: Amazon.com or from a preferred book seller.

No, I am not jealous. I swear. I am genuinely proud and happy for him. I have neither the desire nor the skill to write a historical book. Footnotes? What a bitch. I recall the pre-computer, school days when I would try to estimate the space needed at the bottom of page for its footnotes and never getting it perfect. Sometimes I even had to re-type the whole damn page lest my grade suffer due to its neatness factor. I recall losing points on a math test due my less than legible writing. Thanks sister Maximilla, you knew that my 7 was a 1 as I had obediently shown my work. How did I live before computers?

But back to the research. My brother allowed me the opportunity to do a few hours worth of research, browsing spools of microfiche and while I did not hate it, I cannot see myself spending a year or so searching through archives, followed by another year writing a historical biography. The information my brother sought was possibly available at a center run by the Latter-day Saints. Supposedly, this religion possesses a vast library of historical items used to help patrons trace their LDS family history, but I know little of this religion. I imagine the goal is to build a vast archive of data so that 2000 years from now they can refer to numerous books, documents and letters versus a single book to help strengthen their legitimacy. Religious leaders like to cover their bases.

During the hours I turned the microfiche machine’s handle (no, it wasn’t automated), boredom became unbearable, so I had no choice but to listen in on the other’s conversations. I know, “get a life, get an iPod”, but wearing earphones in public freaks me out. I feel I may “miss” hearing something, such as the fast-running killer, the heavy-breathing rapist, the bitchy person talking about my bad hair color…

So while listening, I discovered that geneology was big here. This caused me to think about my own family and wonder why I could not care less about my roots, familial ones versus the tragic ones sitting below that bad bleach job. This proves such a contrast to my brother, the author of a historical novel. Give nature another mark on the board. Sure, nurture is powerful, but nature has a head-start along with its complex hard-wiring.

No, he was not a boxer, he did not raise chickens, he was Robber Baron: The Life of Charles Tyson Yerkes.