Note that The Cup’s Story is not the same thing as The Cup’s History. I hate to keep restating the obvious, but when the Government is involved, it’s probably for the best. Stating in triplicate, so to speak. I spent dozens of hours listening to her talk about her memories and hundreds more since discussing them, like old friends do.
This is a tale distilled from those hours. There are truths and there are fictions—which, I’ve learned since I began the process of writing fiction, are not the same as lies. In fact, fictions are often more truthful that facts.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious, except the ones that are not. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental, except where it isn’t. Fictitious characters are hereby proscribed from acting like real persons. Real persons, if on occasion you prefer to act like fictitious characters, knock yourself out.
In the beginning I expected, if not omniscience, then at least a huge breadth of knowledge from a creature so old that had experienced so much. But there are huge holes in her knowledge, since she only ‘knows’ what she witnessed first-hand, plus a sense of what she has absorbed second-hand from the knowledge of her owners. As a lifelong historian, I’ve made some intelligent guesses to fill those gaps. As a relatively-new story teller, I made up what I couldn’t guess.
One other editorial note on the text. When I’m telling the cup’s story, I use italics to indicate sections which are mostly her voice, and non-italics when I have severely edited, summarized, or retold (she has almost as much of a tendency to ramble as I do). But where I am relating adventures or conversations that I experienced first-hand, I use italics to indicate telepathic communication. I know—I should be more consistent. But as Emerson put it, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” So I avoid being small-minded in this case by being confusing instead.