In his introduction to the book the author says: "I cannot write but I have to. I have no control over my hand but still I have to write! I don’t know where to start and what to write because my mind is in turmoil, so I don’t know what the result might be. It’s been years since I held a pen. My life is strange – the civil war, the national movement for independence, the dreadful 1990s, with their grief and hardships, all seemingly erased from my memory. From 1992 onwards our family summer house in Tserakvi became my sanctuary. That’s when writing ceased for me, ending my life ... I walked around in solitude, abandoned and dejected, carrying the load of unwritten heroes and stillborn characters".