Imagine that you're transported back in time, about seven centuries or more. You burst with happiness as you walk on a neatly paved road and breathe in the air scented with wildflowers. In the distance, you can already spot the little houses. You quicken your pace, so overtaken you are by curiosity of who inhabits these dwellings.

As you walk in these beautiful surroundings, you realize you are in the pre-Columbian North America, a place that would soon disappear from so-called modern maps and European conscience. With time, it will be replaced with the myth about the vast lands, sparsely populated, waiting to be discovered. What the myth will obliterate is how, in the fervor of America's "discovery," an entire civilization was wiped out, by killings and largely by diseases brought by the European explorers.

I wanted to pay tribute to this lost civilization and let you peer into the forgotten lives of the pre-Columbian people. You're walking on, approaching their dwellings when suddenly, you see a single, little house with white-washed walls, a house, you later find out, that belongs to a poet in Warsaw. You're thrown back into the modern times.

"What the ...!" You scream, still hoping to get a glimpse into the lives of the people you felt you were so close to. You wanted to know what they looked like, what they wore, what they ate, liked and disliked. "Why! Why change the subject now! Why change the world I see unfolding before my eyes!?"

"Because of Roger" you hear my firm answer and scratch your head.

"Roger? Who's Roger?" You ask. You may even recall that you know a Roger or two in the world, but you would not necessarily rush off to write a novel because of them.

"Well, calm down," You hear me say, "When I tell you about the Roger I know, hopefully you'll understand my decision to focus on an entirely different topic in my book."

You anxiously scroll down the page for a quick answer. The scroll bar, however, won't move any further. "What now!" You say impatiently.

"I'll tell you all about Roger in the next blog entry," You hear me say.

"I hope I won't have to wait as many centuries as it took Columbus to discover America," you mutter and type a new address on the address bar, to take your mind off the entire matter. I see you type amazon.com. And off you go, perhaps to rummage among different books and to find your own way, from amazon's jungle of links and pages back to the pre-Columbian world.