The final edits of my book of short stories – Dreaming .400 are now complete. The extra lap did wonders for the story “Expos Next Generation,” but that’s all I will say.
The release date has been pushed up two weeks, to the end of September. You can still pre-order the book or wait until it’s available at places listed on the publisher’s website. We’re also flirting with the idea of posting a PDF version of one of the stories. I’ll keep you posted.
I received the uncorrected or “galley” proofs of the print book over a month ago. The vain sensation of holding it in my hand and seeing my name on the cover didn’t last long, but it still felt kind of cool. I have been distributing them in the hopes of reviews being written and some have, to be posted in various places.
I’m slow when it comes to marketing and branding my author name, but I try to keep my mind open. In the next few weeks, I will be pursuing a number of on line avenues to draw attention to my book – a Dreaming .400 website, author page, Facebook page, and so on. The experts tell me it’s best to link all of the sites together so there will be an icon for each on this blog to click and be taken directly there.
In other news, I survived a cream cheese scare at work. Either the bagel was way too small or the lady behind the windshield was way too liberal with the cheese. All I know for sure is that it squirted out the sides and through the hole like play-doh and yes, that can be fun when you’re at lunch and have one hour to kill, but not during a 15 minute break.
I knew right then and there that cream cheese belonged in a pita or on wonder bread, something with a roof or cover, not a bagel, but it was too late. I had it all over my hands, nose and cheeks and I was hungry so I rubbed my face free with my finger tips and licked away, all the while saying to myself, never again, never again!
But I still had a job and that’s a good thing and my imaginary great uncle – Otto von Simchastein popped into my head as well. I hadn’t thought about him in almost a year. He always told me that in a previous life he was a fighter pilot in the SS Nazi army. That always struck me as kind of strange since my family is Jewish. Otto said it had to do with gilgul which is reincarnation in Judaism. Sounded good to me. I love bratwursts and sauerkraut. It ain’t kosher, but it sure tastes good and on a grill outside Miller Park is just right of paradise! To die for!
Otto loved attending free events. He took me to solar panel demonstrations, limerick recitals and my all time favorite frenzy of his – “Russian language classes, all you can drink Vodka.” I always brought a harmonica hidden in my jacket pocket because I knew how Otto could get after a few swigs of Captain Karkov, inventing little fortune cookie ditties like,
“One carries pampers on his head, another a case of beer. Do you have a favorite dead tree, free, you and me, see?”
And when I politely asked what the hell he was talking about, he would just slip into more ditties,
“A hangover is a leftover. The moon is a pill, still, we will find a thrill.”
If Otto were a real person I would buy him an accordion and invite him to a real simple place with wood bleachers, maybe the home court of a division three basketball team. He could roam the sideline and pluck strangers from the crowd and dance with them a while and when the waltz was over, raise up their arms in a Che Guevara triumph, crowning strangers with unexpected joy.
Speaking of joy, the Brewers now have a better winning percentage than five teams including the Atlanta Braves. And in Canada, the Blue Jays are kicking so much ass that even Montreal baseball fans are warming up a bit.