Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Twisted Writing

A few Saturdays back, I was sitting in the middle of a shopping mall, behind a skirted table, which had been positioned beside the mall’s showcase attraction: a beautiful but rather noisy fountain. I practically had to shout at potential book buyers, which would have been uncomfortable, had there been any.

However, I did manage to convince – perhaps coerce would be more descriptive – a few passers by to break their stride and pause momentarily at my table, even if more than a few of them stopped only for the free candy with which I tempted them. Never offer chocolate to a mall walker. They’ll take it every time. At least a half dozen or so succumbed to my pleadings, however, only a few of them should be mentioned: a man who wore a hooded sweatshirt that was the color of tomato juice, and a grease-stained ball cap, a lady who’d just started a diet program, and an unusual gentleman dressed in a southern Civil War military uniform. Now this guy was unnerving. Sporting a three-day growth of beard and a big grey mustache, he never spoke, just nodded, and with the realistic uniform, complete with boots, hat and suspenders, he really looked the part. When he finally walked away, I could have sworn dust, puffed around his footfalls. But let’s get back to the lady. Being in the business of selling my books for more than a year now, I’ve heard a plethora of excuses, or reasons as to why one could not, at the time, buy one. However this lady’s originality must be commended. She kindly picked up one of the books, flipped it over and read the back cover, then placed it softly back on the table. Afterward she smiled and told me that she’d love to have one of my books, but she’d been to a doctor who had put her on a diet, and the medicine he’d given her had left her allergic to many things with which she’d never before had a problem, and one of them was the pages of books.

If you would like to own an autographed copy of my mystery novel, Twisted Perception, send me an email at bob@bobavey.com and let me know how to personalize it and where to ship it. Oh, yeah, include a check for $17.00. I'll pay the shipping. If you would like to read a sample of the book, go to my website at http://www.bobavey.com where you can read chapter one.



Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Even more Twisted

Hello, everyone.

As a result of my hobbies, I’m familiar with many Oklahoma towns, but lately, being busy with this and occupied with that, I’d almost forgotten how special these national treasures are. However, with many of the book signings and speaking engagements I’ve experienced lately being situated in rural communities, my appreciation for small-town life has been reignited. How could you not love library meetings where the main topics, shying away from things like drugs, terrorism, and drive-by shootings, lean more toward more pleasant undertakings like frog jumping contests, turtle races, and ice cream socials: Things for the children.

Getting back to a more serious note, let me share with you some of what I’ve experienced while manning booths at some of the craft fairs across Oklahoma. It seems that wherever I go people who share an interest in writing stop by to talk about such. Normally this is an enjoyable affair. However, depending on the individuals involved, things like this can get uncomfortable. On one of my outings, a young man strolled up and asked me if I wrote poetry. I had, I told him, in my early years, but had since abandoned such notions, having fallen in love with fiction. I can only speculate that, being filled with excitement, he only heard the first part of my sentence – that portion leaning toward the affirmative – for he produced a spiral notebook, which seemed to appear from nowhere, sort of like Felix the Cat’s bag of tricks, from which he commenced reading various verses he had penned. I listened politely, however, while this was going down, potential business walked on, passing me by – a man wearing blue denim overalls with no shirt beneath, a lady with a tattoo on her leg that seriously resembled an open wound, a girl carrying a rock in one hand and a corn dog in the other, a boy with a monkey on his back that was clutching a large potato, and finally a lady, who actually ignored my guest and stopped. She’d just purchased a turkey leg, and she wanted to trade it for a book. I was hungry. I almost went for it. I could go on, but I won’t.