And now for something completely different:
Typically, I tend to bury the business side of things near
the bottom of the newsletter. My lovely wife, Kathi, often comments on this, subtly
suggesting better luck might be had by exercising a different approach. I’ve
decided to try it.
I have what I believe to be some great news. Twisted
Perception, the 1st Elliot novel in the now (I wish) infamous series,
is now available in Audiobook format. Yea!!! I can practically hear the squeals
of delight, coming from my adoring fans as the momentousness of this epic event
dawns on them. And now, here is the link:
Please follow the link and check it out. Once you’re at the
site, there’s a button you can click to hear a free sample. Charles Bice, the
reader we chose, did an excellent job of portraying the characters as he tells
the story. I believe you can even get the audiobook of Twisted Perception for free,
if you join Audible.com. And who wouldn’t want to do that?
And now for the rest of the story:
And there I was, (I’m using a lot of Ands in this
newsletter) strolling the isles of some mega-mart when I drop to my knees to
explore the bargain-brand (Hyphens too) section in an area of the store
dedicated to the killing of bugs.
A collection of dust, and spider web covered cans occupies
that particular spot on the bottom shelving.
I begin to reach for one of the cans, though further
reflection upon the condition of the product causes me to pause. (Hmm…
something poetic about that) Should there be spider webs on a can of bug spray?
I realize the ultimate purpose of the metallic packaging is to maintain the
contents within the confines, but there’s something about spiders congregating
upon that which should repel them that just isn’t right.
As I remain there in the crouching-tiger position, still
undecided upon the potential possession of non-lethal bug paraphernalia, I
overhear someone in the next isle excitedly exclaiming: “Did I tell you we
found grandma?”
Grandma, I wonder? Is she okay? How long has she been
missing? Could I be one isle away from a tearful, family reunion, years in the
making?
Seconds later, a man, propelling his wheelchair precariously
balanced on two wheels, speeds around the corner. A crazed look covers his
face. “Did I tell you we found grandma?” He asks.
I smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
I rise to me feet then, while projecting the best nonchalant
attitude I could muster, I continue to pretend I’m shopping, while in reality
I’m beating the hastiest retreat that doesn’t look like one in the history of
mankind.
I’ve now lost all interest in bug spray. All I want is to
get out of the store. However, my fall through the wormhole, or rabbit hole, or
whatever isn’t exactly over.
I mount an evasive maneuver down another isle, but as I
approach a man in Bermuda shorts – who has the audacity to wear with the
atrocity, dress shoes with white socks rolled down over his ankles – reaching
for a jar of olives, he suddenly turns and grabs my arm. He’s also smoking a
pipe. Gripping the stem with his teeth, he grins around it, a bizarre Hugh
Hefner from… Well you get the point.
Wait a minute, I think. You can’t smoke in stores anymore.
“You just never know about people,” bizarre Hugh says. He
points to a lady perusing the pickles. “She’s soccer mom nine to five, but jams
as a base player for some punk, rock band, making the nightclub scene by
night.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s my job,” he says. “Did you happen to notice the
slender, black man in the cereal, isle?”
“Not that I recall?”
Hugh shakes his head. “You’re going to have to pay better
attention. Later in the week, Mr. Cereal will put his all into gambling,
energetically high-fiving plastic and steel, while he prays to the electronic
circuitry of a slot machine, harbored in a dark corner of a small casino
outside the limits of some dusty, Oklahoma, town.”
I roll over in bed and remind myself not to eat pizza so
late at night.
I want to thank everyone who has signed up for my
newsletter. I hope you enjoy reading it. If you know of someone who might enjoy
it, too, please email it to them.
I also give programs for writing groups, reading groups, or
any group that’s interested. If you belong to a club, which needs program
speakers, keep me in mind.
You have permission to reprint, forward, or use the contents
of this newsletter in your newsletter or e-zine. The only requirement is the
inclusion of the following footer:
This article was written by Bob Avey, author of, Twisted
Perception, Beneath a Buried House, and Footprints of a Dancer. http://www.bobavey.com.
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