Bob Avey’s 3rd Quarter
2018
Newsletter
Once again I want to express my heartfelt thanks to my loyal
readers, and to everyone, who has signed up for this crazy newsletter. The
growth of the list continues to amaze me. 23 new readers have signed up since my
last newsletter. I truly hope that you find enjoyment and entertainment from my
books and newsletters. In appreciation, instead of the usual
drawing-one-name-from-the-hopper thing for the free autographed copy, I will
give the first five respondents an autographed copy of their choice – Chosen
from one of my books of course – and all you have to do is answer a question
correctly. What’s the question? I’m still thinking.
And now for something completely different:
It’s all about perception, isn’t it? One of the first things
we learn – well some of us anyway – is that not everyone – nobody really –
processes information the same way that we do. If you doubt that premise,
engage someone in a conversation about politics. I can hear the groans already.
Fear not, this has nothing to do with politics. Allow me to lead in a different
direction. The theme of my first novel, Twisted Perception, is all about
perception. Imagine that. The title didn’t just fall out of my head. On second
thought, perhaps it did. However, I promised myself I wouldn’t ramble on with
this, so let us dive in:
A few days ago, my wife and I pulled into the parking lot of
a convenience store – too convenient actually – to do whatever it was, for
which we pulled in, and while we were doing this, a pickup truck parked beside
us. Stay with me, it’s good. The driver of the pickup was a somewhat normal
male. However, the passenger was a deer, an actual deer with antlers and
everything. We both laughed about the incident. However, while Kathi maintained
that it was nothing more than a victim of taxidermy, and just the head, I saw
it quite differently. There was an entire deer in that truck, legs, hooves,
antlers, and all. I couldn’t tell if the deer was wearing his seatbelt or not,
but he didn’t appear to be conscious, a victim of foul play at any rate.
Perhaps this will serve as a better example. A few nights
ago, Kathi and I arrived home from work ready to settle in for an evening of
rest and recuperation only to have it eventually disrupted. It shouldn’t
surprise me. It seems to be one crises – of some magnitude – after another at
our house. After dinner, I attempted to settle into my recliner, only to be
reminded by our son David that the lawn needed to be mowed. He was right of
course. While pulling from the garage that morning, I’d thought I’d seen
someone traversing the front yard with a machete. I relented, but on the way
out the front door, I tripped over a small, brown object. Upon further
examination, I found the obstruction to be a box of coffee, which I’d ordered
just that morning. Worrying about Amazons and drones, and after pushing a lawn
mower in the Oklahoma heat for thirty or forty minutes, I crawled into the
house to take a shower.
“I’m out of Doctor Pooper,”
David said.
“Can’t we get it
tomorrow?” I asked.
Kathi quickly drew me aside. “It can’t wait,” she said. “If
David is left here all day tomorrow with no Doctor Pooper, he will drink all of
my Poopsie. And let’s not forget about tonight. Without Doctor Pooper, he’ll
demand watching Highway through Purgatory as retribution.”
“I see your point,” I said. Not being able to bear the
thought of having to watch back-to-back episodes of Canadians, dragging busted
trucks through the snow, I drove my sweaty self to the Dollar Shack to get the
needed supplies. I love Canada, and the people there are beautiful, but a
person can only take so much of that, eh?
Having successfully maneuvered the exhausting trip, I walked
into the house and plopped my prize down upon the kitchen island, only to be greeted
by Kathi frowning and shaking her head. I whipped my attention around and
observed the packaged soft drinks: sitting on the counter was the familiar
reddish-brown carton with the same stylish lettering written across it. There
was only one glaring problem. Instead of Doctor Pooper, it read, Doctor Popper.
In my haste to finish the chore and return home, I’d mistakenly purchased a
cheap knockoff. Fearing the wrath of Dave, and being quick on her feet, Kathi
quickly stated, “I’ve heard about this. It’s brand new on the market. Everyone
at work is talking about it.”
David eagerly guzzled down a can of the Popper. “Hey, this
is pretty good,” He said.
That weekend, during our weekly Mega Mart shopping spree,
David, looking rather haggard and frazzled, met us at the checkout. “I can’t
find the Doctor Popper,” he said.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’ll swing by the Dollar Shack on
our way home and stock up.”
As it turned out, my daughter, Karen, had ordered the coffee
for me as a Father’s Day gift, so I guess we’re safe from immediate
drone-danger.
And by the way, if you’re out and about and run across any
Doctor Popper, please send it to us. It seems the Dollar Shack is the only
store that stocks it. I’m just kidding. Not about the stuff being rare and hard
to find, but about sending it to us.
Oh yes, the question is: At the beginning of chapter two of
Twisted Perception, what does Detective Elliot perceive to be the problem?
Thanks and good luck.
Please check out my writing at the link below:
Twisted Perception is now out in audiobook. Please click the
link below:
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This article was written by Bob Avey, author of Twisted
Perception, Beneath a Buried House, and Footprints of a Dancer. http://www.bobavey.com
