Holy Moly! I’ve been at this SIX years.
[For those of you who don’t know what “this” is, every morning I sit in a café with a selection of my books and a sign, either “Buy Bob’s Books” (S. Clay Wilson), or “Meet the Author” (J.T, Dockery). I record all sales and noteworthy conversations that result – as well as related matters – here. Performance art, I think of it, an opinion, based upon the number of galleries who have invited me, unshared by a single curator.]
Anyway…
Sold five “Lollipop”s, one “Schiz, one IWKYA (via Amazon).
The “Lollipop”s went to (a) the editor who bought two last week. It was for a contributor to his mag who teaches a course on the ‘60s. (Now if he adds it to his reading list…); (b) a fellow at the café to whom I’d given a copy because (i) he’d lacked cash and (ii) my new iPhone wouldn’t accept my old Square. His check finally arrived; (c) a lawyer-pal/aspiring novelist/ regular reader; (d) and (e) a college pal/ex-journalist/attorney who wanted one for himself and one for a friend in Chicago.
The “Schiz” went to a therapist-friend following a discussion of the rewards and tribulations of our professions.
IWKYA went to the attorney to whom I’d offered a pdf after she’d said she was disabled from handling a physical copy (for $15) an e-book of which there are none. After discovering she could save some bucks ($7, new, $11 used), she must have decided the pain and suffering was worth it. (She did post a lovely five-star review (“intimate,” “vivid”) which, unfortunately, due to the scam our former distributor pulled, will benefit only Jeff Bezos.)
In other news…
1.) Sent a “Lollipop” to a review which only discusses books about Chicago or by Chicagoans. It provides a brief bio of its stable of reviewers; you pick three; and if one wants your book, you send it. I chose two attorneys and one South Side resident, and the younger attorney asked for my book.
2.) A college friend, who had served four-years in Air Force intelligence, complained that I had mistreated the military in “Lollipop.” He noted that while I was living penuriously in the Y (See: Chapter II), he was out-earning me a few-fold, living in a high rise in Alabama, on a floor filled with nurses – and probably in less danger than I was. (I told him, next edition, I’d give him a footnote.)
3.) A café regular/novelist/UC writing professor, who has been reading “Goshkin,” e-mailed me he found in “rich AND strange.” (I liked that “strange.” I see it as a future blurb.)
4.) Have begun clearing storage boxes from the basement. The first to hit the recycle bin were drafts of “The Schiz.” Future generations of scholars will be out of luck. You libraries that failed to come calling for my papers have no one to blame but yourselves.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.