Sold five “Lollipop”’s; swapped one; gave one away.
The sales were to (1) a friend from here, who had moved east decades ago and was back visiting; (2) a friend from my lawyer-days, one of the two remaining on my most-likely-to-buy-a-copy-but-hadn’t list; (3) a college friend who usually ignores news of my books; and (4) and (5) both to the editor of a journal in which I publish, one for a fellow-contributor, who writes about his volunteer work in Haiti, and one to replace the copy his son took back with him to college – in Chicago, the first copy to return to the land of its origin.
The swap was for a self-published collection of children’s (and discerning adults) stories by an 88-year-old author/ex-high school teacher/ex-commercial fisherman, whom I’d met at one of the readings I’d run, pre-Covid. The swap occurred at a North Oakland cafe, where we sat trading stories of the ‘60s – sex, drugs, and the Creative Writing program at San Francisco State – to who-knows-what thoughts of the younger generations at surrounding tables.
The gift – per previous instructions (see: “Adventures” 310) – was to the fellow who’d asked two-or-three times if I was the “Bob” I would have thought my books and signs would have made clear. In his mid-50s and an “activist” (self-described) by trade, he lives in a tent “in the woods.” My largesse led to him sharing his experiences of being arrested coast-to-coast, eight times in Berkeley alone for bike law violations. (He also gave me a flyer of his creation (“Founding Fathers Tortured Slaves,” it began), a limited edition, the library only permitting patrons five free photo-copies. He promised to read my book and give it to someone else.
In other news…
1.) The editor of a book I’d reviewed favorably expressed interest in buying one of mine. I directed her to my web site (www.theboblevin.com, for the curious), which resulted in… So far, nothing. But it’s only Day Eleven.
2.) A lawyer-friend, physically disabled from holding an actual book, asked about purchasing an e-book of IWKYA. There was none, I told her, but I could send a pdf – for $15. Nothing, again. Ten days there.
3. A fellow in Idaho e-mailed interest in Adele’s and my article on Dori Seda (“‘I Don’t Fuck My Dog’”). He had purchased an “Outlaws, Rebels…” (No doubt “pre-owned,” since it’s out of print), in which it is collected, but needed it sooner and wondered if I could send him a pdf. Unfortunately, we’d written it pre-computer, so I couldn’t. I suggested he check libraries near him, but none in all of Idaho was holding.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.