No sales.
But sent a gift “Cheesesteak” to a woman in Oregon. She had been part of my primary social circle in high school, but we had had virtually no contact in 60 years until her recent re=surfacing in an e-mail chat chain.
And swapped a “Goshkin” (and IOU for my next book) to my café pal Gene, Berkeley’s Boccaccio of contemporary seniors erotica. He’d put his COVID-imposed downtime to good use assembling a new collection of Tillie-and-Elmer stories, while penning and illustrating a Tillie-and-Elmer novel of positively gargantuan dimension.
Not that inquiring travelers didn’t drop by my table.
One was an amply bearded – but only partially toothed – fellow, with whom I bantered about ethnic make-ups of our childhood environs (San Leandro his; West Philly mine) and, surprisingly, our shared background in workers’ comp (attorney me; claims adjuster him). It was only after I excused myself to return to my laptop that I realized we’d had a similar lengthy – and unprofitable – parlez maybe two years ago. I should have recognized the gums.
There were also one or two musicians. I’m unsure because the first had said he’d be back and, while people who say that rarely do, they were about the same age and size and both played piano. Let’s go with “two,” which makes sense since the first said he was also an illustrator, which the second didn’t, and the second said he “covered” James Taylor and Stevie Nicks, which the first hadn’t. But their non-holding, non-spending habit was sure, bottom-line, similar.
In other news…
My most recent published piece, the result of impressive (to me) effort, received a discouraging zero reaction where it originally appeared and only four (comment-less) “Like”s when linked to at FB. But my blog, where this link also appeared netted a couple engaging e-mails, one from a friend and one, surprisingly complimentary, from a correspondent who generally prefers to push my socio-political buttons. “The Writings of a Master,” he said. I won’t argue.
Even better were the responses of the publisher’s representative who had sent me the book in question and that of its creator. They offered a level of connection and communication I don’t often experience from people I don’t personally know, but which warmed the heart. I often – bemusedly – wonder why I keep doing this, and happenings like these are reason enough to continue.
Bob’s books are available from www.theboblevin.com
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.