Sold NO books.
In fact, drew no one to my table for an interesting/colorful/newsworthy chat. Have my books/sign/distinctively garbed presence become commonplace? Am I another potted ficus?
(I did receive a visit from a librarian/cartoonist in town from Maryland, with whom I have been in sporadic correspondence since my first article on the Air Pirates appeared 20 years ago. And a café regular introduced me to her boyfriend, a criminal defense lawyer in Sacramento, as the fellow who’d written “Bob.” “I read part,” he said.)
Gave TWO books away.
A “Cheesesteak” went to a jazz musician (“Lester” in its last chapter) whom I’d met in high school and who’d sent me a link to a documentary about book censorship in public high schools on which he’d been an executive producer.
And a “Best Ride” to the ex-wife of “Max Garden,” (See: same chapter) who now lives in Jamaica. She recently sold her house in Philly and lost her copy in the move. She sent me a photo of her granddaughter in full motorbike racing regalia. Her and Max’s son lives in Vietnam, where he runs a training center for tri-athletes.
How the world turns.
In other news…
Readers will recall that my final review of “Messiahs” was awaiting only incorporation of its illustrations. I had scanned and sent to the publisher those that it lacked, but when I did not receive a pdf for a week or so, I inquired. He had received the scans but had no idea what had happened to them, so I had another set sent and resumed awaiting. It is growing a bit uncomfortable on the edge of my seat, but I am not worried.
For one thing, my relationship with this publisher began 35-years ago with it losing the first article I sent it three times. So this disappearance may mark an auspicious new beginning.
For another, when writers of my stature get together, a basic topic of conversation is the indignities, abuses and kerfuffles we have suffered in pursuit of our art, and now I have added one more.
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.