It occurred to me that the reason I seem to immediately follow one writing project with another writing project is that because, when I am writing, I can spend my time, even away from pen and paper, formulating and refining sentences and paragraphs in my head and that, if I was not filling this space in this fashion, my thinking would dwell in areas of gloom.

Adele thought there was something to that. But she believes most people have something going on in their heads that serves the same purpose.

And that reminded me of a sentence I had copied from “Infinite Jest.” Hal Incandenza, the novel’s protagonist — or one of its protagonists — reflects that “We are all trying to give our lives away something, maybe God or Satan, politics or grammar, topology or philately — the object seemed incidental to giving one’s self away utterly. To games or needles, to some other person.”

I agreed with Hal too.

The fellow at the next table saw my display when he turned to leave. “Did you write all these?”

40ish. Pale. Thin. Darkly dressed. Maybe a Brit.

I said I had.

“I don’t remember the last novel I read,” he said.

“Only two of these are novels,” I said.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “A friend wrote it.”

I pitched, in 50 words or less, total, the four books that were not novels.

He made videos. He did not believe books had a future.

I believed they did.

Adele said, later, “Become his friend, and maybe he will buy a book of yours.

I considered the plusses and minuses.

Note: Keen-eyed, unmemory-impaired, numerically-obsessive readers may note there has been no Week 45 in this space. Do not worry. It shall appear. Meanwhile…]

Sold, via this very web site — where all my books are available — one “Outlaws…” The buyer identified himself as a fan of “Pirates” — and a publisher, who invited me to write for him. His e-mail proposed a 40,000 word “primer,” on a subject I took a shine to, for a figure on a check which would be more than I’d seen in a while but, per word, wasn’t. So I responded with an inquiry about royalties, on what I envisioned as a stand-alone pamphlet, inquired about a series,…

“He only wants 4000 words,” Adele, with whom I share the e-mail address, said.

Ooops.

“You probably think I’m n idiot,” I followed up to the publisher. “But I’m in.”

Sold two “Best Rides.”

That Berkeley author/publisher (See earlier blog) wanted to check me out. “Give me the one from the New York publisher.” (Since BR doesn’t reflect how I write now, I threw in a free “Cheesesteak.”) Then that UC English major (See even earlier blog) lived up to his promise to buy a novel once he had some cash with him. (Given what I hear about his department, I suspect he wanted to see what Old White Men have been up to,)

In other news, the home answering machine picked up one of those “I’m trying to reach the Bob Levin who wrote ‘XYZ'” messages. (These are less frequent, though more exciting, than those hoping to schedule an appointment with Bob Levine, the acupuncturist.) My mind immediately swung into its usual fantasy, which, tellingly, involves my receiving hundreds of thousands of dollars fro Hollywood rather than, say, an inquiry as to when I might be free to pop over to Oslo to pick up my award. Since the caller did not identify his purpose, I Googled his name and found he might be an assistant secretary general at the UN, a defensive tackle for the University or Arkansas, or a fellow who shared his Twitter photo with a monkey.

Stay tuned.

[Bob’s books are available at this very web site.]

Sold three books. (I hate to say it, but Donald Trump may have the economy booming. Trickling down to my café table anyway.)

An M.D. at Café One bought a “Best Ride” and a “Schiz.” (He’d already bought a couple of my other books, so he must be a true fan, not just being polite.) Then an aspiring writer at Café Two, with whom I’d previously bantered “career guidance,” bought a “Cheesesteak.”

My display at Café One also drew into conversation a more accomplished and better known, while still under-appreciated Berkeley writer. We talked Commerce and Art. (He has his own non-profit publishing house to which he kindly invited me to submit my next manuscript.)

And in yet another testament to semi-unconscious networking, this fellow with whom I had played basketball for over a decade without knowing his surname, let alone that he had studied with John Barth before becoming a regular contributor to national magazines and author of several books, graciously gave me contact information for his agent and okayed my using his name as a referral.

I may have to start looking more kindly upon my fellow man.

[Bob’s books are available from this very web site.]