Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/31 - My Movie

Here's a video montage I put together using Window's Live Movie Maker program. It features people from the block I grew up on, Bay 37th Street, relatives and friends, I've had the privilege to know and love. A few were not residents of our block but spent a lot of time there. The last two were only on our TV screens. It's set to Duke Ellington's C Jam Blues and runs exactly three minutes. There are several people for whom I don't have pictures. If I ever get them, I'll edit the piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zzEbfJx1CI

For the first two hours of operation today the floating book shop continued to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous weather. During the last hour, the sky cleared and the wind diminished. It seems March will go out like a lamb in its final hours. Unfortunately, it was three-and-a-half hours of zilch, the first time I've been shutout this year. Even my Russian regulars passed. Fortunately, I made much more this month than in January and February combined, although that's not saying much. Hit it Annie: "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you tomorrow./You're just a day away."
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/30 - Potpurri

Michael Goodwin's op-ed pieces are syndicated nationally, locally in the NY Post. He voted for President Obama in 2008. I doubt he did in 2012. He closed his column today in stunning, scathing style: "A Caesar at home and a Chamberlain abroad, Obama manages to simultaneously provoke fury and ridicule. He bullies critics here while shrinking from adversaries there. He divides the country and unites the world against us, ­diminishing the nation in both ways. His reign of error can’t end soon enough, nor can it end well." Man.

I use Twitter for shameless self-promotion. I post only four times each day, during my morning and evening stints at the computer, never from my cell phone. Of course, celebrities also use it to keep their names in public's mind, but many do it creatively. Here are two examples culled from an article in today's Post: DanaJGould: “The fact that Fred Flintstone ate brontosaurus burgers seems less charming when you realize Dino was also a brontosaurus.” ConanOBrien: “Is it ok to ask a very pregnant librarian if she’s overdue?”

Also in the Post -- an article that cites the inevitable change life brings: eight restaurants in Little Italy have closed in the past year. The neighborhood has shrunk dramatically the past few decades. Is it now a block long, perhaps two or three? Perhaps the only thing to survive will be the San Gennaro Feast, which is still popular and a money-maker.

Congratulations to the University of Wisconsin's Bo Ryan, 66, a coaching lifer who will be making his first trip to the Final Four. His record is impressive: 704-223, 321-120 with the Badgers, who he has served since 2001. He had a phenomenal run at Wisconsin Platteville, winning the league title seven times. His two-year tenure at Wisconsin Milwaukee, before he moved up to the Big Ten, was modestly successful. He is described as old school, a disciplinarian. Unfortunately, the graduation rate of his players is mediocre.

Also in basketball: the Philadelphia 76ers have ended their record tying 26 game losing streak with a victory vs. the Detroit Pistons. The Cleveland Cavaliers no longer hold that ignominy alone. It is a burden best shared.

It's no longer freezing, but the weather still stinks. I expected the floating book shop to be rained out today, so I'm grateful for the small returns. My thanks to Lisa, who purchased two children books, and to the woman who bought two thrillers in Russian.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/29 - Button

The floating book shop was rained out today. Here's an excerpt from a short story, Button, from the A Hitch in Twilight collection, available at Amazon in print or Kindle ($6), link below. My guess is it's a six-minute read:

   "Listen to this one, hon'," said a fit, balding man, eyes fixed on a computer monitor. "'Ever wish you could get rid of someone at the push of a button?'"
   Edie chuckled and poked her head past the entrance to the kitchen. "I can think of a half-dozen people right now -- and that's only students."
   Silently, he read further. "...Former fed employee on the run, looking for revenge against those who wronged him... Supply very limited. First come, first served. Act now before I vanish from this earth. Absolutely free, no strings. Just leave name and address, which will be deleted once the order is filled. Click here to eliminate any doubt as to the effectiveness of this product."
   He moved the mouse, and an article appeared: "Mysterious Rise in Coronaries Puzzles Officials."
   "Turn it off now, hon'," said Edie. "They just pulled up. And don't you dare order anything else."
   After dinner they retired to the living room. When the baby kicked the others rushed to touch Edie's belly. Although she was five years older than Jan, her sister, who had two teenagers, this was her first child.
   "I can't wait," she said, beaming. "Five months seems an eternity. We put it off so long. I didn't think it was ever gonna happen."
   She was pained by memory. She'd been pregnant in the first year of the marriage. They decided it was too soon. Only Pete knew. She'd never even told Jan, to whom she felt closer than anyone. She hoped the birth of her child would vanquish that pain forever.
   They conversed idly, slouched, completely comfortable with each other. Pete had removed his glasses. The familiar faces were a blur.
   "Find anything interesting online lately?" said Ted, Jan's husband.
   His wife smirked. "Are we gonna hear about smut again?"
   Pete mentioned the page he'd last visited.
   "Oh, wow," said Ted, "think of all the good you could do."
   "Politicians, lawyers," said Pete, "actors who tell you how to vote."
   "Drug dealers, degenerates," said Jan, perking up. "It wouldn't take long to make the world a better place."
   "Televangelists," said Ted, raising hackles.
   "Telemarketers," said Pete, forging a unanimous consensus.
   "If only it were real," said Jan wistfully, sighing.
   "I'm not so sure," said Edie, suddenly troubled, wondering if the presence of the baby were influencing her. "I don't know if I'd be able to do it."
   "But you wouldn't even have to look your target in the eye," said Ted, leaning forward. "Wouldn't there be a lot more killing if it weren't for that?"
   "Isn't that why abortion's so popular?" added Jan.
   Pete felt Edie flinch. He was annoyed, and surprised. She hadn't been blue about it in a while. He'd thought she'd finally put it behind her when the pregnancy test came back positive. 18 years had passed -- she should've gotten over it long ago.
   He spoke up to move the conversation away from her pain. "Who would you off?" He found his use of gangster vernacular curious.
   Suddenly there was silence. They experienced a rare discomfort as a group. Other than internet pornography, this was as dangerous as their conversation had ever become.
   "I know who I'd pick," said Jan somberly, looking away.
   The others looked at her, waited. The light of realization came to Edie's face.
   "Do they still picket his house?"
   Jan's eyes glazed. Ted slung an arm around her. Edie caressed her pregnancy.
  "How do they let a savage like that out of prison?" said Pete angrily.
   The conversation died. Soon Jan and Ted left. Pete returned to the computer. He found the site closed.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/28 - Follies

A year ago NYC began a bike-sharing program. It has been both controversial and popular. Many motorists hate it because it eats up space and ties up traffic. Greeniacs love it for obvious reasons. Of course, since this is a government program it is already deeply in the red. Typically, certain politicians are calling for a tax-payer bailout. A pox on them.

A Canadian media commission has initiated disciplinary measures against porn channels, not because of content but because it demands that 35% of the programming be Canadian, and 90% carry close captioning. I guess the latter includes the moaning, groaning and sighing. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Senate Majority leader Harry Reid, the living caricature of a politician, is under fire, as it has been found that his campaign gave his grand-daughter $31,000 worth of jewelry. It sounds like something a writer would make up. I wish I could take credit for it.

The Detroit Tigers have given future Hall of Fame third baseman, Miguel Cabrera, 30, a ten-year contract worth $292 million, the highest in pro sports history. There’s no question that this great player should be among, if not, the highest paid in the game, but the length of the deal is absurd. Most long term contracts come back to haunt a franchise. The team would have to win at least two World Series during Cabrera’s tenure to justify the risk. Just two years ago the Angels gave Albert Pujols a generous long term contract, which seemed a good idea at the time, given his awesome production from the day he entered the major leagues. Since then, the first baseman certain to have a bust in Cooperstown one day has been a shadow of his former fearsome self, struggling because of a bad foot that required surgery.

As soon as I began setting up, it began sprinkling, so I took a limited edition of the floating book shop to the viaduct at Avenue Z and East 15th. It immediately paid off as a gentleman purchased the Ultimate Sinatra CD, and another bought a blues collection Marie donated the other day. Then Blaise approached and picked out Frank McCourt's Teacher Man. He asked about the other books and was impressed that I've written five. I gave him a synopsis of each and he selected A Hitch in Twilight and Killing. He told me of a time he had an argument with a girlfriend and walked through Canarsie alone, intimidated that no other whites were around. To be inoffensive, he referred to blue and gray rather than black and white. He was so relieved when finally he boarded a bus. He then obsessed about an infomercial about a beauty product, how false it was, rising on one foot and waving his arms, walking away about ten paces and returning. Since I did not smell any alcohol, I didn't think he was drunk. I assumed he'd taken some sort of chemical. He went on for an hour-and-a-half, telling me of how he held his mom's hand as she died of cancer, of the friend who committed suicide in January 2013, of his own thoughts of jumping in front of a train. He mentioned his family history of mental illness, of how he had precipitated his own through mescaline. He showed me his disability card, which allows him to ride public transportation, either at a discount or free, I'm not sure which. He had sense enough to back away each time a potential customer approached. His vocabulary was good. He asked me to write a paragraph in one of the books. It was the least I could do. I used phrases he had during the mostly one-sided conversation and ended it with "May the road rise with you," which I included because he'd referred to himself as a leprechaun. He said he would read it later but glanced at it because he was proficient at handwriting analysis and was interested in what the style said about me. He noted the V in my first name, turned the book upside down and said: "A phallic symbol," which had me laughing. When finally he tired, he offered his hand and said he was honored to have met me. I felt guilty for taking his money, as he is clearly incapable of holding a job and must squeak by on his government allowance. Sometimes life is at once fascinating and sorrowful. My thanks, sir, and to the other kind folks who made purchases.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets if Brooklyn 3/27 - Single Shot

Independent films offer different fare from Hollywood but probably share the same track record in terms of quality. Last night I viewed one of the winners, A Single Shot (2013), featuring a cast of indy all-stars, headed by Sam Rockwell, who received an award from the Newport Beach Film Festival as Best Actor. The ubiquitous William H. Macy, under a ridiculous wig, lends support as a disease-ridden lawyer. Kelly Reilly, whose series The Black Box (cleanse your dirty mind) is about to debut on ABC, plays the main character’s estranged wife. The much praised Jeffery Wright also is on hand. The story is grim and seedy but absorbing. It plays like film noir, although it is set in the Pacific Northwest. The sun is either obscured by trees or clouds, and rain is frequent. The action begins with a fateful hunting trip that leads the protagonist on a downward spiral. Only one instance stretched credulity, and even in that the man had no choice but to do what he did. I loved the closing scene, on which contributors at IMDb were deeply divided. I have a perfect phrase for it, but it would be a spoiler. The film was the fourth full length feature of director David M. Rosenthal, a New Yorker. I am unfamiliar with his others. I will be interested in his future work. Matthew F. Jones adapted his own novel, currently rated 3.5 of 5 by 39 reviewers at Amazon. This was an instance where I missed my old DVD player. I had to watch in letterbox, which I hate. Also, there was no close captioning, and the rural accents were very hard to understand at times. On a scale of five, 3.75. Those who rated it at IMDb were not as enthusiastic, 5.8 of ten.

A federal agency has given the Northwestern University football team the okay to unionize. The administration will appeal. This is likely to drag on in the courts for years. I’m against paying college athletes. I know that academic standards have been lowered and that many pseudo courses and majors exist these days, but a degree still has value. Besides, many student athletes in the major sports programs are frauds, especially in basketball, where it’s often "one and done." The NBA’s developmental league should be expanded to take in such prospects. The NFL gets away with murder, as college football serves as its minor league at no cost to it. If those who wish to be paid win the argument, I wonder if many colleges will drop football and basketball, killing participation as unions often do in the real world.

It was the warmest day of the week, but still cold. I forced myself to work a summer-like shift in length, as the forecast calls for rain the next three days. My thanks to those who bought, swapped and donated books.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/26 - Rhubarb

I surrendered to the fierce wind today. The floating books shop might have been blown away. Here's a short story, Rain and Rhubarb, I had published long ago. It's 1600 or so words, about a ten-minute read:

   Ron's mother swatted lint from the lapels of his black suit jacket, then straightened his black tie.
   "Are you going to be able to read with those on?" she said, referring to his sunglasses, which were so dark as to hide his eyes.
   "Yeah," he said softly. "I tried it at home. I'm afraid I might lose it. Uncle Bob wouldn't want that. He'd say something like: 'Think of people who really have it rough, then tell me if your tears are justified.'"
   His wife, tense, pale, squeezed his bicep. His father, who had barely spoken a word since learning of the death of his younger brother, lowered his silver head.
   They entered the chapel and sat in the front row. Ron stared at the casket, at the body that had had such life. So distant were his thoughts that his mother had to summon him back to the present. The delicate touch of her hand alerted him to Father Mooney, who had called on him to deliver the eulogy. He exchanged a peck with his wife, let go of her hand, and stood on rubbery legs, notes in hand. The silence was daunting as he stepped to the dais and faced relatives and friends.
   "Today," he said, beginning quietly, reading; "we mourn the passing and celebrate the life of Robert Falcone, 'Uncle Bob' to me, who was taken from us much too soon at the age of sixty. Uncle Bob was a man's man. He worked hard, never complained, and never had a bad word to say about anybody. He was kind, generous and good-natured."
   He paused for effect.
   "He did have one fault, though."
   Heads rose. Every eye was on him. Fidgeting was prevalent. He could read their minds: he wouldn't dare go there, would he?
   "He never let anybody know how lonely he was."
   He could feel relief spreading throughout the room. He would not let them off the hook, however.   "We all took it for granted that he was a born bachelor. We even thought he was.... Well, you know."
   He looked away, biting his lower lip to repress anger. Several mourners hung their heads. He held a notebook aloft.
   "I found this journal in his desk." He looked out at everyone, challenging them.  "Guess what? We were all wrong about him. The only entries in this are about the three women he loved in his life. He wrote about them with the gentlemanly class you'd expect from him. Although none of them loved him in return, God only knows why, he felt no bitterness toward them. None of them realized the mistake they made in letting him get away. If they've found husbands that love them half as much as Uncle Bob did, they're doing great. They could've never found a better father for their children, though. I know that because he often stepped in for my dad when he was away on business."
   He gazed sidelong at his father, who was leaning forward, dazed, hunched, hands entwined.
   "Uncle Bob would always show up to take me somewhere. He was great company, so much fun in his quiet way. He taught me so much. He taught me how to fish. And he had such an offbeat sense of humor. We'd be sitting quietly at the water's edge, waiting for a bite, and he'd look at me and say: 'Hey, Ron, think the rain'll hurt the rhubarb?"
   People chuckled briefly, reservedly.
   "I'd just shrug, not knowing what to say, feeling a little dumb because I had no idea what he was talking about. It took me awhile to realize it was just one of the silly things an uncle says to show affection without being sappy. One day I finally got the drop on him. 'Uncle Bob,' I said, 'think the rain'll hurt the rhubarb?' 'Not if it comes in cans,' he said without missing a beat."
   Everyone but his father laughed as he conjured a puzzled expression.
   "I was totally baffled, just when I thought I had him."
   He lowered his head.
   "That's a bittersweet memory now because, reading this journal, I know how much he would've wanted to share that riddle with a child of his own."
   He paused and gazed at the faces before him, which were now a blur.
   "Why didn't he ever get married, we all wonder? I found the answer here."
   He had the page marked.
   "...If you don't feel a twinge in the gut at the sight of her, then she's not the right girl...."
   He raised his head. No one was looking at him now. He saw faces flushed with shame. He was glad, although he knew Uncle Bob would not have wanted that.
   "Right or wrong, that's what he believed. That's the standard he set, and his standards were always high. I guess he felt that twinge whenever he saw any of those three women. The last one was especially painful for him. She was eighteen years younger than him. She didn't know that when she made the first move. Here's what Uncle Bob said about her."
   He turned to a paragraph highlighted by a yellow marker.
   "...Why do I feel such sorrow when I knew a girl of such decency and common sense would be scared off once she learned my age? If I was her uncle or older brother, I wouldn't want her to be with a man so much older than herself. Yet my heart cries out to her, for her. It has to be because I know that a man could walk to the ends of the earth and not find a better mother for his children. I am now convinced that I will never have children. God save me from the black hole of despair that threatens my soul. God grant me the grace to keep from blubbering like a pathetic fool whenever I see her sweet face. Her presence is now a large absence in my life. God give me the strength to keep my tears confined to home. Don't let me make her feel sorry for me. I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me. There are so many people in this world, in this city, who are much more unfortunate than me. I have to remember how lucky I am. But what will I do if she comes to laugh at me?"  
   Face burning, Ron drew a breath to gather himself. Heads were hanging. Eyes were glazed.
   "That was the last entry. It was his forty-eighth birthday."
   His body jerked with emotion. Tears were trickling beyond his sunglasses.
   "God grant me the grace to forgive all of you who thought you knew what this prince of a man was. I'm ashamed that I came to believe you."
   He clutched at the edges of the dais to keep himself erect.
   "We all wondered why in the world he changed careers at the age of forty-nine. I think I know now. He must've wanted to escape the pain of seeing that woman every day, seeing her beholden to another man, pregnant with the child he so desperately wanted. I hate her, even though I know Uncle Bob would be appalled. He would never hate her because he was a better man than any of us could ever hope to be. And darn if he didn't make a success of himself all over again in his new job. Then again, why should that have surprised us?"
   He noted the concern on his mother's face. She was about to rise when his father, without looking up, placed a hand on her delicately, holding her back.
   "We all wondered why he moved every few years. He told us it was for a change of pace. I bet it was because he was self conscious about always being alone. In the journal he says he became reluctant to speak to children because he felt the neighbors thought he was a weirdo. That alone might have killed him because I remember how much he loved to play with kids. It's so unfair."
   His fists clenched.
    "Now I know why he seemed to age overnight after looking young for so long. Now I know why he stopped coming to family functions - he didn't want his sorrow to spoil things for the rest of us. Now I know why his heart stopped at such a young age. It was worn out from loneliness. What does it say about the human condition that such a sweet, honorable man should die alone? You know what, though? Uncle Bob'd say it was his own fault. That's the kind of man he was. God forgive me if I ever take my sweet wife and kids for granted again."
   Choking back emotion, he gazed at the casket.
   "You may have died alone and misunderstood, Uncle Bob, but you didn't die unloved. I love you and I'll miss you, and I'll never forget you - never! Today we put you in the ground. Appropriately, it's raining. Your noble soul will nourish the rhubarb."
   He broke down. His family rose as one to console him. They stood in a tight circle, sobbing, arms about each other.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/25 - This n That

I dreamed that bushy hair was back in style. I’m sure it was triggered by a portrait appraised on Antiques Roadshow, where the 19th century’s subject’s hair was combed upward. Freud believed dreams are wish fulfillment. My wish is that such styles do not become vogue.

According to an editorial in today’s NY Post, a Tax Foundation report states that 57% of the cigarettes consumed in NYC are bootleg. This is not surprising, as the state levy is $4.35 per pack and the city $1.50 on top of that. Smokers have found alternatives to the tyranny. Because of this underground activity, I’ve always found reports that smoking has declined to be dubious. In my personal observations of passersby, it seems there will always be a significant hardcore that will continue the activity despite its ill effects.

There will soon be a new ATM on the Upper East Side of Manhattan -- and it will dispense cupcakes! 20 varieties will be offered at $4.25 each, housed in a brown and pink box. The parent company is based in Beverly Hills. I wonder if the idea would have been allowed to fly if former nanny mayor Bloomberg were still in office. Remember when Hostess Cupcakes were two for a quarter, and Drakes three for the same price? And they were so good.

For almost a month I’ve been doing a mail check survey. I report the number of pieces I receive and scan the bar codes of any that have one with a device provided by the company. For the past week I’ve been getting test pieces mailed from various states. I suspect the process is being used to check up on the efficiency and possible neglect of U.S. postal employees.

I expected the floating book shop to be snowed-out today, so I was thrilled with the modest returns. And I had visits from Ol' Smokey, Mr. Su Do Ku, and Occupy Jack, who was carrying an artist's portfolio case in which there were two pro-Russia protest signs he'd made. One has already been kicked out of his hand by an angry Ukrainian.

My thanks to the four kind folks who bought books, to the woman who swapped, and to Marie, one of my biggest supporters, who donated eleven CDs and a DVD, cheapie horror-meister Roger Corman's Swamp Women (1956).
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/24 - Teasing Elephants

I'm thrilled to announce the publication of a new short story collection by Jen Knox, who I was privileged to hear read at an event in Manhattan a couple of years ago. Her latest is Don't Tease the Elephants, and its is available in Kindle for just $2.99. She writes about the human experience, the things common to us all, with grace and wit. Here are excerpts from her bio at Amazon:

Jen Knox earned her MFA from Bennington College in 2010. She works as a creative writing professor at San Antonio College and copy editor at Frost & Sullivan. Jen mentors for the PEN American Center. She was nonfiction editor for The Bennington Review (2010) and Quiz & Quill (2007). She worked as a fiction reader for Our Stories Literary Journal and now reads submissions for PANK. She has won the Global Short Story Competition and was chosen for Wigleaf's 2012 Top 50. Her chapbook, The Aquarium, earned finalist status in the Black Lawrence Press's 2012 Black River Chapbook competition. Her online work and some links to print can be read here: Http://www.jenknox.com Jen is the author of story collections Musical Chairs and To Begin Again (Winner of the 2011 Next Generation Indie Book Award in Short Fiction and the Readers Favorite Award in Women's Fiction), and she is a contributing author to the Short Story America Anthology. 

 

http://www.amazon.com/Dont-Tease-Elephants-Jen-Knox-ebook/dp/B00J5HAT28/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1395694552&sr=1-4&keywords=jen+knox

 

Although three of my Final Four selections are still alive, as well as my finalists, a lot of the teams I selected to advance to the Sweet 16 have had their dreams shattered. I amassed 390 points through the first two rounds. The leaders -- and there are plenty of them -- have 590. Wait 'til next year.

 

The third episode of Resurrection was just as engrossing as the first two. A third person presumed dead has returned to the small town. I hope the great sense of mystery is not spoiled by a silly resolution.

 

I went back to winter hours, 11:30-1, for the floating book shop, as it was so cold, despite brilliant sunshine. And the forecast calls for snow tomorrow and dangerous winds on Wednesday. Sucks. My thanks to the two kind souls who bought books today.

Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/23 - By the Way

Yesterday afternoon my buddy Bags played parts of a wrestling DVD during my weekly visit to his home across the street from my old house. He cued to the 2007 WWE Hall of Fame induction of the legendary Dusty Rhodes, billed  in his heyday as The American Dream and The Common Man. He thanked several other greats: Eddie Graham, Dick Murdoch, Harley Race, Arn Anderson, Jack Briscoe, Ricky Steamboat, Superstar Billy Graham and, of course, Rick Flair. The Flair-Rhodes feud in the NWA was as good as pro wrestling gets. One thing I respect about these freaks of nature is their love of the industry, and their appreciation for its fans, which was manifested in Rhodes’ speech. What a country - a fat guy with bleached blond hair, forehead riddled with scars, many self-inflicted, captivated a sizable chunk of America. Here’s a two-minute clip from that famous feud. Note how enthralled Flair is while Rhodes is speaking. I don’t know if Dusty rehearsed or merely improvised, but his delivery is perfect. I would frequently sound those words in my head, astonished by phrasing this writer wished he had written. I also imitated the southern accent aloud. And his closing “By the way, Tully…” part became a catchphrase between Bags and I. Enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNHeLFBADKs

Here’s an excerpt from a short story, Defining Moment, a sort of ode to pro wrestling. It’s available in the A Hitch in Twilight collection, print or Kindle, link below:

   "Damn you, Lenny," said the plump woman at the sink.
   "A grand, Mil," said the hulking man, the guilt of a boy in his eyes. "Double to goin' rate. I couldn't turn that down. You want me to build that deck out back or what?"
   "What good's it gonna do us with you in the hospital?"
   "Junior says two minutes -- tops."
   "You trust 'im? With all the stuff he pulls? He'd put his own mother in there if he thought it'd sell some tickets."
   "We woulda never been able to buy this house if it wasn't for him and his father, an' you know it."
   "You don't owe 'im nothin'. How many more operations you gotta have? When're you gonna grow up? You're in no shape to get back in there. It's been three years. You're forty-two now. You wanna end up like Freddie, wrestlin' 'til you're sixty, walkin' 'round with a cane?"
   "This's the last time. I promise. He's in a bind. Jimmy must be on another bender. They can't find 'im. I can't back out. I gave my word. I gotta go. The show already started."
   "If you get hurt I'm divorcin' you."
   "C'mon, Mil. I don't need to hear that."
   A boy of twelve had entered the kitchen. "Hey, Johnny," he called into the living room; "Daddy's goin' to get his butt kicked again."
   John, a few years older than his brother, howled. "What's your record gonna be now, Da - three wins, a thousand losses?"
   "Is it on cable?" said his brother. "I gotta see this."
   "Awright, wise guys," said Len. "Keep it up an' yous can put yourselfs through college."
   "Put the towel back on your head, Da," said John. "You buffin' down to the brain? I can't see the TV for the glare."
   Len flicked the towel at the boy. His bald head was gleaming.
   As he was driving, he tried to calculate what his record actually was. He was certain of the wins. The three came long ago in preliminary matches when the federation still held cards at bingo halls and gymnasiums. His losses may have exceeded 1000. In 20 years he'd taken time off only to recuperate from injury. He missed the excitement, the limelight, even though he'd been only a bit player. Were the game on the up and up, he believed he could have beaten many of the stars to whom he'd been made to take a fall.

It was a slow day at the floating book shop, enlivened by a curious incident. I was right in front of the Chase indoor ATM. A young woman exited and the next thing I know she's yelling from her car, which she paused briefly behind me: "I ain't no Russian an' I ain't no Chink," she huffed from her seat at the wheel and through the open window on the passenger side. "I speak English." It seemed directed at me. If so, she must have overlooked the 90% of books in English. We all know what happens when one assumes. Maybe she'd had a few. My thanks to the kind folks who made purchases.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/22 - Association

Each evening I listen to a music stream during my last hour and a half use of the computer, post shower. Itunes offers hundreds of stations in various genres. I listen almost exclusively to standards and oldies channels. Once a month I’ll try an 80’s alternative mix, which so far has been very disappointing, as the programmer must have listened to different songs than I did back then. I'd bet just about everyone associates certain songs with wives and lovers. Last night I heard Bobby Vee’s Take Good Care of My Baby and I immediately thought of my first puppy love, Vera, who I lost to someone else in my pre-teen years. Once, when we were standing at the jukebox in the candy store at the corner, I pointed to Johnny Tillotson’s Poetry in Motion and said it reminded me of her. She smirked. In my teens I was madly in love with Julie, whose favorite track at the time was the Newbeats’ Bread and Butter, which I hadn't expected from such an intelligent girl. I'd guess it was the first song that popped into her head when I asked. In college I was crazy about Nancy, who I can still envision putting a coin into the juke in the cafeteria, which played BJ Thomas’ Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head. Moving on to the first love of my adult life, Peggy, who I loved for all the wrong reasons, I constantly heard the lyric from Hall & Oates’ Do What You Want, Be What You Are. And when I finally found the resolve to give up on that pipe dream, Linda Ronstadt's gut-wrenching vocal on "I think I'm gonna love you for a Long Long Time" would bring tears to my eyes. When I was 41 and smitten with Clarisse, 20 years my junior, REM’s Losing My Religion had great meaning for me. Although I’m not really sure of the tune’s meaning, I interpreted it as falling for someone who is not right for you. Finally, at 47, there was Laura, 17 years younger than me, who I was sure was meant to be the mother of my children and who chose someone else. Both the Ronstadt song and Sinatra's beautiful, quiet meditation on In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning would get me misty. I was privileged to have know them all.

Anyone who earns money selling stocks short should think of Magic Stick (CALL), which I purchased at 24+ the other day and is already below 23. I have so much cash sitting on the sidelines that I jumped at the recommendation of a guy with a great track record being interviewed by talk radio host Mark Simone. I believe it will eventually recover, but it seems that every time I buy a stock it is hammered immediately.

My thanks to today's buyers. Seven of the nine books I sold were in Russian.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/21 - Jasmine

Last night I caught up to Woody Allen’s Blue Jasmine (2013), courtesy of Netflix. I had no idea what it was about and was surprised it had to do with the wife of a Bernie Madoff-like slime ball, post financial and social ruin. Cate Blanchett won an Oscar for the role. No one writes better for women than Allen. It is an intense, often unpleasant portrait of a woman on the verge of complete emotional/mental collapse. I expected excellence from Blanchett, but the biggest surprise of the film was the solid performance of Andrew Dice Clay, who I assumed had never recovered from the verbal beating he took from feminists and the media in his stand-up days in the 80's. He has had four short runs in TV series, and IMDb has 33 titles listed under his name, the earliest an appearance on MASH in 1982. I did not find his act funny, but not because of the politically correct nonsense cited by his critics. As the saying goes: “Comedy is not pretty,“ and I will always err on side of free speech. Bill Maher has made far more objectionable comments than Clay ever did, and he attracts heat only from conservatives, who don‘t matter to the media. Kudos for stick-to-it-tiveness, Mr. Clay. Anyway, in Blue Jasmine he plays the brother in law who has lost the money he won in a lottery to the creep who promised him outrageous returns. The swindler is played by Alec Baldwin, one of the biggest giuches goin’ but a fine actor. Many will be delighted at his fate in the narrative, which switches constantly between past and present. So where does the film rank in Allen’s illustrious career? I’d say it’s in the second tier, well below his finest work: Manhattan (1979), Hannah and Her Sisters (1986) and Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989). What about Annie Hall (1977), devotees would say? I like it but think it’s vastly over-rated. The 283 contributors who rated Blue Jasmine at IMDb forge a consensus of 7.4 on a scale of ten. I say 3.25 of five. The story has been in the news and adapted loosely in several TV show and films, so it doesn’t feel fresh. The main attraction is Blanchett’s great performance and the solid work of the supporting cast, a hallmark of Allen’s movies. From a grim view of life he has created much fine art, much like Martin Scorsese.

I was scheduled to pick up my friend's son at LaGuardia at 7:30 AM. When the flight was pushed back to nine, I figured I'd get my computer work done, make the pick up and set up the book shop upon our return. Then he was bumped to 11AM, and I regretted having been too weak to say no. Rather than sit around waiting until 12:15, I decided to open shop for an hour+. I'm glad I did. Young Marie strolled past, doubled back, and bought A Hitch in Twilight. I sold five other books as well. And at four, while on my way to Delmar for a couple of slices, Waj's brother, now running the gyro stand, called out to me. A woman had left five books for me. Funny how things go sometimes. Thanks, folks.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/20 - Mysteries

Orhan Pamuk was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature in 2006, the first Turk to be so honored. Ten of his books are available in English. I just finished his second novel, The Black Book. It was a challenge, 461 pages of small print, highly repetitive in its major themes. The plot concerns a man’s search for the wife who has left him. Set in the 1980s, it travels through many areas of Istanbul, and its portrait of the city, which is on the cusp between east and west, becomes its most interesting aspect. I cannot say whether I like the book, which I believe would have been just as effective at 300 pages, but I did not abandon it and looked forward to picking it up, hooked not by the search for the missing person but by the futile search for meaning, an explanation of the bittersweet mystery of life. Here are some lines that get to the crux of the matter: “I was imitating the man who was nothing more than the sum total of all those people I was imitating”; “No one is ever himself”; “How to enter the world of second meanings, how to break the code?” The last one reminds me of the song The Great Curve by the Talking Heads, particularly the lyric: “…The world is near but it's out of reach/Some people touch it...but they can't hold on…” The protagonist longs to find his true identity behind all the “masks” he wears. He looks for clues in newspaper articles and photographs, believing there are revealing numbers in them, as some people have looked for code in the Bible. At times I wondered if the novel were a satire on existentialism, a Kafkaesque odyssey, to such absurd lengths do the characters go. Ironically, the missing woman is an avid reader of mysteries, which, unlike life, are always solved. Does that explain their universal popularity? One thing is certain, there is a keen intellect at work here. Pamuk is currently teaching literature at Columbia University in NYC. In 2005, comments he made in an interview created controversy in his homeland. He addressed the mass murder of Armenians and Kurds, for which the Turkish government has denied responsibility, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. His books were burned and he received death threats. Charges were filed against him but eventually dropped. So here I am again, an author whose works sell in the hundreds, in the silly predicament of rating a novel of a Nobel laureate. On a scale of five, 3.5. Kudos to the translator, Maureen Freely, who must have worked as slavishly as the author.

I expected it to be an easy day at the floating book shop in terms of weather, but the wind wouldn't allow it. My thanks to those who bought, donated and swapped books in Russian, and to Jerry, who purchased Wild Fire by Nelson DeMille for his lifelong friend Joe, who lives in Atlantic Towers. Like me, Joe plays Michael Murphy's song of the same title on guitar. I'm sure his version is superior to mine. Both men are 70 and veterans of the Vietnam War. Jerry says Joe saved his life, pulling him out of the depression he suffered upon his return from combat, telling him to throw away the meds he had been prescribed, and filling his life with good Italian food and willing females. They lost track of each other for 20 years. Joe, a former P.I., knows how to hide in plain sight. Anyway, while getting a haircut one day, Jerry happened to be sitting next to a former U.S. Marshall working as a Private Eye. He paid the guy $250 to find his old friend. The next day he had an address. When he asked a porter if he knew Joe, the guy said, as instructed by Joe, that a Russian lived in the apartment. Fortunately, Jerry looked at the roster by the bells and spotted the last name. The two had me laughing, banging out the F-word at an amazing clip, as they related their exploits. Once, when Jerry came home on leave, Joe asked him what he wanted for his birthday. Anyone with any knowledge of young men would not take long to figure out his response.
My thanks also to the kind folks who helped me track down the CDs I had on display after a nasty gust of wind sent the box flying.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/19 - Madness

Let the madness begin. Even though I no longer follow sports closely, I missed not being involved in a NCAA pool last season. Fortunately, ESPN is running a free one. My finals prediction is unimaginative: Florida (two-time champ) vs. Louisville (defending champ), with the Gators squeaking by, 67-65. I don’t expect to do well. I haven’t watched a single minute of college basketball, although I read about it daily in the newspaper and online. There are a lot of people out there who study the game religiously. With nothing to lose, why not take a shot? I don't even know what prizes are offered. Gift certificates that would allow me to buy copies of my own books would be peachy.

I had a bizarre dream last night. A poor woman shot 400 in an 18-hole round of golf. Most of the damage was incurred on a particular hole in which she hit ball after ball into a water hazard. I’m not sure, but I think it was Laura Bush. I have no idea how to interpret it other than the rules of the game should not apply rigidly to casual players. The real question is why I would even bother to address something like that in my sleep. As much as I love playing golf, I play only half as much as I used to and it has fallen precipitously on my list of priorities. I don’t think the dream was political in nature. The only issue I remember the First Lady, a former teacher, speaking up about was education. She was an advocate for higher spending, which studies have shown has nothing to do with positive results. Maybe that was the crux of the dream, which seems odd because I believe the biggest problem schools face is the dearth of two-parent households, and money can’t fix that. Because of this belief, I pass on any article on education.

The madness did not pay off today, even counting the dollar bill that came rolling along the sidewalk in the wind with no owner in sight. I did not even sell any Russian books. Passersby complained that it is still cold. If there were no sales, at least there were highlights. My most faithful customer, Marie, got to meet Political Man. He treated her to a non-stop rant that had us both chuckling after he left. I mentioned the article that said blacks are moving back south, and PM insisted Dixie is still racist territory. Anyway, my thanks to the FED-EX guy, who donated six paperbacks, although he was frustrated at how long it took him to find parking. "That's Brooklyn," I said, eliciting a laugh and a "God bless you."
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/18 - Winners & Losers

The Philadelphia 76ers have lost 21 consecutive games. Before anyone feels sorry for the franchise and players, note that the minimum salary for rookies is $473,604. It rises along a scale based on length of service. Those with ten years experience are guaranteed more than a million. There are no losers in pro sports, at least among those who manage to stay out of legal trouble. After each golf tournament, Yahoo Sports publishes an article on the weekend’s winners and "losers." I roll my eyes and refuse to click on it. What are there -- 300 Americans, counting the secondary tours, earning a nice living striking that little white ball on beautiful landscapes? I’d love to be such a loser. I’m sure most people would.

I neglected to mention how much I enjoyed episode two of Resurrection, which aired Sunday night at nine on ABC. So far it has managed to be compelling despite not featuring a single fight, shootout or narrow escape. It has yet to resort to any of the stuff now obligatory in many prime time shows. How refreshing.

I spotted an interesting article at Yahoo. The Christian Science Monitor reports that blacks are beginning to return to the south in significant numbers, reversing a trend that began decades ago when individuals came north to escape racism and improve their economic lot. Of course, this is a colorless trend, people going where the jobs are and where taxes aren’t as onerous. Still, it highlights how attitudes have changed overall. There will always be prejudice. It’s human nature and not exclusive to any race, but at least America is improving socially in at least one respect.

It was one of those rare days for the floating book shop -- much more business than usual. I sold all ten books in Russian I had on display, as well as several in English. My thanks to the kind folks who made purchases, especially the young woman who bought Beautiful Experiment by my literary angel January/Victoria Valentine, who's going through a family crisis right now and needs good vibes. Love you, V.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/17 - Green

It's St. Patrick's Day. Top o' the evening. Here's a list of jokes and sayings from Irishcentral.com:
1. Six Irish men were playing poker when one of them played a bad hand and died. The rest drew straws to see who would tell his wife. One man draws the shortest straw and goes to his friend’s house to tell the wife. The man says to her, “Your husband lost some money in the poker game and is afraid to come home.” The wife says, “Tell him to drop dead!” The man responds, “I’ll go tell him.”
2. An Irish two-seater light aircraft crashed into a cemetery. Irish search and rescue workers recovered more than 1826 bodies.
3. There are only three kinds of men who don’t understand women: young men, old men, and middle aged men. - Irish saying
4. Never iron a four leaf clover. You don’t want to press your luck.
5. The Irish gave the bagpipes to the Scots as a joke, but the Scots haven’t got the joke yet.
6. The Irish way -- Now don’t be talking about yourself while you’re here. We’ll surely be doing that after you leave.
7. Irish Blessing -- As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point the wrong way.
8. Old Irish Curse -- May those that love us love us, and those that don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. If He can’t turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles, so we’ll know them by their limping!
9. Irish diplomacy -- the art of telling someone to go to hell in such a way they’ll look forward to the trip.
10. Try to say “Irish wristwatch.”
And my personal favorite, checked at angelfire.com for accurcy: "May your glass be ever full. May the roof over your head be always strong. And may you be in heaven a half an hour before the devil knows you're dead."
Erin go bragh.



Kudos once again to U.S. Special Forces, who re-took -- without firing a shot -- a tanker hijacked by anti-government Libyans. I'll say it again: if only the rest of government worked half as well as our military.


Last month GM recalled 3.1 million cars because of faulty ignition switches, a problem that goes back to 2001 and has resulted in 12 deaths. Better late than never, I guess. No doubt this will cost the company a lot of greenbacks.

I must have turned green in the dentist chair today, where I sat for two hours as he worked on a cavity under a cap. Last week he shored up some erosion below the gum line of several teeth. He is the husband of one of my customers. I thought I'd returned the favor, especially since she was nice enough to stop and browse despite having four kids under eight in tow. I'll put it this way: I'll never break even on the deal. At least the hit from car inspection was relatively small, although the mechanic said the front brakes will have to be replaced soon. By the time I got the Hyundai back I didn't feel like suffering a cold day trying to sell books, especially after having suffered enough in the dentist's chair. Back at 'em tomorrow.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/16 - 101st & 53rd

Sign of the Times: There is a new product for women on the market -- “The Walk of Shame Kit.” It is designed to ease the self consciousness of fleeing from a one-night stand. It includes a dress, sunglasses, tooth brush, flip flops, back pack and a two sided note: “Call me” or Thanks for nothing.” Nah -- no one would be able to tell. It sells for $35. (Culled from the Weird But True column in today’s NY Post)

Buy Local? According to an article in the Post, the lead levels in 44% of NYC community gardens is above federal safety guidelines. Testing included four of the five boroughs, excluding Staten Island. Eat healthy, my friends.

RIP comedian David Brenner, 78, who succumbed to cancer. He logged an impressive158 appearances on The Tonight Show, guest-hosting 75 times. He was married to figure skater Tai Babilonia, who with partner Randy Gardner was five time world champion. The pair had no luck in the two Olympics in which they competed. Brenner did a two-year stint in the Army during peace time, serving for a time in the storied 101st Airborne, obviously not the milquetoast he appeared on TV. He graduated with honors from Temple University. He is ranked 53rd on Comedy Central’s list of the 100 Greatest Stand-Ups of All Time. He wrote five books and starred in four HBO specials. Not bad for a poor kid from Philadelphia. He is an inspiration to us all. Here are a couple of his quips: “Misers aren't fun to live with, but they make wonderful ancestors.” “You know you're getting old when ... you start to dress in more than six colors.” “A vegetarian is a person who won't eat anything that can have children.”
(Facts culled from Wiki, quotes from International Business Times)

My thanks to the kind folks who purchased books on Bay Parkway today, and to the gentleman who bought the Mario Lanza CD. I should thank Herbie, who found the disc in the bio I sold him, and returned it because he doesn't have a player.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/15 - Adjustments

My thanks to Jack of Chase, who donated six thrillers and bought two, and to Ralph, who purchased four works of non-fiction. Here are the opening paragraphs of Adjustments, now available in Kindle for $1, link below. Reading time: approximately ten minutes:
HE COULDN’T GET OVER HOW PLEASANT THE EVENING
was. It wasn’t at all cold. There wasn’t a breath of wind, not
like the bitter one that had blown during last year’s game.
Fog hung, apparently stagnant, above the lights of the field
like a supernatural force about to pounce upon its prey.
Logic dictated that the dampness should have penetrated
to the bone this mid November night, yet it seemed
impotent. The conditions were ideal for football. Even
baseball could have been played, although a high fly would
surely vanish in the fog.
“What d’you think, Rick?” said a heavy-set, bearded man,
on whose navy blue jacket “Coach Eckert” was stitched in
white at the right breast. “Lloyd Norris” was emblazoned on
its back.
Rick Caso, a broad-shouldered, dark-featured young man
of medium height, was wearing a similar jacket. “We should
beat ‘em,” he said quietly. “They had their chance. If we
score once more there’s no way we’ll lose.”
The team, 33 strong, filed out of the visitors’ locker room,
silver helmets gleaming in the night, reflecting the electric
light in the area. Many of the devices showed streaks of
red, the opposition’s color. The blue “LN” stood out boldly, as
did the stripe that divided the helmet in half. The dark
jerseys and grey pants were soiled with dirt and grass. Some
were torn and stained with blood. In contrast, the uniforms
of those who hadn’t participated in the action seemed
immaculate. The white of the numerals was pure, striking.
The squad was handsomely equipped.
In keeping with the fashion of the era, many of the boys
had long hair, which protruded from the helmets. The image
of Prince Valiant flashed through Rick’s mind. His own hair
was short. He chuckled at the recollection of his shock at
the sight, in 1966, of the three young men on John Jay’s
varsity who had had flowing locks. Eight years later, it had
become the norm.

Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/14 - Curiosity

In 1959 in the Ural Mountains in Russia, an expedition of nine was killed. It is referred as The Dyatlov Pass Incident. The circumstances have remained a mystery, although there are many theories as to what actually occurred: wild animals, aliens, yeti, avalanche, radiation, secret government experiments. Devil’s Pass (2013) follows a contemporary, fictional group trying to find the answer. I watched it last night courtesy of Netflix. It is not easy to follow and the ending is unsatisfying. A contributor at IMDb, a fan of Lost, likened the film to the series. He also brought up a point I hadn’t considered and won’t divulge, as it would spoil a surprise. Even if what he said makes sense, it simply raises another question in my mind. I was unable to rack down where the flick was shot, although from the number of eastern names in the production credits, I’d guess it was Russia or a country nearby. I was completely unfamiliar with the young English-speaking cast, which is a good thing, as I had no preconceived notions of any of them. There is a little too much exposition in the first half, some of it repetitive. The scenery is beautiful and the proceedings, which feature noirish lighting, creepy. It lacks originality, of course, as almost every genre production does. I think it’s appeal is restricted to diehard fans of horror. It was directed by Hollywood veteran Renny Harlin, whose most notable work is probably Die Hard 2 (1990). He also did one of the Nightmare on Elm Street bloodbaths. On a scale of five, 2.75. It is rated 5.6 of ten at IMDb. It runs an hour and 40 minutes.

A Duke University freshman is financing her education doing porn under the name Belle Knox. She contends the school supports her. Its policy seems to focus on whether the sex is consensual and safe. Curious, I checked her out in action -- and her partner wasn’t wearing a condom! Most porn stars do not use them (How do I know that?). The sex is supposed to be wonton, reckless, the sense of which a prophylactic diminishes markedly. Anyway, I don’t know that there is anything anyone can do legally about the issue, and I’m not sure anything should be done. Society has pushed the envelope so far left that porn has become mainstream. It is legal. Why is anyone surprised some women would choose to capitalize on this? It seems even feminists have surrendered on the issue. I believe it is always best to err on the side of freedom in such cases, even though I sometimes fear we’re headed the way of the Roman Empire. For many, quantity seems to have supplanted quality in the sexual realm. This morning, in searching for a daily quote to post on my Twitter page in my continuing shameless self promotion there, I came across this one at Brainyquote.com by Jacques Lacan: “What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?” I wonder what percentage of the population still believe in finding a soul mate, “the one.” Was that something many once just longed to believe and has now been lost to harsh reality? Have we, overall as a society, become cynical or are we now simply modern, wise? 



It was another cold day on the street. The sun didn't come out until closing time. My thanks to the kind folks who bought books.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/13 - Distinctions

I know the temperature didn't reflect it, but it felt like the coldest day of the year. People keep telling me it's the worst winter ever. I disagree. Every new winter is the worst because others no longer matter. Anyway, I was fortunate to earn money accompanying a friend to the doctor, so not being able to operate the floating book shop didn't hurt financially. I also had other odds and ends to do to fill the hours. The forecast for tomorrow is favorable, so I call myself lucky.

Here's an excerpt from a short story, Distinctions, about a raucous night on the town, published long ago. The events are true. The challenge was getting inside the heads of the real folks on which the characters are base. It is mostly dialogue, so I'd guess it's no more than a 10-minute read. Adherents of political correctness are warned to pass:

    I paid my respects to the others and left the bar. I leaned against a parked car, resolved to give Phil ten minutes before I set off on my own. Soon he emerged, arguing with a bouncer, who towered over him and laughed at the threats directed at him. His beer had been confiscated. I suspected he'd gotten fresh with another woman.
   "Let's go," I said. "The trains're murder this time of night."
   "What train?" he smirked. "We're takin' a cab."
   "Why throw your money away?"
   "Don't worry about it, you cheap Sicilian bastard."
   I had to fight to repress a comment about the thick-headedness of the Calabrese.
   "That mic's comin' with us. He's springin' for the cab."
   Although Bobby's earnings at least tripled ours, I still couldn't see commissioning a cab, paying 25 times the subway fare. My parents' immigrant frugality still influenced me. Phil had been right in this
distinction, as I'd been regarding him, as he definitely conformed to the stereotype of the Calabrese.
   "Let's go, you dumb guineas," said Bobby as he emerged.
   He hailed a cab. The driver, of Arabic descent, pulled down the meter's lever. I hoped Phil would behave.
   "I want you to make three stop in Brooklyn," said Bobby.
   "Only two," said the driver through a thick accent.
   "I said three."
   The cabbie shook his head. "Two! Only two."
   "What's the difference? We all live near each other. It'll take you ten minutes extra."
   "I'm sorry, I can't do. Find another car."
   "You're doin' it. We're not leavin' this cab until you do."
   "Come on, Bob," I said, "it's not worth it."
   "Wait a minute," Phil interjected, irked. "I ain't gettin' out. I'm an American citizen and I demand my
rights. You get out, you ....... immigrant. I was born in this country. Who're you to tell me what to do? I'll
tell you what to do."
   Had the scene been part of a movie, I would have laughed. As it was, I was annoyed. I covered my eyes
with a hand as the argument raged. Bobby, seated in the middle, and Phil remained adamant. I was tempted
to get out and head for the subway.
   "We're not leavin' this cab," said Bobby emphatically. "I drove one for three years and never turned
anybody down. I went any place. Get out and call a cop. You gotta take us. It's the law. It was passed 'cause
of guys like you."
   The driver slid out and gazed along Lexington Avenue.
   "What're you tryin' to prove?" I said. "All this time we're wastin' we could find a driver who'll take us."
   "He has to take us or get fined," Bobby insisted. "I'm surprised a level-headed guy like you would let
himself be pissed on."
   "What is this - a great moral or philosophical question?"
   "It's the principle."
    I rolled my eyes in disbelief. "Well, I'm tired. I wanna go to bed. We hafta go to work tomorrow."
   "I ain't movin'," said Phil. "I lived here all my life. No foreigner's gonna tell me what to do. I'll get out
and wipe the floor with 'im."
   The cabbie flagged down a squad car.
   "See?" said Bobby. "The cop won't get out. He knows the guy's wrong. He has to take us or get fined."
   "Who's responsible for the meter?" I said, noting its approach to $5.
   "I ain't payin for nothin'," said Phil. "He's settin' it back to zero when we start or I'll smack the piss atta
him."
   The driver returned.
   "Can we go now?" said Bobby.
   "I'm not going."
   "Fine, then take us to the precinct. It's right around the corner here. I'm sure you know where."
   Moments later we were double-parked behind a row of vacant squad cars. The driver approached a pair of officers standing nearby and persuaded one to intercede.
   "Good evening, gentlemen," said the officer, smiling, tipping his cap, projecting a politeness that seemed comical.
   It was a startling contrast to any policeman I'd ever encountered. It was as if there were no barrier
between the public and he.
   "First of all, I'd like to tell you that you're absolutely right. By law, he has to take you. But you'd be better off finding another cab. It'd take you hours to file a complaint. You'd be here 'til sunrise."
   "I understand that, Officer," said Bobby, "but we're not leavin'. I want him fined."
   "I'm a Vietnam veteran and I demand my rights," Phil croaked. "I parked my car in the garage back there
overnight 'cause I'm in no condition to drive. I want this bum to take us home."
   "That's very commendable, sir, but as I said, you'd be better off if you found another cab. Goodnight."
   Phil was not a veteran, nor did he own a car. I sensed that not having served his country, especially in
Vietnam, contributed to his sense of inadequacy. He hadn't approached, let alone surpassed his father's
accomplishments. His father, a veteran of World War II, the owner of a home, was retired and living on a
handsome pension. Bobby was chuckling over the lie. I was too irked to be amused.
   "You mean to tell me you'd tie up a precinct like this over something so trivial?" I said. "God knows what goes on here at night." I wondered if this too were an unjust stereotype.
   The driver peered into the cab, found no change, and headed toward the stationhouse. In my mind, he was as foolish as my companions. He was costing himself money, and the stops he would have to make were all on safe streets and minutes apart.
   And so we sat, waiting, arguing as the meter ticked toward $10.
   "If I was a little drunk I'd drive away with this thing," said Phil, noting the keys dangling from the
ignition. "You don't know how bad I wanna do it, how bad I wanna screw this camel jockey."
   The driver tried again. I wondered if he were Iranian, Iraqi or Afghan. There was no way of knowing by his appearance. He pulled the meter from its rack amid the keys from the ignition. His calm seemed sham.
   "Goodnight."
   We watched him disappear into the stationhouse.
   "What now, men of principle?" I said.
   "I'd like to piss in the mother......'s cab," said Phil.
   "Do it," said Bobby.
   "Don't get crazy now," said I.
   "Screw 'im. I'm doin' it. No Iranian 'so-and-so's' gettin' away with holdin' me hostage."
   I walked away, wanting no part of vindictiveness. The stationhouse was on the opposite side of the street. Someone in civilian clothes emerged. I was sure he was an off-duty policeman.
   "Don't do it, Phil," I said softly, urgently. "Don't. I'm warnin' you." I'd resolved to go home were he nailed for indecent exposure.
  He was wedged between the open rear door and the side of the car, Bobby at his back, standing lookout. He was there a long time, having consumed a copious quantity of beer. To my relief, the man in civilian
garb kept walking.
   Phil's satisfaction was bitter, not as cheerful as it'd been during his strip. His dialogue was laced with
invective as we headed back toward Lexington. "I'd love to see his face when he comes out. I hope it stinks like hell in there."
   "Why don't you wait for him?" I said, hailing a cab. "Let's ask this guy, first. I'm not goin' through that
crap again."
   Soon we were on our way. The driver was black. I hoped there would be no more trouble. Phil was loud
and vulgar, deliberately, I was sure.
   "I'm glad I pissed in his cab. I wanna know who the .... he thinks he is holdin' us hostage. They should
send everyone of 'em back where they came from."
   Although I knew he was drunk, angry and pained, I was angered by the distinctions he'd made between
the immigrants of today and yesterday. I realized I too was making one in my own mind between his and
my own ancestors.
   "That was stupid," I said.
   "I thought you were a principled guy, Victor," said Bobby.
   "Men of principle don't do what you guys did..."
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/12 – Intellectuals

 

I met Matt, who was from New Jersey, years ago when he came to work as summer help on the trading floor. On a casual Friday he was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the WMU logo. He too is now an alum, living in Kalamazoo, and playing guitar in a band called Full Frontal Cortez. He has posted several clips of his group in action. Yesterday he posted the following:

Since I expected the floating book shop to be rained out today, I was happy with the meager sales that came my way. My thanks to the kind folks who bought.

Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/11 - Believe

For the second straight night a series centered around an unusual child has premiered. I enjoyed ABC’s Resurrection. I was disappointed by NBC’s Believe, which aired at ten, despite its heavyweight creators and actors. The story follows the battle over a gifted pre-teen by forces of good and evil, not exactly a fresh premise. The initial episode brought an amalgam of elements and familiar characters from various thrillers, not necessarily a bad thing but so far ho-hum, seen it before. I will likely give it another look because of the talent involved. J.J. Abrams and Alfonso Cuaron have impressive credentials. Abrams created Fringe and Lost, just to name two of his hit series. Cuaron wrote and directed Children of Men (2006) and Gravity (2013). And the cast features Hollywood veterans Delroy Lindo and Kyle McLachlan as the leaders of the rival factions. Johnny Sequoyah, in the now all too familiar role of child wiser than adults, is excellent. Who knows -- maybe Resurrection will falter and Believe will improve. Of course, networks aren’t known for their patience. Resurrection’s debut numbers were strong, so it will likely last a while. Given the premiere of Believe, I will not be surprised if it disappears quickly. It wasn’t bad, just pat, despite its brisk action.

The missing Malaysian flight sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel. I wonder if the plane was hijacked by pirates looking to cash in. Has anyone proposed this possibility? Terrorists almost always take credit immediately for such an act. I just looked at a map to see how far the country is from the area where so many ships have been taken. It doesn't seem farfetched.

I accompanied a friend to the doctor this morning. The trip got off to a false start when her car wouldn't start. I hated to give up the parking spot I had, but it was almost certain she would pay me more than I'd make at the floating book shop, so off we went in mine. Of course, when we returned, after dropping her off at her car, I had to park a block away. I hustled to get her a buttered roll and diet Coke at the deli nearby, then went to my apartment, stuffed my face as quickly as I could, and hurried out, five Russian books in tow. Dreading what I assumed would be a long wait, I drove around the corner and could not believe it when the most convenient spot was vacated as I pulled up. My thanks to the five folks who bought books. As for my friend, she waited an hour for service, directly across the street from my regular nook. Fortunately, it was a minor problem. The workers at the car wash she'd visited yesterday left her lights on, which drained the battery. I take most problems in stride. For some reason, car trouble depresses me like nothing else. My Hyundai is due for inspection this month and I'm already dreading it.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
  

Selling My Books on the Streets of Brooklyn 3/10 - Resurrection

Resurrection premiered on ABC last night at 9PM. It’s off to a great start. I was taken in from the get-go. Based on the novel The Returned by Jason Mott, it is the story of a eight-year-old American boy who wakes up in a rice paddy in China. Presumed kidnapped, he is returned to the states, where there is no trace of him in missing persons reports. He asks the assigned FBI agent, played by Omar Epps, to take him home, and guides him to a nice house in a small Missouri town. The owner says his son, who looks exactly like the boy does, drowned 32 years ago. I don’t know how long such a premise can be extended. Although I’m hooked for at least one more episode, I hope the mystery does not drag on for years. Brad Pitt is one of the producers. Hollywood veterans Kurtwood Smith and Frances Fisher play the sixtyish parents, the father reluctant, the mother believing it's a miracle. The child is played by Landon Jimenez and, like so many kid actors before, is astonishing. The book has been rated by 398 contributors at Amazon to a consensus of 3.5. To my surprise, the Kindle version is $12, the price set by the publisher not the seller. And I thought A Hitch in Twilight was overpriced at six. I just don’t see how producing an e-book can be that costly to a publisher. Then again, the market has determined the price is right, as it is selling nicely. As I've said regarding sports and concert tickets, no one forces anyone to buy. In Mott’s case, the price hasn’t hurt sales. In mine, I’d bet it has. When WheelMan Press issued Exchanges and charged only two bucks for the Kindle, I was ecstatic, and it has resulted in more e-book sales than my other books.

Today's moderate temperature resurrected a couple of local characters. The floating book shop had a simultaneous visit from Mountain Man and Political Man. The former is even more cynical about politicians than I. The latter is unabashedly liberal. For the most part, I just stood there and listened to them rant, and laughed when they inevitably began reminiscing about their experiences with drugs. It went on for at least a half hour. Here's the type of report that sets MM off, culled from an article by Jamie Dupree, who talk-radio host Sean Hannity dubs "The Most Connected Man in Washington": "A report by internal investigators at the Environmental Protection Agency found that ineffective oversight at the EPA allowed federal workers to use government credit cards to buy gift cards, gym memberships, food and thousands of dollars in other items that were not properly approved for purchase by the agency in 2012. '75 of 80 reviewed transactions were not in compliance with EPA policies,' read a report from the Inspector General of the EPA issued last Friday." It's what I expect from government workers.

My thanks to the kind folks who bought books today.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx