And on a much lighter note: There's a neighborhood character who regales me with corny jokes each time he passes the floating book shop. I referred to him as The Joker. Today I finally found out his actual name: Ira Wolfe. He has self-published a little book of his quips under the label Ratstar Press, which is probably an inside joke, as a search turned up nothing on it. I assume the book, Wolfe-Arama, was done by a printer, who did a neat job. Ira handed me two copies of the undersized paperback and suggested a sale price of $15. I told him the cold, harsh truth: "You'll be lucky to get a dollar or two." I'll ask for three and see where it goes from there. Last night Ira did a reading at Roll n Roaster, a local eatery. He made $90. His backer put up four grand, so he has a long way to go to break even. His bio appears on the last page. He's the same age as me, 64. He worked at the Department of Labor for 41 years. He's done standup, and also is a "keyboardist/singer/songwriter." Here's an example of his humor, selected at random from the book: "Mary Shelley wrote a book about April Fool's Day -- Prankenstein!" Good luck, sir.
I feel blessed to have the opportunity to sell books each day. The toughest sessions are those when the threat of rain is constant. It was so gloomy at eleven I put my sunglasses in my pocket. I put them on when consecutive passersby asked where the other guy was. Given the weather and the fact that I have only two books in Russian left, I didn't expect much business, and it proved correct. My thanks to the gentleman who purchased the book in Russian as I was packing up, my only sale, and to the two kind folks besides Ira who donated books. I was fortunate in that I had two unexpected visits that made the session well worth it. Patty, a goombah, one of the last living in Coney Island, asked for DVDs, of which I currently have none, and began to wax nostalgic about John Wayne and other topics. He went on for quite a while and I wondered if he'd been drinking, although I didn't smell any liquor on his breath. As he was finishing his stories, Mr. Morty, a retired salesman on the cusp of 80, appeared. I hadn't seen him in months. A few years ago he underwent radiation treatment for throat cancer. His wife did also a while later, and this morning his daughter had an operation for it at Sloan Kettering. After hearing that, how could I feel anything other than blessed? Best of luck, sir.
Vic's 4th novel: tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/rP7o9
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/rP7o9
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic's Horror Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f
Vic's Blog: http://vicfortezza.blogspot.com/
Vic's Web Site: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
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