How I made it to Harvard

I’ve adjusted to the fact I may never be famous.
I’ve been writing and editing for 35 years, and after a while you just accept the fact that even if you’re great at what you do The Writing Fairy may not find you until you’re long dead.
But now I’ve been to Stanford and Harvard.
Publishing Heaven.
I Googled myself lately (which sounds nasty, I know) to see what was happening with my books. I do it about once a week. All writers should.
I’m not the sharpest stick in the pile. Heck, I’m barely qualified to toast bread unsupervised by an adult. But you can find my books at these fine institutions, available to some of the brightest minds in the world. They’ve got Mensa clubs where the members make up calculus jokes.
I know, I don’t get it either. I flunked math in college.
I was really baffled when I found out my first novel was recently listed as the featured book at Stanford University’s bookstore.
Yep, you can slap down about fourteen bucks on their counter — not order it — buy it off the shelf — and be the first one on your block to read my stuff at an Ivy League school. Maybe you’ll get a discount if you have a student ID.
I wonder what that's worth in beer...
That’s a big deal, by the way, at least to me. Shelf space anywhere is tight in ANY bookstore, let alone space in a decent college’s. And for an old hack like me?
I don’t know how they got there.
But imagine America’s future President reading my stuff. Just pray to whatever God you worship it never happens. I hope I don’t live that long… .
I know I’m no Rowling. Looking at my royalty checks, Rowling does a lot better. A lot, lot better. A lot, lot, lot better.
I reminded myself how my second book has only been out a few months, and only appeared on the college scene in August. I still had plenty of time for the bestsellers list.
Then, as hard, cold reality set in, and I realized it was just a matter of time before my masterpieces would wind up in that big ugly bin where all the nonreturnable books go. The ones going for a buck or less. Mostly cheap romance novels. The ones paying me a dime or so in royalties.*
That’s our business.
And how I’ll make it to Publishing Hell.
*A note: My books are not carried at my alma mater, Central Washington University. I called and asked why. After the manager stopped laughing, she asked, “You’re really from Spokane?” and hung up on me.

Witches in Ditches

What would you do if you hit a foreign lottery for a billion dollars?

Would you quit your day job and swill better beer because of it? All day.

Would you find out how many diamonds Zales has? And buy them. (The real ones. Not the $199 chips they usually sell.)

Would you book a seat on the next space shuttle? And get REALLY high. (God, sex with no gravity. You know the astronauts have done it. Imagine seeing it pop up on the Discovery Channel.)

It happened - the billion dollar thing -- to Stretch Walker in Crimes Against Commerce. He had a guy who he beat up in an alley manage and multiply it.

I mean, c'mon, if you're THAT rich you could buy all the ponies down at the track. You'd win matter who places.

For those of us who can't make the rent month to month, imagine. I know I'll never get rich, but damn, I know what I'd do.

The answer is on Page 168 of the English version of Crimes Against Commerce.

Page 69 of the French version.

Page 766 of the Polish version.

This advertisment courtesy of Your Light Company. I've always wondered why you never see the guys who shut you off.