SNYDERMANIA: Sep 22, 2011

Thursday, September 22, 2011

THE SECOND REVIEW OF THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON ON AMAZON.COM

The following review was posted to Amazon.com by Paul Skolnick.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I'm hoping Bill will in the future fill in some of the chronological gaps with even more anecdotes. I'm NOT mentioned, and don't even know the author. But his descriptions and stories sure brought back my own memories of that time and a place about 10 miles to the east of Hawthorne.

Much Appreciated, Paul.

You can download the book by clicking on the link below. You don't need a Kindle to read. There is a free and easy app on the Amazon page. The app will allow you to read the book on any phone, computer or pad.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4

Thanks to Midlife Job Hunter for the first of my blogger friends to download!

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?