SNYDERMANIA: Jan 3, 2012

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

The Latest scoop on THE EIGHT FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON and THE MIAMI HEAT

Here's a shot, taken in 1985, of yours tryly with the eight-fingered criminal himself, William "Cash" Snyder.
Over 100 e-books have been downloaded from Amazon.com. My goal was 100 so I'm calling this book making venture a success.

The cover design is finished and the text has been formatted for the printer. I've been told the print version will be ready to rock in 2 to 3 months.

For starters, the print version will be available on Amazon.com, The Book Frog in L.A., and Chandler Auto and Tire Repair. Selling the book at an auto and tire repair shop is supposed to be funny.

Thank you to all who have downloaded the e-book and I'll keep you posted on the release date for the dead tree version.

You can download the e-book for a measly 5 bucks by clicking on the link below.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4
Happy New Year
And the Miami Heat have absolutely nothing to do with The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son.

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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?