SNYDERMANIA: Dec 23, 2012

Sunday, December 23, 2012

THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON MAKES WAY FOR THE SPIRIT GUIDE BAR

Looks like my goof ball publicity campaign for THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON is about finished. There won't be any more Youtube videos, Cheese Whiz and beer readings, tire shop readings, or barber shop signings, no more flashreads - for THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON. I am looking forward to taking it to the next level of guerrilla marketing for THE SPIRIT GUIDE BAR. Can't say I've figured out what the next level of guerrilla marketing is yet, but I'll see you there in March.

I'm not so finished marketing that I won't provide a link where you can order or download the THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-William-Snyder/dp/1468142585/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

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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?