SNYDERMANIA: Aug 11, 2013

Sunday, August 11, 2013

One Minute Book Talk #3

Here is the link to the third installment of One Minute Book Talk.

Click here: One Minute Book Talk #3

While I offer no excuse for the content, the technology is markedly better than the first episode. This is because I am now working with a Mac. The first episode was created with a brand new HP computer. Within one week the thing picked up a virus. I took the HP to the Geek Squad at Best Buy. They had the thing for a week and couldn't figure out how to install high end virus protection. Got my money back and bought a Mac.

My first week as a writer bug man was enjoyable. I have no second thoughts about leaving my teaching gig. No more waking up in the middle of the night. Nice colleagues and customers. Real smooth. I did walk into a cactus while I was spraying a yard.

Bug Fact: An ant can survive up to two weeks underwater.

You can order The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son and The Spirit Guide Bar by clicking on the link below.

http://www.amazon.com/William-Snyder/e/B005OEFL7E/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1376240308&sr=1-2-ent

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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?