SNYDERMANIA: The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son News

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son News

The print version of The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son is in the works. While the book will be available at amazon.com, you can pick up a copy in person at Chandler Auto and Tire. I'm working with the friendly and efficient folks at Chandler Auto and Tire to put together a book and a tune-up deal. Owner Brett "Big Cat White" has even agreed to chain a copy of The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son next to the commode. The first reading and book signing will be hosted by those mechanical wizards at Chandler and Tire. Big Cat says there will be plenty of stale donuts and bad coffee for all who attend.

You can download the ebook version of The Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son for a measley 5 bucks by clicking on the link below.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4

2 comments:

Momma Fargo said...: How is the famous author doing? And the book selling sounds like it is going great....congrats!; October 28, 2011 at 5:06 AM
#167 Dad said...: Thanks for the good Mojo, Momma Fargo!; November 12, 2011 at 9:39 AM

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?