I Identify As...

As a kid, I grew up as the middle child of two middle-class parents. My mom and dad were both schoolteachers. My mom stayed at home when we were little and bought additional years so she could retire with my dad, who coached and taught driver's training to help make ends meet. We had to log information on our lone rotary phone to track our expensive long-distance calls. We had to get permission to eat ice cream or drink pop because it was a special treat. They didn't buy me a car. When I needed shoes or jeans without holes in the knees or a new baseball glove, I got it, but I didn't get spoiled; that's for sure. I shared a bedroom with my brother most of my youth, and the whole family shared the one full bathroom. I played outside and worked to purchase my own bike. I got good grades, went to a local college so I could save money and live at home, worked all through school to help pay my debts (I bought my own first car and paid it off before I graduated), and graduated with honors. 

Then, after about 25 years of my own teaching career, I found out I had white privilege. I was told I have microaggressions, unconscious biases, systemic racism, and misogynistic tendencies. I was told I should pay reparations and that I am an evil colonizer. I thought I grew up in a country home, learning how to work hard, respect people, have good manners, be honest, and take responsibility for myself. I found out my masculinity is toxic, and I'm racist because I'm white. 

I've also learned people are easily triggered, words are violence, people need safe spaces, and feelings matter much more than science (unless they are my feelings, which don't matter at all). And if people say they are someone or something else, I need to respect their imagination and go along with it. So I decided to make my own identity.

First off, I decided to identify as Keanu Reeves...but only for the Matrix movies. I feel strongly that it was me in the movies, and since estimates suggest Keanu Reeves made 300 to 380 million dollars for the series, I can next identify as a multi-millionaire. I'd prefer to identify as a Florida resident living on South Ocean Boulevard on Palm Beach. I've chosen a home that once sold for $170 million as my place of lodging. I feel like I live there, and I feel like I can afford it with my movie revenue. When I attempt to get past the gate into the community, not only should all my neighbors and the security guards accept who I am, but they should also celebrate it and label any skepticism as phobic, racist, and misogynistic (I don't know why, but that would only be fair).

I imagine myself bored in that state of being, and my property taxes and homeowner's insurance would be astronomical. Plus, I'd hate to be strapped with the responsibility of being crazy generous with my money like Keanu Reeves. I'd rather be a professional basketball player anyway. 

I've decided to play in the NBA. This is tricky, however. I'm only 5'7", so I need to first identify as a different height, and since I'm 64 years old, I'll need to identify as a different age. And since all of my favorite basketball players are black, I think it's obvious I'll be black too. So, I was thinking 6'9", 240 pounds of muscle and athleticism, and 24 years of age would all be advantageous to my playing career. That's who I decided to be next. Of course, I'd have to try out for the team, but I should easily make it once the NBA knows I'll file for age and height discrimination if I don't. And obviously, if anyone disagrees with the race I identify with, they are racist, and I can be the catalyst for a court trial proving the NBA is racist. They should enforce race quotas, and everyone should agree with me because it's my truth.  

I would also like to identify as a bald eagle, mostly because it would make me immune to almost every law except the ones that would protect my rights at the cost of everyone else's. And since I've spent my whole life trying to be kind and courteous to others, being respectful, honest, and self-responsible, I'd like to end that now and identify as some of the most annoying things on earth. I'd like to identify as a string, rope, or chord. That way I can tangle myself up into the most annoying knots anyone has ever dealt with. Or I might be a stoplight, so I can make cars sit still on the road when they're in a hurry, while no cars pass in any other direction. Or I'd like to identify as a smoke alarm, so I can start beeping in the middle of the night when I decide it's time to change my battery. 

I know what else would be fun. I could identify as a salt shaker. I would clog my holes so no salt can come out, and then when someone cleans the clogs, I could pour out like there are no holes at all. I might as well be ketchup too, holding off all attempts to pour me out and then releasing half of my contents all at once. I've considered identifying as a zipper too. Getting caught halfway up or down would surely bring joy to my users, and speaking of joy, I'd like to be a shopping cart with one wheel that I would refuse to roll. I might be a picture frame that never hangs level to annoy everyone who is OCD. And if I really want to be annoying, I could identify as a copy machine that has paper jams on every print attempt. Or I could be keys, glasses, or a cell phone. I could spend every moment playing hide-and-seek. 

 

Next, I considered that if I could be creative, there must be some people out there who also identified as creative things. Not surprisingly, I was correct. One person claimed she was a sovereign citizen who "doesn't legally exist," thus exempting her from taxes, laws, and arrest. Another claimed to be a reincarnated Medieval king with authority over the city council. He tried to issue royal decrees during a municipal meeting. Another claimed to be a celestial archangel with diplomatic immunity. She informed police officers that arresting her was a violation of interdimensional treaties. Another claimed to be a time-traveling wizard from 2077, and he claimed modern society was too primitive to understand the magic he was unable to produce. One man said he was a dragonkin with territorial rights over a public park and insisted joggers were trespassing on his lair. One creative woman argued she was a non-corporeal vapor being, so she shouldn't have to pay rent because vapor cannot occupy space. Another said he was a sentient plant who shouldn't have to work. He claimed employment was species discrimination. One man said he was a fictional anime character and demanded coworkers refer to him by the character's name and treat him as if he had powers. 

Incredibly, there are more. One man claimed to be a sentient traffic cone and demanded people stop trying to get him to move because it violated his right to remain stationary. Another man claimed to be a living vending machine and required people to insert emotional currency before speaking to him. One said she was a professional ghost. She insisted coworkers pretend not to see her during meetings. Another man said he was a sovereign houseplant who demanded sunlight rights and protection from unauthorized watering. Another man said he was a human smoke detector, and he insisted on beeping loudly during arguments (I hadn't thought of that when I identified as a smoke detector). Another man claimed to be a water fountain and demanded people toss coins at him before asking favors. One lunatic said he was a human paper shredder, and he insisted on destroying negativity by making loud shredding noises. 

The trouble with all of this blog is that it's a lie. I didn't make up the crazy people who think they're someone or something else, but I wasn't intellectually honest when I suggested a person can randomly decide to be someone or something they clearly aren't. Truth isn't about feelings, hopes, and dreams. Truth is about facts, reality, and common sense. A person can say he or she is something he or she really isn't, but it doesn't change facts, science, and truth. I may wish, believe, or demand I was younger, taller, richer, a possessor of darker skin, or a best-selling author with a #1 best-seller, but the truth is, I'm not (actually, I was for a day--twice).

My feelings are that God made me special. I'm a white, Christian, male, son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, ex-teacher, current writer, athlete, reader, and friend. I'm 5'7" tall and 64 years old. I'm not rich, but I'm blessed. People can see me and know me. Maybe I can make myself into someone or something else, but I can't imagine it into truth. I have to identify with the truth. 

Why People Dislike LeBron James

LeBron James is a great basketball player—one of the greatest of all time. Anyone who disagrees with that statement can't be taken seriously. But he's also one of the most polarizing of all time, so many fans of the NBA, who have common sense and a genuine respect for James's ability and career, find they dislike him. I want to give reasons why. 

1. This is unfair to LeBron, but one reason is that he is an athletic and physical freak of nature. You've heard this: "Of course he's good. He's bigger and faster and stronger than everyone else." Well, so was Wilt Chamberlain, Bo Jackson, and Lawrence Taylor. Envy and jealousy aren't particularly good reasons not to like someone, and it disregards the work great athletes put in to hone their craft. There are better reasons not to like LeBron, but there is no denying this is one of them.

2. LeBron has self-declared he's the greatest basketball player of all time. In a 2018 interview, LeBron referenced the Cleveland Cavaliers' come-from-behind championship in 2016, and he said that moment "made me the greatest of all time." At the 2022 All-Star Game, he doubled down about the 2016 comeback and said, "At that moment, I was like, I'm the greatest basketball player people have ever seen." In a Time magazine article, he stated there was "no question" he was the greatest. Well, there is a question about that, and though I'm sure many athletes over the ages have believed and expressed they felt they were the greatest—Muhammad Ali, for instance—I don't recall anyone else wearing patches on his or her uniform proclaiming it or being vain enough to use @KingJames as his social media handle.

3. LeBron made it to the NBA finals ten times in fourteen years...nine times in ten years. That is a testament to his greatness (and possibly to the weak NBA East), but it created fatigue for the viewers who became tired of watching him.

4. His political activism turned a lot of fans off. 

There have been many instances, but I'm going to focus on two. The "Black Lives Matter" activism is one, and I'm going to ignore the belief the organization is a scam because it seems like money is mismanaged, diverted, and stolen in nearly all organizations. What bothers NBA fans is that 80% of NBA players are black, and we love them. I was thinking about my favorite NBA players over nearly six decades, and I came up with only two white players who were among my favorites. If there ever was a place where black lives matter, it is the NBA. I know...LeBron wasn't talking about the NBA, but the reason he is popular and well-known is because of the NBA—a place where the average American goes to get away from politics and doesn't feel racism—to watch great athletes compete. We love sports. We often hate politics. We don't want politics in our sports.

The second instance I will focus on is James's support of Communist China. In October of 2019, Houston Rockets GM, Daryl Morey, posted a tweet supporting Hong Kong civil rights protesters. China reacted by suspending broadcasts and pulling out of sponsorships, which financially impacted the NBA (and LeBron James). LeBron criticized Morey. Since LeBron often spoke out about human rights injustices in the U.S.—and it was factual that Chinese citizens experience civil rights injustices—it looked like James placed his financial interests above human interests. Many people saw that as hypocrisy, and they don't like him for it.

 

5. Fans don't like how James has "chased championships" by switching teams (four times now) and assembling all-star lineups to improve his chances. This has nothing to do with how great a player he is, but it begs comparison to the other players who are perceived as the greatest players of all time. Jabbar, Chamberlain, and Oscar Robertson played on more than one team, but they were traded. Michael Jordan played on two teams, but he came out of retirement as the Wizards' president of basketball operations and part-owner to play on a poor team. The others? Duncan, Magic, Bird, Thomas, Russell, Havicek, West, Kobe, Curry, Olajuwon—they played their entire careers with one team. Shaq floated around some, but people loved his personality, so he seems to have a free pass. One thing none of the other greats did, however, is have a prime-time television special to announce how they were leaving their hometown team to chase a championship. And how many championships did he say he would win in Miami? "Not one...not two...not three...not four...not five...not six...not seven..." Well, he won two with the super team that was created for him, and then he left Miami too. 

6. The last reason I'll mention has to do with his play—his traveling and flopping. 

https://www.tiktok.com/@__bigjoe__/video/7658560536153574687

This is a sampling. There are worse examples. 

LeBron James will be 42 years old in December of 2026, and he'll be playing in his 24th season. He's had arguably the greatest career of any professional basketball player in history, and millions of fans will argue as a player, he is the GOAT (greatest of all time). Others will disagree, and it's not just because they feel someone is greater. It's because they have great reasons not to like him. 

The Courthouse and A.I.

It was 2010. I had one novel under my belt, Loving the Rain. I didn't expect people to like it, but the consistent response was that I should write another one. I decided to use the same two characters, a father and son with parapsychological abilities. I had an idea about Clay Thomas meeting a woman on a train. The town eight miles east of where I lived at the time was known for its train depot, so that's where I started my research. I found out about a famous historical train wreck in that town, where a train carrying a traveling circus (including many circus animals) was struck by a second engine. Performers and animals were killed, the animals were buried along the tracks, and the unidentified performers were buried in a local cemetery. I also learned the depot was supposed to be haunted. I drove to the town and visited the depot, where they gave me printed materials, took me on a tour, and told me ghost stories. I learned more about the train wreck, and a story started to form in my mind. 

I drove around town, often getting stuck waiting for trains at railroad crossings, and I used a map to make my description of the town factual and realistic. But what was most difficult for Skeleton Key was figuring out the forensics for my murder victim. After much effort, I finally got connected with the county coroner for my town, and he was kind and patient enough to help me figure out how my victim died and how the forensic evidence, seven years after the fact, could prove it. I also had to talk to an attorney friend to figure out other technical plot elements. One year later, I wrote Bulletproof and experienced almost the exact same issues.

But now...I use A.I. I don't use it to write my book. I use it to research it. And there's practically nothing I can't ask about. In my latest novel, The Courthouse, I still visited the county archives and spoke with the archivist. And I visited our courthouse and was taken on a tour by the deputy mayor. I still accumulated some paperwork, took notes, and took pictures. I still did some internet research. For instance, I was directed to a woman to talk to her about the ghosts in the courthouse, but she was very ill and passed away before I could talk to her. However, I found a YouTube video where she explained everything I needed to know. I also spoke to a former judge about a few details concerning my court trial. Other than that, I used A.I. 

I didn't drive around town. I asked ChatGPT for pictures, maps, and descriptions, and that's how I chose my neighborhoods. I asked so many questions about court trials that I could write ten blogs. I asked for countless pictures so I could visualize places and things without leaving my desk. I asked about police procedures, elections, laws, psychology and personality disorders, guns, DNA, the Army, ravens, a local park, and local restaurant menus. But second to trial and law questions, I asked mostly about forensics. I didn't need my personal pathologist. I simply asked hundreds of questions on ChatGPT.

For those of you who have experienced A.I. research, some of my experiences might ring true. I began to talk to ChatGPT like we had a relationship. Sometimes, it was give and take. I'd tell it my plot ideas and ask questions. It would give suggestions or facts. I'd narrow things down or make corrections, and I'd get something new. Sometimes the responses were totally off course, and I'd tell ChatGPT to listen to me. I'd say, "I already told you that" or "No, you're wrong. That can't be true because of A, B, or C." It would respond with an apology, or it would thank me, or it would tell me my ideas were fantastic. ChatGPT stroked my ego regularly. 

Sometimes the A.I. would summarize my requests and ask if it should proceed. I'd have to give permission. Sometimes it would remember things we'd already chatted about and tell me I was really developing great plans. Often, it would ask me what tone I wanted, and it would volunteer to write my scene. I found myself explaining several times that I'd write my own scenes. I just wanted research or technical help. 

When I was done, it helped create designs for my cover. And then I had an idea. I wondered what my main characters looked like. So, I described them to the best of my ability, and then I asked for a few revisions, and Reese Carlton and Ashvi Patel showed up. 

 

I keep all of my notes for each book in a folder. What I've found fascinating is that my latest novel has by far the most written and printed notes. One would think it would be just the opposite, but A.I. made me think more...plan better...revise more. It made me reorganize more, and it helped me do better. People always ask me what my best book is or what my favorite book is. That's a nearly impossible question to answer, but now maybe I'd say The Courthouse. Check it out.  Link to The Courthouse

Awful Song Lyrics

To me, the worst song ever written is “Feliz Navidad” by Jose Feliciano. I know…it’s a Christmas classic and some people love it, but I despise it like I despise high taxes and lying politicians. I despise it like I despise stepping on gum or getting a group text. Have you looked at the lyrics? The song is three minutes and three seconds long. There are 232 words. All of them are “Feliz Navidad…Prospero ano y Felicidad…I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas…From the bottom of my heart.” That’s 19 words. My second sentence of this paragraph is 22 words long. I timed myself, and it took me 27 seconds to type the second sentence. I want a song that takes longer than 27 seconds to write.

But I didn’t start this blog post because of “Feliz Navidad.” I started it because I listened to an Adele song. Wow, she sings great, and it was a pretty song, sung by a woman who can charge $1400 for a concert ticket in the fourth deck of a stadium that seats 40,000 people. It got to the chorus, and she sang these words. “But I set fire to the rain. Watched it pour as I touched your face. Well, it burned while I cried ’cause I heard it screaming out your name.” What? She watched the pouring, burning-on-fire rain while she touched your face, and she cried because the pouring, burning-on-fire rain screamed out your name? It would make more sense to set rain to the fire, but that makes almost no sense either. I mean, you could flood a fire, but surely you can’t set fire to a flood, can you?

And this motivated me. What are some other ridiculous lyrics?

Pharrell Williams has a catchy song called “Happy” that has a fun music video which might even motivate a person with a sour disposition to get up and dance and be “happy.” But what about the first line of the chorus? “Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof.” I’m just going to be transparent here. I’ve never felt like a room of any kind in my entire life, and I don’t know why I would. But if I felt like a room and the roof was missing, wow, I can only imagine how happy that would make me. Aussie comedian, Kate Langbroek, asked Pharrell why a room without a roof was happy. His response was it was “metaphorical for one’s space without limit.” Oh. Except a room has four walls, limiting anyone in it. And if I needed a space without limit, and metaphorically speaking I was in a room without a roof, wouldn’t I need to be able to fly to get to the space without limits? It’s a dumb lyric.

There’s a song called “Summer Girls” by LFO. None of the lyrics make sense but I cherry picked two verses for the sake of time and space. These are the ridiculous lines:

You’re the best girl that I ever did see

The great Larry Bird, jersey 33

When you take a sip, you buzz like a hornet

Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets

 

Stayed all summer then went back home

Macaulay Culkin wasn’t Home Alone

Fell deep in love, but now we ain’t speaking

Michael J. Fox was Alex P. Keaton

 

I was so impressed by these lyrics, I took three minutes to write my own to mirror them:

You’re the best girl, and I love you

Magic Johnson, jersey 32.

When you take a bite, you belch like a toad

George Martin wrote Game of Thrones

 

Stayed all summer then went back to school

Ryan Gosling wasn’t Deadpool

We played cards inside your trailer

Ron Howard was Opie Taylor

 

I may have written a hit song.

 

The group, Sade, sang the classic song, “Smooth Operator,” co-written by Sade Adu and Ray St. John, with the classic line, “Coast to coast, LA to Chicago.” Together, they only managed to get about 70% across the United States, but I’m giving them both 50% credit for the stupid lyric.

Oasis has a song called “Champagne Supernova." In it are these classic lines:

“Slowly walkin’ down the hall

Faster than a cannonball

Where were you while we were getting high?”

 

Now, here is an actual metaphor, Pharrell Williams. A metaphor is a comparison between two things that are otherwise unrelated. With a metaphor, the qualities of one thing are figuratively carried over to another. You know, like how a person is like a cannonball because a person walks slow but faster than a fast thing that shoots out of a cannon. I looked it up. A cannonball travels about 820 feet per second, which is considerably slower than a person ambling down a hallway.

 

In “Vertigo” by U2, Bono masters Spanish counting. “Uno, dos, tres, catorce!” One, two, three, fourteen. When asked about the lyric, Bono admitted alcohol might have been involved.

 

“Sk8er Boi” by Avril Lavigne begins with these three lines:

“He was a boy

She was a girl

Can I make it any more obvious?”

 

You mean any more vague? Ambiguous? Nebulous? Unclear? Imprecise? I used a thesaurus. She should have used a dictionary.

 

The Killers have a song called “Human” where they posed a serious question. “I’m down on my knees, searching for the answer…Are we human or are we dancer?” Since the lyricist is searching close to the floor, I assume “dancer” is a tiny species I’m unaware of.

Rihanna sings the song “What’s My Name?” where she attempts a math calculation in the midst of her song. “The square root of 69 is 8 something, right?/ ’cause I’ve been tryna work it out.” I don’t know if 69 is a sexual connotation with a nonsensical “root,” but with a calculator she could’ve rounded this to approximately 8.31, and she could put her pencil and eraser away.

 

Red Hot Chili Peppers has a song called “Suck My Kiss.” They sing, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G, Chicka chicka dee/ Do me like a banshee/ Low brow is how/ Swimming in the sound of bow wow wow.” Wow, wow, the title should be “My Kissing Song Sucks.”

Hillary Duff is the queen of logic in the song “So Yesterday.” She reminds us “If the light is off, then it isn’t on.” Whoever said a left-brained artist doesn’t have right-brained thinking skills hasn’t met Hillary Duff.

Prince wrote “Superfunkycalifragisexy.” I hand-picked two lines from this sexy song. “Keep the blood flowing down to your feet. Brother Lois will be around in a minute with a bucket filled with squirreled meat.” The sexiness of this song is as obvious as the fact Lois is a male, it’s normally difficult to keep the blood flowing down to our feet, and everyone knows how to squirrel meat.

 

My final selection is “Sexy and I Know It” by LMFAO. Here are the lyrics that probably took 27 seconds to write. “Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle yeah/ Wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle yeah, yeah.” I like the two “yeah’s” at the end for variety. Certainly, the penning of those words rivals Jose Feliciano’s talent for creatively stringing together wonderful lyrics that ring in your head unmercifully for the rest of the day.

I wasn’t completely honest about why I wrote this blog. Yes, I saw strange Adele lyrics, but mostly I have been dealing with a mini-writer’s block. I’m writing a novel, but it’s been like the funny part of my brain stopped working. My sense of humor needed a kickstart, so I needed to do something about it. People have been visiting my blog lately in record numbers, so I decided to start there and find a topic where I could be sarcastic and light-hearted and make myself laugh a little. This is my writing tip of the day—mini- or maxi-writer’s block. Change gears and write about something else at least temporarily to see if it can get you jumpstarted again. And if you’re interested in one of my books where humor flowed out of me freely, check out the following link. 

Selling Books in Public

 Back in the summer of 2010, my first novel, Loving the Rain, was published in paperback only (I had no clue about ebooks). I was an 8th-grade English teacher who loved books, but I found I had no idea what to do with mine. I bravely ordered 200 copies. My students and fellow teachers were very supportive, and I sold about 100 copies easily. But what else could I do? I decided to attempt to sell them in public. I first went to the farmers' markets in the town where I taught and the town where I grew up. Both let me come for free initially. Next, both of those same towns had art in the park events, which was much more lucrative than the farmers' markets. I've sold my books at craft shows, book clubs, flee markets, workshops, Kiwanis clubs, bookstores, libraries, author expos, and town festivals, and I've learned a lot. The purpose of the rest of this blog is to share my insights on how to sell. 

1. Have some common sense and thick skin when people you know don't buy from you. When I first started, every time I saw someone I knew, I assumed they'd buy a book from me, and when they didn't, it bothered me--until I gave it a little sensible thought. Just because the person is someone from work, your neighbor, your relative, or an acquaintance from church, it doesn't mean they're a reader. A few may purchase a book just to "support you," but if the person isn't a reader, they just stopped to say hello and congratulations. They don't buy because they don't read. There's nothing you can do about that, and it's okay. It would be like you stopping by the farmer's market, and your neighbor is selling beets, okra, eggplant, and collard greens, none of which you like or know how to cook. You aren't going to walk out with some collard greens anyway, just to be supportive if you don't like them or know how to cook them. Non-readers don't buy books. It's something you need to understand when you're selling, so you can stay upbeat even in the face of "rejection." 

2. You don't have to sell shoppers on your books. Readers are attracted to books. I've been shopping with my wife before, bored and impatient, and then I see a bookstore. That's where I go. I read. I'm attracted to books. Readers love used book stores. Readers go to garage sales just to see if there are books. Readers look at their friends' bookshelves. And readers buy books at craft shows, art shows, and farmers' markets. You don't have to be a salesman. The more you talk about your books, the more likely you are to turn them away empty-handed. Tell the shoppers the books are mysteries, horror, romance, or suspense, but don't tell them what they're about or how long it took you to write them or what your characters are like or why you wrote the book. Let them read the back covers. Answer their questions with only a few words. Be polite and attentive, and let them decide for themselves like every shopper in a bookstore does. 

3. If you're selling books and there are people standing in front of your table, other shoppers will walk by without stopping. So what do you do...or don't you do? First, don't attract non-book buyers to your table. Book lovers will walk directly to your table, usually to stare at your book covers for an uncomfortably long time. People who aren't book lovers may be interested in seeing what you're selling, but they usually don't stop. Don't try to draw them over. They might come to be polite, but if they aren't readers, they won't purchase anything, and an actual buyer might walk by while they're standing there. Don't put candy on your table for kids. They'll come for it, and the parents might stay to talk. Say hi to people as they walk by to show you're friendly, but don't try to get them to stop. Second, attract book buyers. Have attractive displays with pictures, banners, table coverings, books on book stands, etc. You want them to notice you have attractive covers and new books. And then smile, say hello, and talk as little as possible about your books. Let them sell themselves.

4. Hints: Stop yawning, stay off your phone, stand whenever people are around, herd friends and family to the back side of the table to keep them from blocking your display, and if someone stays and talks too long, see if you can get them to move to the side or ask them if they mind if other shoppers can get to your books.  

5. Avoid pictures or posters/banners that show your book in e-book format. That gives every single shopper an excuse to not buy your book. They say they'll buy it on e-book, but believe me, they won't. 

6. Have a credit card reader or application on your phone for credit card sales. PayPal, for instance, will take a small fee for the transaction, but if you only accept cash, you'll lose sales. 

7. Give out business cards or bookmarks to buyers so they can contact you if they want to make future purchases.

8. Have a pen to sign your books...or pre-sign them. Buyers love autographed books. 

9. More hints: Be kind...say thank you...be humble. Don't wear clothes like t-shirts promoting college teams or political affiliations because people will judge you. Compliment your shoppers, give kids discounts, and be willing to take a little off the sale price for people who buy multiple books (if they ask). 

So someone stops by your attractive table with your books displayed neatly. You say, "Hi, how are you today?" After they reply, if they haven't said anything about your books, comment on something they're wearing or compliment them on something not offensive like "I like your hat" or comment on their college t-shirt. "Ohio State has a big game today." When they ask me about my books (I have eleven now), I say, "These three are detective crime mysteries. This one is a mystery/treasure hunt with ties to World War II. These three are time-travel action adventures." They might say, "What is your first book?" I say, "Loving the Rain." They might say, "Does it matter what order you read them in?" I say, "Both of these are series, but they can be read stand-alone." They might say, "What one is your favorite?" I smile and say, "Each one was my favorite until I wrote the next one." They might say, "Can kids read them?" I say, "There's no sex or swearing if that's what you're asking." They might say, "What are they about?" I hand them a book and say, "You can read the back covers and see what you like best." Are you getting the concept that I don't say much? Rambling on about your book and trying to convince people to buy your book are two things that simply rarely ever work. Let the books sell themselves while you are polite, friendly, and attentive. 

Over the years, I've been to many events which included multiple authors. Some of those authors have literally left without a single sale. I've also shared a table at events where I've sold a lot, and my author friend sold almost none. There are reasons for that. So now that you have my experienced advice, start planning to sell in public. I've sold thousands of books, and I make far more money per book on printed copies than I do on line, and you will too. 

The Pharmacy

I retired from teaching English five years ago. Since then, I’ve had five or six different part-time jobs, but the most interesting has to be as a pharmacy technician for a Kroger Pharmacy. I’m into my fourth year now. As you might expect, I have some stories. Some are listed below.

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Our lead tech once had to answer the phone as a doctor called in her father’s prescription for Viagra. She was also there when he came to pick it up.

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I waited on a patient who picked up Fluconazole, which is for fungal infections. She asked to speak with our pharmacist, who cautiously prepared to give instructions for the usage. “I’m not sure what you’re using it for, but…” She was cut off as the young lady announced far too loudly. “It’s for my vagina!”

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A customer came in and asked our pharmacist if we had any tablets. Well, we have all sorts of pills, capsules, and tablets, so the pharmacist said, “We have a lot of different kinds of tablets. Can you be more specific?” The customer responded, “You know…iPad, Android, Galaxy…”

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At the drive-through at the pharmacy, at times, the line was extraordinarily long. One day a customer pulled up after a long wait and looked at me through the window, standing there in my Kroger pharmacy smock. He said, “I’ll have a venti caramel macchiato, steamed, two shots vanilla, and caramel sprinkles.” I stared at him a moment and said, “This is the drive-through for the pharmacy. We don’t take Starbucks orders.” He said, “Oh, man, I’ve been in this line for a half hour. Can you run down to Starbucks and get it for me?” I said, “Um, no sir. You’ll have to go inside.” It’s worth saying that I’ve also had a person drive up and ask for me to get him some ice cream and beer. I didn’t; however, I did have his cholesterol medicine.

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A lady called one of our techs for help finding a man. She wanted a travel companion and claimed she’d pay for everything. Her only stipulations were he had to be single, couldn’t have tattoos, and with great emphasis, she said he must have “No moostache.”

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I listened in to a conversation with a male customer and our female pharmacist. “Why are my blood pressure pills keeping me from having an erection?” I guess that was a less uncomfortable discussion than the one from the guy from the nudist colony (yes, apparently, there is one in our community). He was picking up his Sildenafil, the generic for Viagra. He told our female pharmacist he called it his “Sildena-feel good.”

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A confused technician, after reading doctor's directions for a prescription for Diazepam, the generic for Valium, asked our pharmacist, “It says here for the patient to insert the pill into her vagina. Is that a thing?” The pharmacist admitted it was unusual, but yes, it was a thing. So the technician said, and I quote, “If she needs a Valium for her va-jay-jay, she needs to take a break.”

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On a rainy, gusty evening, a regular customer pulled up—a customer who always, and I mean always, looked confused. He handed me a written prescription for Hydrocodone for pain. I checked his profile, and he didn’t have any other previous prescriptions for the medicine, so I knew our pharmacist would have to check his history in the database before we went through the process of filling the controlled substance. He asked when he could have it, and I told him we’d need about an hour. He said he wanted it “Now.” I told him that wasn’t possible and there were many reasons. He asked to have his prescription back, so he could go somewhere else. I told him it would probably take longer somewhere else since he was our customer, in addition to having the same issues we had, but he demanded I give him the script back. I shrugged my shoulders and put it in the drawer and pushed it open. He grabbed the paper, and then a tremendous gust of wind blew it out of his hands. We both watched it flutter away into the darkness and pouring rain. He stared at me with his mouth hanging open, that same confused look I was accustomed to seeing. I felt I had to say something, so I said, “I’ll see you in a month, Mr. ______.”

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There used to be a regular customer in the drive-through. He couldn’t hear a word I said, no matter how I said it—even through the phone he could access outside our window. But at the beginning, I didn’t know he was nearly deaf. So the first time, after shouting at him “What is your birthdate...date of birth…the day you were born!?” with no word recognition, I decided to write him a note. I took a white paper bag and wrote in huge letters, “What is your birthdate?” He took the bag from the drawer, looked at it, stretched it as far from his face as he could get it, and finally said, “I can’t see this!” I struggle sometimes to keep my sarcasm to myself, so I said, “You did drive here, didn’t you?” He shouldn’t have. He didn’t hear me. He drove away empty-handed.

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A lady, after waiting quite some time in the drive-through line, finally got up to the window. Obviously, she hadn’t put her car in park because while looking through her purse for her credit card, she managed to step on the gas, and her car shot forward out of view. Immediately, the car behind her pulled up to the window as I stood there stunned from watching her car zoom away. Eventually, she walked up and stood between the new car and the window and dropped her card in the drawer.

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A car drove up. The driver parked past the window, but the back seat window lined up perfectly. He reached down, grabbed the lever for his reclining seat, and dropped backward, nearly parallel with the ground. While lying on his back, he reached across his body and rolled his window down. Straining, he lifted his head, telling me his name and birthdate through his back window. As humorous as that was, it was nothing compared to his efforts to reach from his back, through the window, to place his money into the basket to pay for his transaction, an action only a contortionist could pull off. “I don’t need a bag,” he announced from his prone position. That was nice of him, but he was getting 93 cents in change, and we were out of quarters, so he got nine dimes and three pennies I had to put in a little basket he could only reach because of some miracle of nature. He caught the edge of the basket in his fingertips and carefully swung it through the window, dumping two pill bottles, three receipts, and twelve coins on his face. Sheepishly, he raised his seat back up and drove away.

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A transaction was taking too long for the car next in line, so the driver kindly started honking his horn like an idiot. Well, the passenger in the car at the window turned and flipped off the kind, patient driver behind him and started swearing like “a sailor.” He wasn’t a sailor because had he ever been in the military, he’d have died in action. The dumb passenger climbed out of his passenger door and continued to swear at the honker, who incredibly told him to get back in his car before he shot him. Yes…true story. Dumb Not-a-Sailor started yelling, “Go ahead and shoot me. I dare you.” What? Why? I had to ask the customer I was waiting on to get his friend to get back in the car before a murder occurred. We called the police, and the customer with the gun never got his prescription. Another Valium customer? I wonder where he inserted his meds.

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A guy drove up to the drive-through and asked if we gave flu shots. I said we did. He asked, “Could I get one right now? I’ve been waiting in this line forever.” I told him he had to come inside to register and that if he didn’t have an appointment, there could be a long wait. He replied, “The pharmacist can’t just give me a shot here in the drive-through?” Stunned, I was almost at a loss for words—almost. “How do you suspect you’re going to get your shoulder inside the building because I’m certain you can’t fit through the drawer.” I even pushed it open for him to visualize.

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A fun customer stepped up to the register inside the pharmacy just as the power went out. Though the power came back on quickly, all of our computers shut down and had to be rebooted, which, unfortunately, doesn’t happen quickly. I told the man the computers went down. He said, “What’s the delay?” I said, “The computers need to reboot.” He said, “Well, that’s not my problem.” I don’t know whose problem it was if it wasn’t his.   

I have to say, I don’t have the retirement thing figured out what with two part-time jobs, an editing business, and novel writing, marketing, and sales, but there’s no denying people are interesting creatures and great characterization material. If you’re a writer and have the need for an editor, there’s information here on my blog. If you’re a reader, please check out my eight novels. I would love for you to give them a try.