Month: April 2014

So I wrote this book (Ashes to Ashes, Oranges to Oranges), published it, and I’ve been giving it away to just about everyone I know. I gave it to my family, my friends, and everyone I work with. I also did this thing where I said if you liked my Facebook author page by a certain date, I’d send you a free copy, and that added even more people to my ever-growing rubber band ball of readers. A week ago Saturday we sent copies to the people on the book’s acknowledgements page, and yesterday we sent them out to (almost) everyone else. I’m expecting this coming week to be pretty exciting, what with 50 people or so (most of whom I haven’t talked to in person in years) getting my book in their mailboxes and saying “Hey, Eric Henderson wrote a book, and here it is in my hands right now.”  That part I feel excellent about.

The next step is that everyone will (hopefully) open the books and start reading “Make a New World Real,” a trippy little story about a dancer and her Svengali-like mentor cracking the trans-dimensional barrier. And then… what? The UNKNOWN. Which is what makes this week and next week so exciting, because until something actually does happen, just about anything can. Reality is usually, you know, pretty good,  but my fantasy about how it’s all going to go down right now is magnificent! Hint – it involves me being driven all over the country in a luxury rickshaw.

So if that doesn’t happen, if in two or three weeks the hoopla around my book dies down and I’m reduced back down from the superhuman pillar of strength known as Authorman to regular old boring Eric, that dude in Connecticut, what then?

I’ve got an insurance policy.

Really? Yup, and it’s something I should have been up to all along, but even though I haven’t, I’ve got at least this week as a head start. I’ve got at least this week before I’ll have to come down out of the clouds and realize that not everyone who reads Ashes to Ashes, Oranges to Oranges will love it enough to recommend it to every person of influence they know, who will in turn recommend it to everyone of influence they know and so on, creating a chain reaction which will lead to enough money for me to cover next month’s phone bill. I’m not saying that won’t happen, it probably will. But just in case, here’s my insurance policy against disappointment: I’m starting work on my new book tomorrow. It’s a novel, or a novella, depending on how long it turns out to be. I know what the story is, know who the characters are, and consider it a weird and worthy follow up to Ashes to Ashes, Oranges to Oranges. I can’t share even the working title at this point, ‘cuz it’s super hush-hush top secret stuff (and anyway, unless I’ve got a bunch of time to think about what to say, I’m much better at writing projects than talking about them, at least in the sense that I’m talking-writing now, and not writing-writing, and if you think that makes sense, then you’re right, but please explain it back to me because I’m not really sure I get it).

I’m expecting this week to be a lot of fun – I’ll definitely be following up with all of my people as they get their copies, and thrilling to their unique adventures with Ashes to Ashes, Oranges to Oranges,  but just in case the release doesn’t turn out to be all I’ve hoped it will, I’m sending a big chunk of my brain on ahead to the nearly-abandoned shopping mall in Florida where the new story will begin.  To paraphrase Johnny Depp as Ed Wood: “Really? Worst book you’ve ever read? Well, my next one will be better!”

 

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

I did it!

 

 

                                

 

 

That’s right, (points to self) ME! Me! I did it! MMMMEEEEEE!!!

I got MY own book – I got my own BOOK!

 

… (it goes on like that for a couple of weeks, but you get the idea.)

 

One of my heroes is crackpot filmmaker John Waters, and in one of his books (I forget which), he gives some very sage advice: if you have a quality that most people would consider a liability, the coolest thing in the world you can do is to call attention to it and turn it into an asset. The example he gives is that if you have bad skin, you should “rub a bag of potato chips on your face and start calling yourself ‘Pimples’.” I love that.

So today my daughter Lumpy Rock and I went to try to post some fliers advertising my book Ashes to Ashes, Oranges to Oranges at CCSU, Central Connecticut State University. It’s Sunday on a college campus, no longer football season, so it should be mostly deserted, right? Except that it wasn’t. There was this giant event going on, a car show, and there were tons of people milling around, mostly obnoxious college-age folks in fancy cars with motors revving.  Even worse,  the public parking lot was closed off, so we had to park in a lot that threatened to tow us away ( a warning I would have worried about more if there weren’t six low-riders parked in the same row we were).

Lumpy and I got out of the car and started scouring the campus for bulletin boards. We’d never been to this place before, and it seemed nice enough, but how did the students get their daily fix of current campus events? There didn’t seem to be any outdoor bulletin boards at all. We went a couple of blocks in one direction, then turned and went in another. Lumpy Rock was on the lookout for a playground, too.  Finally, by the stadium entrance, we did see one outdoor bulletin board, but it was made out of metal (tape? I didn’t bring tape, I’ve got a stapler) and it was knocked over on its side anyway.

We walked a bit further and we were at the car show. It had just ended, and the whole place was dripping with “sure showed them” machismo. I was almost worried none of the cars that were leaving would even be cool enough to let us walk in front of them (eventually one of them did). Then there were a couple hundred people lined up against the fence on the far side of the parking lot. What were they all gawking at? We went over to see.

It was just the street. Everyone was watching the fancy cars “in action” as they left. There were a bunch of cop cars on hand to make sure no one’s display got too fancy, but all the cars sped down the street anyway, burning rubber and generally being assholes (can you tell I’m not much of a car guy?) to the oohs and aahs of the assembled crowd.

Since there weren’t any wooden bulletin boards to be found, we made our way back to our car. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, I heard someone yell, “That thing oughta be in the junkyard!” Then someone else laughed, and I realized they’re talking about our car. Of course, we’re in the only car we’ve got, our ’93 Corolla. It’s got 225,000 miles on it and has only been washed a handful of times since we moved to Connecticut back in ’06. I stuck my hand out the window with a single digit up, but it was my thumb. If we were indeed driving the crappiest car in a five mile radius (and it suddenly dawned on me that we were) that moron had just given me a terrific idea.

Thirty seconds later, we pulled out onto Rubberburner’s Row, beeping the horn and waving to the crowd. People went nuts, cheering us on like we had the best car on the lot (okay, third best). But I betcha a dollar that when people remember the specific cars that drove down that road today, our heap will be one of the ones they remember.

Car fan #1: “Remember that idiot in the dirty Civic?”

Car fan #2: “The white one? That was a Corolla.”

Car fan #1: “Oh yeah, I think you’re right.”

Both: “What an idiot.”

I am that idiot. Absolutely. I own it.