The Writer's Life
The Writer's Life 4/5
It's been another bad week for the green movement. A123 Systems, makers of batteries, has filed for bankruptcy, taking 279 billion taxpayer dollars with it. I guess it's time to fire up the government printing press once again. Hey, it's only money. And the bad news wasn't restricted to the U.S.. A fourth solar energy manufacturer has gone belly up in Germany. Drilll and frack, frack and drill - they are the only way to energy independence at present. And they would create thousands of jobs.
The floating book shop had competition today. I gazed across the street and saw Svetlana/Vivian setting up her wares in front of our apartment complex. She hawks a liquid fat burner, five bucks a can. She claims to have lost 30 pounds using it, although I don't recall her having ever been overweight. The other day she took the stand to the Sheepshead Bay train station, and sold 40. Unfortunately, today she was chased from the grounds by management, which prohibits soliciting. I'm so fortunate that Roberto, the super of the building where I set up, is in my corner. Vivian, the name she adopted for her business persona, moved to the little island between Ave Z and the service road leading to East 13th, a nice sunny spot directly across the street from me. I approached after I'd closed up shop. She asked for advice. I told her to move to the other side of the street, where significantly more people passed. She has what seems a baby bump. It's not likely a belly, given the access she has to the fat burner. I've seen her with a man who seems of Indian origin. Her mom is embarrassed that she has taken her business to the street. It doesn't surprise me. I once spotted my godmother crossing the street before she reached me and sensed she was embarrassed for me. I've sensed the same about other passersby. Some people put a lot of stock in appearances. Heck, I've questioned my sanity a thousand times since I first brought my books to the sidewalk. I recall my mom's ironic comment whenever someone, including me, did something untoward in public: Bella figura. Translation: you're making an ass of yourself. Well, I refuse to sit around and wait for readers to discover my books on the web. One day in Park Slope, Susan, a guitar teacher, stopped and mentioned that Wayne Dyer, the wildly successful self-help guru, started out selling his books from the trunk of a car. I don't hope to be as successful as that, but I do want people to read my work, and I don't see any other way to do it at present, so I'll just have to deal with the feeling of having egg on my face.
I thank the people who bought books on what was a slow business day.
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