The Writer's Life 5/20

Every year at this time the community runs an event called Bayfest, where artists display and sell their works along the Sheepshead Bay promenade, and local businesses set up tables to promote themselves. There is music and entertainment for children. If the weather is right, I usually try to horn in on the activity, setting up the floating bookshop about 200 feet away, hoping for spill-over. It couldn't have been a nicer day, the breeze taking any heat out of the air. The place was buzzing. The only thing missing was the swans that so many people feed with bits of bread. The Mr. Softee ice cream truck was doing fantastic business. How I yearned for a chocolate cone with sprinkles, which so many kids were having as they passed. At least two of my short stories, Rude Awakening and Mystery by the Bay, are set there. My dad had a little boat, which he kept moored just yards from where I was standing. He fished commercially in the summer time, filling the two wine barrels at the rear of the craft with porgies, which he would sell to old Mr. Randazzo, whose fish store is long gone but whose restaurant still flourishes, run, I assume, by his heirs. The area has seen a tremendous renaissance the past 20 years. Russian immigrants have plowed a lot of money into it, including a huge, beautiful catering hall named Baku Palace.

Of course, parking was a problem. In fact, my first pass through the area proved fruitless. I decided to go home and walk back, carrying only one crate of books, which would decrease the odds of sales. Fortunately, there were no parking spots available on my block, so I decided to give the Bay another shot. Sure enough, someone was leaving just as I rolled up. I was 500 feet from where I wanted to be, but in the ballpark. I carried the three crates in stages, going back and forth, certain passersby thought I was nuts. It was well worth it, however. The mission is always to sell at least one of my books, and that I did. Beverly recognized me from Bay Parkway. She asked if I did any ghostwriting. She is a survivor of a rare disease and does not have the energy to complete a manuscript she has left half finished. She even rolled up her blouse to show me the holes in her back. After that, how could I say no when she asked for a discount on Killing? I more than made up for it with sales of other books. Many of the people who see me whenever I set up shop on Avenue Z passed and wished me well. Jon was Johnny on the Spot, not only buying two books but hauling one of the crates back to my car, saving me a lot of work, even though the load was considerably lighter than at the start of the session. A retired teacher, he is taking a class on Organic Chemistry. He has hired a tutor and works with him every day for two hours. Fortunately, the class has only two weeks left. Then he will be able to concentrate on promoting his novel, The Man with the Silver Skull Ring, that I was privileged to read. He seems impressed that I have the will to promote my books on the street. Obviously, insanity does not run in his family. Thanks, my friend, and to everyone else who bought.

Here are some shots of the Bay. I was just to the left of the bridge, near side: