CDs

The plans are in place and the writing is completed. Now all I have to do is go "in studio", write a big check, and in a few months I'll have two new CDs produced: a CD entitled "On Being United Methodist", for those who need/want to know more about our church tradition and history, and a 2nd Christmas CD, to be entitled, "Another Christmas Book".

I enjoyed writing/collecting this material (hours of it) and it will be fun to produce something that may multiply in the hands of others.

Now all I have to do is pick a day when my voice is not raspy from Cottonwood or ragweed.

Book Signing

Friday night I travelled to Terre Haute to do a book signing at Walden's. There were few people in the mall, but there were several old friends who stopped by to see me after they noticed an article in the paper touting the signing. It was great to see them. And thank you, Dorothy, for hosting my failure once again!

Something funny always happens at a signing, and Friday night was no exception. I'm sitting behind my little table littered with books and a guy walks up to me, shoves a book in my face, and asks, "How much is this book?"

Now, it's not even my book. It's some giant hardback that they guy has pulled off of the shelf and he thinks I work for Walden's. But I take the book anyway, open the cover, and point to the top left where the price is listed. "Twenty-five, ninety-five," I tell him. "A bargain for a book that size."

"What's them little books there?" he asks, eyeing my paltry pile of trade paperbacks.

"Wedding books for brides," I tell him.

"Wedding books?!" He laughs. "You write for the ladies, do ya?"

"Why not," I say. "Women buy 90% of the books in America. Men like us, who read, are rare."

The guy looks down at his giant volume. "No S---! I didn't know that!" He yells over to his wife, a woman who looks like Herbert Hoover, "Hey, honey, this guy says I should buy this book. Makes me a reader."

As he walks away, he has a big cheesy grin. He looks back at me and says, "Thanks, mister. Thanks a lot! The things you learn!"

Sort of brought a tear to my eye. Oh, and I did sell two books. I want to thank my parents for buying them! Turned my book-sitting into a book-signing after all.

The Donut and Me

Today is national donut day. (Every day is "national" something day.) But I'm a bit depressed. I haven't had my donut. I'm trying to keep my "losing" streak alive. Losing weight, that is.

I've now fallen below 220 lbs (on most weigh-ins) and I'm becoming a mean, lean machine, reaching for my goal of getting strong, fit, and tan for a summer cruise. But afterwards, look out Dunkin' Donuts.

Actually, the donut has seen me through many late night and early morning writing sessions. Sessions that, sometimes, have lasted for days, sessions that were supported by caffeine and powerdered sugar.

But, having said that, I will be driving past Dunkin' Donuts in a few minutes on my way to a book signing. I might just have to pick up a donut . . . you know, since it is national donut day.

First Editions

Some years ago, I began my search for collecting 1st editions of books. Of course, in the realm of book collecting, a first edition is akin to a rookie season baseball card. The earliest, or first, of anything is supposedly more collectible, and therefore more valuable, than later versions.

But although I am a bibliophile, I'm not really knowledgeable of how much books are worth on the open market of buying and selling. But I do have a feeling that one of my most valuable books is a first-edition of The Essays of E.B. White. This edition was published, I believe, in 1977, around the time of the author's death. White wrote such beloved classics as Charlotte's Web and Stewart Little, but he was principally an essayist who wrote for The New Yorker magazine.

Of the essays in this collection, one is particularly noteworthy . . . his essay entitled, "Death of a Pig." It is often considered one of the finest personal essays ever written, and it is an essay I return to every few years for re-reading. It is a startling piece of work.

So, I do cherish my first edition of White's essays. My copy is, actually, now filthy on the edges, due to my constant handling of it. But I am hopeful that this might make it more collectible. After all, my DNA is now all over it. And who wouldn't desire some of the residue of my life?

Wilde Books

Last night I completed my reading of a most unusual biography. Built of Books: How Reading Defined the Life of Oscar Wilde, by Thomas Wright. I say unusual because this book is about the books that Oscar Wilde collected, read, and cherished. Wright was able to build his own biographical narrative of Wilde by noting the books that Wilde purchased, the books he read, and the books that defined his own life and expression.

My own knowledge of Wilde, prior to reading this biography, was limited to his plays--most notably, The Importance of Being Earnest. But I enjoyed reading about Wilde's books.

Of course, to many people, this biography would be a real snoozer. My wife kept asking me, "What's that book about?" "About Wilde's books," I told her. "Where they were arranged on the shelves, the colors of their bindings, and such."

"You're reading that?!"

Yes. I did. And the book itself was fascinating . . . as was Wilde himself. Wilde stuff.

Who's Counting?

Last week, a newspaper reporter asked me a series of questions about my writing. One was: how many books have you written?

I had to point out to the journalist that he probably meant to ask: How many books have you had published? He seemed, initially, taken aback by my correction . . . but the distinction is an important one.

After all, the writing of books and the publishing of books are two very different things. If he truly were asking about writing books, well, then, great-god-of-macaroni, I've lost track of that number. I'm sure it would be approaching 100 by now. I've written at least a dozen novels (all of them suck, and that's why they've never been published), at least twenty children's books (mostly for my kids, and even my children didn't like them) and dozens of other books that, if I were able to assemble the accumulation of my essays, short stories, memoirs and poems and divide them into publishable collections, would probably fill a narrow shelf.

Looking back on my accumulation of written material, I often wonder what I could find in my archives that would be worth salvaging. But I have so many new ideas it's tough to "go home", as they say. The past is the past. And I'm a much better writer now than I was when I was thirty. Or, at least editors are willing to trust me now with their precious gems and they seem far more willing to talk to me now that I am old and gray.

It is most commonly accepted that the most prolific writer in American history (the world?) was Isaac Asimov, whom most people believe was a writer of science fiction. However, Asimov wrote hundreds of books in his lifetime. His titles ranged from hard science to science fiction, yes . . . but he also wrote books on history, education, literature, and even the Bible. He also edited an astounding number of books, too. He's one of my heroes. Asimov rarely traveled but a few miles beyond his New York flat, and all he did was write. All day. Every day. Week after week. Year after year.

I should be so lucky. I guess.

Book Royalties & My Salvation of Poland

After an early morning kayak, I came home to find that I had received a semi-annual royalty statement from a publisher. It was depressing, noting how far into the "red" my books have sunk . . . sort of like a drowning child gasping for air. But there was no hope in this statement. The royalties in the "red" already declared my books DOA. No number of shocks could bring these books back to life, and there is no amount of adrenalin that could jump-start them to life again.

However, I did note that the publisher had sold one of my books through a European agent to a Polish publisher. So now I can say that my books have been translated into Chinese, Korean, Portuguese (don't ask), Spanish, and now Polish. The Polish edition has sold something like 350 copies. But of course, I'll never see a single KRONER in my bank account from those sales.

Anyway, I'll have to bask in the realization that I am helping the world. What Hitler did to Poland I am now fighting to overcome . . . one lousy Todd book at a time.