This is rather a heady time for me.
After being asked by various readers, my bank teller and my mother’s dentist that I should “put all those columns in a book,” I am doing just that.
Publishing through Kindle seemed, naively I thought, straight forward enough until I got to the second page of instructions informing prospective writers what was required regarding formatting, font size and page breaks.
May as well have been Hebrew.
“Umm,” I began to Paul, thoroughly relaxed in his sweats, lounging upon the sofa and grabbing football highlights from ESPN. “Do you know what formatting means?”
“Does this have to do with the book you’re putting together?” he said, not taking his eyes from the screen as he raised his 5 p.m. martini to his lips.
“Yes,” I replied.
“The one you insisted you could do on your own?”
“Yes.”
“The one that now you need help with just as I am about to relax and unwind from the day?”
“Yes.”
He was now clearly enjoying himself.
“So you need help from the man that you complain always has his face in front of a computer screen and is addicted to all things technological? Complaining, that is, until you realize you can’t do it yourself and need his help?”
“I’m quite sure that’s the man, yes.” I replied. “Although I heard he may have been recently injured by someone hitting him in the side of his head with an ax.”
Sighing, Paul rose and disappeared into the office for a good hour or so, formatting columns and arranging the artwork.
“This is just the master,” he warned as I came in to peer over his shoulder. “There’s going to be a lot of cutting and pasting; you can do that, as well as inserting the photos and page breaks. But you need a title. What’s it called?”
“Well,” I mused, rubbing my chin as men with goatees are wont to do. “If I were Dave Barry-”
“Which you’re not.”
“Which I’m not. Well, Lewis Grizzard used to…”
“You’re not him either.”
Frustrated, I retorted, “I know I’m not them. But I don’t want it to be pretentious. I’m just trying to figure out what sort of titles other columnists have used.”
Paul took a long pull on his Bombay Sapphire and, raising his eyebrows suddenly, chirped, “I know – as it’s a book of your favorite columns, choose the title of the funniest one you wrote and make it the book’s title.”
“Even if it makes no sense?” I frowned, watching him insert a photo of the terriers’ derriers on the mock-up cover.
“Sure! Most titles are simply a phrase in a book, anyway, like, “To Kill A Mockingbird” or “Gone With The Wind.”
“You’ve got a point.” I agreed.
So, folks, you’ll just have to look for it on amazon.com. I’m reckoning on the cover you’ll see me, the dogs, probably a donkey or two, along with the title:
“I Love Me A Turkey Butt Samwich.”
I’m thinking you probably won’t be seeing it on the New York Times Bestseller List.