Books by Cynth'ya Lewis Reed

The answer to the headline is not the age of a sea turtle or some mollusk shell found in your neighbor's back yard. It's sort of a "thinking point" for me regarding poetry.

When one has posted nearly 200 poems, it's almost as awe-striking at that show that put the FOX network on the map (no, not The O'Reilly Factor---ughhhh!), you know the one, Married With Children. Those of you who like freaky satiristicalifragisiticexpealidocious late night rerun comedy like myself will know this episode well. . .

It was the broadcast where the odometer of Al Bundy's rusting in peace, push-ME-pull-U Dodge was about to turn 1,000,000.01 miles. (The .01 factor is from pushing it into the garage).

But as usual, Bud, Kelly, or his dearly beloved bonbon consuming, tv addicted, Peggy who lusted in the shower with a Mel Gibson showerhead-- did something nutzy-kookoo in the realm of emotional and financial castration to derail him as usual from dreaming the big American has-been dream. . . . (AGAIN). . . and Al doesn't get a million bucks.

So much for shoe salesman happiness who'd spend the million dollars on peering at mountainous hooters at Habib's Jiggly Room, "Big Uns" subscriptions, beer, food, and a round the world cruise to get away from his big Wanker County sex-starved hillybilly inbred redhead Peggy.

So like Al, at the end of every show, he wonders "Why Me God!" That last statement is what Al Bundy and myself (thank goodness that's ALL we have in common) ask when coming to a pinacle page turning moment in life.

So, here's what I've chosen to do. . . . while still writing newsletters (this time every TWO weeks) I'm holding off on posting Poem Number 200 until I do the following:

The Dream: Establish my own publishing name
and personal motivational website by Winter 2006.

The Method:
a. By October 30, 2005 mail-distribute 199 more autographed copies of Pieces & Other Color'd Quiltations, Abbeville Edition" (click on "books" in Cynth'ya's links to inquire on purchase.)

b. Promote a public speaking tour of a minimum 20 legally non-profit or for-profit entities by October 30, 2006 to qualify for National Speakers Association Membership (nsaspeaker.org)

The Target Results
As of this reading by visitors, to actively respond to Authors Den visiting authors for co-op engagements, personal appearances in educational or business settings, festival invitations, commemorative events, etc.

Any and all leads are appreciated, with letters of recommendation sent to:(STRONG>
Sassy Unlimited Publications
P.O. Box 723, Muncie, IN 47308-0723.
(Business Email Correspondence: clewisreed.gmail.com)

So hurry up and order so I can get on with poem number 199. . . it'll be a doozie. And if not, like Al, I'll not rest in this red-bloodied American land until I am recognized as the big firm bosomed blonde white female that deserves a lap to dance on.

(Hey, THAT got your attention, didn't it. . . ? At least I wouldn't have to worry about social security with all the dollars I'd collect over a year's time!)

Stay crazy. . . I sure intend to. . . and .looking forward to your contribution where I can send you one of my crazy autographed books in the mail. And think of buying two copied. Somebody you know is about to have a birthday, aren't they now?

Please be sure to type the word “Authors Den” in the title to be acknowledged when you email clewisreed@gmail.com.

luvin' y'all with many blessin's
cynth'ya

p.s. Don't worry y'all. If I'm invited to speak at the Stepford Wives Garden Club, promise I'll be as serious as their botox smiles. All speaking material is meant to encourage and uplift, not embarrass. That's why Authors Den is perfect for my alternative writing, like here and my blog pages. (At least I don't write for FOX news. . .

---ughhhh!)
_________
IT'S SUMMERTIME: OPEN YOURS

DANCIN' E-CARD!
http://www.hallmark.com/ECardWeb/ECardPickupView.jsp?&n=l%03w%7dq0%03j&e=lu%7bnnm%40%3bI%03jqxx7lxv&s=wop%3b%3d%3b%3b&p=%5bnpj%7bmun%7c%7c%29xo%29%03x%7e%7b%29lr%7bl%7ev%7c%7djwln%7c5%29kn%29qjyy%035%29kn%29%7dqjwto%7eu5%29jwm%29kn%29yuj%03o%7eu%29%01r%7dq%29n%7fn%7b%03xwn%29%03x%7e%29ux%7fn%29knrwp%29j%7bx%7ewm7%291Jwm%29vjtn%29j%29wn%01%29o%7brnwm%29%01qrun%29%03x%7e0%7bn%29j%7d%29r%7d72%16%13%16%13Qjyy%03%29%5c%7evvn%7b5%16%13l%03w%7dq0%03j&f=y


(Just copy the above looooooong website address, and paste in the browser window. Thanks for your patience. See ya'll 'round the fourth of "Ju-ly". Celebrated my true freedom on Juneteenth--nothin' happy about the ancestors waiting two years to find out your darkness in America is no longer a reason to be a slave back in June 1867.

(Hey, maybe they shoulda burned the cargo boats before they left Africa and South America. . . but then if they did, I wouldn't be here writing this. . . .

(Especially if I was a big firm-bosomed buxom blonde white female that's bumpin' and grindin' for dollars.)