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Drawing a line in the sand ...
I could put the blame on this past weekend’s nasty New England weather—a blizzard which left 9 inches of snow in its wake by my area along the East Bay, with inland regions getting up to 16 inches! Smithfield—one of those inland locales in Rhode Island where I was scheduled for a book signing event at Barnes & Noble along with nine other local authors on Saturday afternoon.
Then, three more inches of light fluff fell overnight into Saturday morn, requiring additional labor to remove the residue from my vehicle.
I can’t really cast blame on the rear lift gate which wouldn’t open with my remote, or the dashboard switch, because I’d already removed my handy transport cart the night before. In fact, I loaded my box of books and other paraphernalia on the back floor and seat ready to roll.
Having ample time, that late morning I made a run to Walmart as New Englanders typically do for replenishing milk, bread, and eggs during a lull in any storm. My provisions were those of cat litter and paper towels. In no time flat I was back at the apartment complex and parked under the overhang to unload my goods in the cart for my trek on the elevator and the entire length of the second floor to my door.
A gray, damp day with roads saturated from precipitation, slickness not out of the realm of possibility because it felt much colder than the forecasted 41 degrees; the thought of braving traffic in those conditions for 19 miles in what surely would take much longer than a half hour to get there.
Then, reflecting on poor showings or no-shows at previous solo library author events. Inertia set in! Despite my euphoria for having procured a bookstore signing, going out on a limb for myself as an Indie author—I couldn’t summon the willpower to go. I called in to cancel my appearance and suppose I’ll swing by there soon to claim four books on display in the store.
What I can really blame my inertia on, is not having drawn a line in the sand between my personal and professional life. Besides striving to rise above the shadows of obscurity as an Indie author, that goal pales in comparison to the mandate of defining my own life separate and apart from anyone else. It is the only way I can truly benefit those I care about without destroying myself in the process.
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Web Site:
Eva Pasco's Personal Facebook Page
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
2/13/2017 |
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You are an amazing storyteller! From the depths of Nam to the horror of Orlando you covered much social commentary in this gripping piece of reality facing those who kill or are killed by hatred and bigotry.
For some reason I don't recall the Colonel saying, "Charlie doesn't surf," but I do remember vividly, "I love the smell of napalm in the morning!" Imagining what it must be like to have napalm on your skin, running for your life as it burns and burns and burns until you can feel the pain no more. What a horrible way to die. You describe seems much more vividly than I, the mark of a writer's writer.
I will send this story to a gay friend of mine, also an author who has written a well received novel about Galveston called Two Left Shoes, Tommie McNeil.
Ron |
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