Today one of my coworkers at my new job told me that he was a horrible person. I joked with him, acting like I was surprised. But it turns out he nearly committed one of the most horrible sins imaginable.
He said that he'd run into money problems, so he decided to sell some of his most valued books. *gasp!* Yes, that is a horrible idea. He had a book--signed, no less--that was valued at about one grand, so that's what he tried to eBay it for. Thankfully his financial situation improved, and he no longer had to sell this prized possession. Instead he turned to trolling those who tried to undercut him. One person audaciously tried to get it for $200. He mocked them all and kept his book.
Good.
I've spent my life amassing the library I'm surrounded by in this very moment. I have three bookcases in my bedroom, all full to the brim with books on top that reach to the ceiling. I also have three piles of books on the top shelf of my desk . . . and they reach to the ceiling. To say nothing of the two and a half giant towers of books on their own (one and a half being a stack comprised of two stacks topped by one stack because it kept falling over). To say nothing of the paperbacks stacked on my comic book boxes and the one shelf mounted on my wall.
Go outside my room and you'll find another full-to-the-brim bookcase with books on top . . . reaching to the ceiling. And three stacks next to it . . . reaching to the ceiling.
I cannot possibly imagine myself selling any one of them. I have a lot of signed books. I have a lot of limited editions. (The most I ever spent on a book was $500 for a signed limited edition of Richard Laymon's A WRITER'S TALE; worth every penny, and anyone will tell you that's a pretty good deal.) And I have a ton of regular hardcovers and paperbacks. I had to sell some books recently to make room, but I sold only the ones I hadn't enjoyed. Everything that I loved (or have not read yet) is integral to my continuing existence.
Even the ones I sold kind of hurt. I'd put those books in my head. They were a part of me even though I didn't like them (or I had other, better editions that I did enjoy).
This guy was going to sell a prized possession. I find that unthinkable. I could never part with any of the books I have in my place.
I hear horror stories about people having to move and leave their books behind during a move. Or sell them in order to move. Or there's the one story about Joe R. Lansdale losing his library to a flood. Jesus! That's so horrible! Just hearing it drills a hole in my guts.
Which reminds me, I have a ton of books that are signed by the authors that I HAVEN'T read. I need to get on that as soon as possible.
Goodnight, my fellow book fiends.
Friday, October 7, 2016
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #219: SERIES CHARACTERS
It's a rarity, but I like series characters every once in a while. Lucas Davenport and Virgil Flowers. Bill Hodges and Roland and friends. Harry Potter. Rambo. Burke and Cross. Hap and Leonard. Tony and Vince. Hell, going back to my childhood, Frank and Joe Hardy.
OK, maybe I like them more than I think. But I never had an urge to write series characters. The tough part is writing a story that resonates so strongly that readers lust for more tales about those people living in your head. It's a daunting task, and I'm almost certain that no author thinks about series characters until they accidentally happen. In their heads it's usually one-and-done until readers love the hell out of it.
I don't write sequels. There was that one time when I was a gay porn writer. I wrote under the name of Anthony Haversham. I sold "Bobby Yandell, Private Investigator" to INDULGE FOR MEN. The pay was really fucking good, so I wrote another Yandell story called "My Dick is Quick." The first one was an homage to Chandler. The second had Spillane written all over it. Sadly IFM was not interested in pursuing a series character. No one else was willing to pick it up. I, being a real scumbag, published the story in the first TABARD INN. I don't like putting my own stories in work I'm editing, but I made an exception in that case because it was a pen name, and I had no intention of ever revealing the truth. (spoiler) There are times when I think I should do a third story but inspired by Jim Thompson. Maybe someday.
But about a year ago I was struck with a great idea for series characters. I've been puzzling the stories out ever since. I even decided to convert another idea for this series. I have a huge background for it. There is even a mysterious character that is going to link all of the stories together, and I know all about his FUBAR past, and I can't wait to get it all on paper.
I started writing the first in this series yesterday. It's inspired by my previous job, and it's reinforced by my new job. I sincerely hope that someone is interested in publishing stories in this series. I desperately want to pepper these things throughout magazines and anthologies for the next ten years. I think I've mentioned before how much I love Manly Wade Wellman's John the Balladeer stories, and how I like unexpectedly running into him in a random anthology. I want readers to feel the same when they come upon these savage and twisted (and somehow noble) characters.
I'm almost done with the first story. I anticipate there being at least a dozen of these things. I hope these sell well. If you're a publisher and interested in a series about the same characters doing vastly different and fucked up things, please let me know.
If you're a reader, I hope I can get this thing before your eyes. I'd really like to know what you think.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #218: FLU SHOTS
I got my first flu shot today. It's making me nervous as all hell. I used to joke about worrying what the government was putting in these things, but in reality I had a very different fear. They say that once you get your first flu shot you have to get them for the rest of your life. Kind of like shaving your body hair. Once you do it, it will grow back twice as tough, and you'll have to keep on doing it forever if you want to be rid of it.
You may remember that earlier this year I was stricken with a ghastly mystery illness that started with a horrible, filthy child in an urgent care waiting room. That little fucker coughed and sneezed all over everything. I saw him sneeze in his mother's face. No admonishment to cover his mouth. I suspect that he'll grow up to become the next Donald Trump.
I only get sick once a year, and that piece of shit caught me at that exact time of year. But it kept getting worse to the point where my doctor thought I had pneumonia. It wasn't that, but whatever it was triggered the mystery illness that had me laid up for two months. I'm certain that the mystery illness wouldn't have happened without that asshole kid's virus, whatever it was.
While trying to figure it out, my doctor asked me if I'd gotten the flu shot that year. I told him I never get them. He said that because I'm diabetic I should get them every year. He was certain that this horrible period of my life was caused by me not getting my flu shot.
So yeah. Not wanting to go through that bullshit again, I got the flu shot at work today. I guess I'll be doing that for the rest of my life. Fuck.
It was an all right experience. I hate needles. I never liked them, but I've been around a lot of them these past few years for various ailments. I got used to them, but at the same time I hate them even more. The nurse was pretty good with this one, though. I barely felt it. Better yet, she seemed interested in my reading material. JF Gonzalez's SURVIVOR. On my morning commute someone on the train noticed the book and recoiled in horror at it. It was good to see this nurse balancing out the universe.
But the thing that really freaked me out was when I admitted this was my first flu shot. Everyone was very concerned, afraid that I would have an allergic reaction. I'm allergic to nothing (except, possibly, religion), but all the same it gave me The Fear. They made me wait a while before sending me back to work. My head filled with visions of my arm puffing out like an overstuffed sausage. It didn't help that the nurse asked me if I was right handed or left handed. When I said I was a righty, she said she would inject my left arm.
But it all went good. I swear to fuck, if I get sick this winter I'll be pissed. Fuck what my doctor says, I'm not getting the shot next year. But if all goes well? I guess I can shoulder that burden.
You may remember that earlier this year I was stricken with a ghastly mystery illness that started with a horrible, filthy child in an urgent care waiting room. That little fucker coughed and sneezed all over everything. I saw him sneeze in his mother's face. No admonishment to cover his mouth. I suspect that he'll grow up to become the next Donald Trump.
I only get sick once a year, and that piece of shit caught me at that exact time of year. But it kept getting worse to the point where my doctor thought I had pneumonia. It wasn't that, but whatever it was triggered the mystery illness that had me laid up for two months. I'm certain that the mystery illness wouldn't have happened without that asshole kid's virus, whatever it was.
While trying to figure it out, my doctor asked me if I'd gotten the flu shot that year. I told him I never get them. He said that because I'm diabetic I should get them every year. He was certain that this horrible period of my life was caused by me not getting my flu shot.
So yeah. Not wanting to go through that bullshit again, I got the flu shot at work today. I guess I'll be doing that for the rest of my life. Fuck.
It was an all right experience. I hate needles. I never liked them, but I've been around a lot of them these past few years for various ailments. I got used to them, but at the same time I hate them even more. The nurse was pretty good with this one, though. I barely felt it. Better yet, she seemed interested in my reading material. JF Gonzalez's SURVIVOR. On my morning commute someone on the train noticed the book and recoiled in horror at it. It was good to see this nurse balancing out the universe.
But the thing that really freaked me out was when I admitted this was my first flu shot. Everyone was very concerned, afraid that I would have an allergic reaction. I'm allergic to nothing (except, possibly, religion), but all the same it gave me The Fear. They made me wait a while before sending me back to work. My head filled with visions of my arm puffing out like an overstuffed sausage. It didn't help that the nurse asked me if I was right handed or left handed. When I said I was a righty, she said she would inject my left arm.
But it all went good. I swear to fuck, if I get sick this winter I'll be pissed. Fuck what my doctor says, I'm not getting the shot next year. But if all goes well? I guess I can shoulder that burden.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #217: NOW APPROACHING RIVER FOREST
I've noticed that on my train commute there is an automatic audio announcement for every stop, and I kind of find it funny that it treats each stop differently. I don't pay attention in the morning because there are only two announcements: Oak Park and Ogilvy. But in the evening?
My first stop is Kedzie. There is no pleasant way to say that word. It always comes out awkward or distasteful. It's so bad that no one gets off there. Only two cars are on the platform at the time. Metra doesn't care about Kedzie. (As a side note, remember the time I talked about the bum who got kicked forcefully off the train? It was at Kedzie. Just to add some flavor.)
Then we get to Oak Park. Might as well be announcing we're all breathing today. It's too matter of fact. Water is wet, folks. As you were.
The next stop I'll mention later, but after that is Maywood. Again, not much of a fuss. Just grass growing. Melrose Park, on the other hand, seems like it's a surprise to the automated response. Melrose Park? We're stopping there? Really?
Next up is Bellwood. The robot doesn't know what to make of the word. It gets it wrong every time. It sounds vaguely right, but it's a mish-mash. Ugly.
The next two stops are Berkeley and Elmhurst (my stop). Both times are like Melrose Park, except it's not just a surprise. It's a pleasant surprise.
But there's one I haven't talked about. One that is completely different from the others. I think the robot is very happy about this one. It's the third stop: River Forest. When it announces this stop, it is completely pleasant and impressed, like River Forest might be the greatest place on the planet.
And sure, it looks nice. It's not bad for a mid-level suburb of Chicago. Doesn't look rundown, but it doesn't look very civilized, either. Some of it is actually pretty beautiful. No wonder this computer likes it. I imagine if it was trying to become a sentient being, emotion and all, it would want to commute from River Forest everyday.
Is my train becoming self-aware? Oh shit.
My first stop is Kedzie. There is no pleasant way to say that word. It always comes out awkward or distasteful. It's so bad that no one gets off there. Only two cars are on the platform at the time. Metra doesn't care about Kedzie. (As a side note, remember the time I talked about the bum who got kicked forcefully off the train? It was at Kedzie. Just to add some flavor.)
Then we get to Oak Park. Might as well be announcing we're all breathing today. It's too matter of fact. Water is wet, folks. As you were.
The next stop I'll mention later, but after that is Maywood. Again, not much of a fuss. Just grass growing. Melrose Park, on the other hand, seems like it's a surprise to the automated response. Melrose Park? We're stopping there? Really?
Next up is Bellwood. The robot doesn't know what to make of the word. It gets it wrong every time. It sounds vaguely right, but it's a mish-mash. Ugly.
The next two stops are Berkeley and Elmhurst (my stop). Both times are like Melrose Park, except it's not just a surprise. It's a pleasant surprise.
But there's one I haven't talked about. One that is completely different from the others. I think the robot is very happy about this one. It's the third stop: River Forest. When it announces this stop, it is completely pleasant and impressed, like River Forest might be the greatest place on the planet.
And sure, it looks nice. It's not bad for a mid-level suburb of Chicago. Doesn't look rundown, but it doesn't look very civilized, either. Some of it is actually pretty beautiful. No wonder this computer likes it. I imagine if it was trying to become a sentient being, emotion and all, it would want to commute from River Forest everyday.
Is my train becoming self-aware? Oh shit.
Monday, October 3, 2016
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #216: HOW TO PISS ME OFF
It takes a lot to piss me off. Frustrated is easy. That happens everyday. But pissed off? Furious? That's a lot harder. I can take a lot. I was severely beaten as a child. I was mercilessly bullied until high school (when I suddenly, luckily, grew to a height that dwarfed my bullies). I can take just about anything. Fucking anything. If you were to guess that I have a ruthless, possibly pathological, self-deprecating sense of humor, then you would be right.
As you can tell, something's stuck in my craw. I apologize for the egotistical post, but this thing has been eating at me since yesterday, when I first encountered it.
I am not a natural storyteller. I have a natural drive, but I had to seek out a way to do this shit. Ask anyone who read my work when I was a kid. They'll tell you it was garbage because I didn't know how to do it. It took me a long time to figure out how to tell a satisfying story, and it took a lot of hard work. One of my friends, and this is a guy who tells it like it is, told me that when he read my stuff from high school and college, he thought I was a shitty writer. Then he read my stuff in the past couple of years, and he was thoroughly impressed by how far I've come. That didn't happen by magic. It happened through hard work. A lot of it.
How do you piss me off? Tell me that I'm wasting my talent. I love the person who said this, and I don't want to go too deeply into that aspect. But I told her that it wasn't a talent. It was an ability. I built it up from virtually nothing. So substitute talent for ability. Even so, how the fuck am I wasting it? I write nearly every day. I have a metric shit-ton of titles to my name.
I have, over my computer, a sign that says WRITE DAMMIT. YOU'RE NOT GOOD AT ANYTHING ELSE. All right, I ripped it off from Simon Clark, but still. Writing is the one and only thing in my life that I truly take seriously. It is the only reason I'm alive. If I didn't have this I would have withered away a long time ago. It's the one thing I'm proud of, and I'll be damned if anyone is going to take that away from me.
Fuck. Reading back, I sound like a fucking prick who's full of himself. Wow. I need to get laid.
As you can tell, something's stuck in my craw. I apologize for the egotistical post, but this thing has been eating at me since yesterday, when I first encountered it.
I am not a natural storyteller. I have a natural drive, but I had to seek out a way to do this shit. Ask anyone who read my work when I was a kid. They'll tell you it was garbage because I didn't know how to do it. It took me a long time to figure out how to tell a satisfying story, and it took a lot of hard work. One of my friends, and this is a guy who tells it like it is, told me that when he read my stuff from high school and college, he thought I was a shitty writer. Then he read my stuff in the past couple of years, and he was thoroughly impressed by how far I've come. That didn't happen by magic. It happened through hard work. A lot of it.
How do you piss me off? Tell me that I'm wasting my talent. I love the person who said this, and I don't want to go too deeply into that aspect. But I told her that it wasn't a talent. It was an ability. I built it up from virtually nothing. So substitute talent for ability. Even so, how the fuck am I wasting it? I write nearly every day. I have a metric shit-ton of titles to my name.
I have, over my computer, a sign that says WRITE DAMMIT. YOU'RE NOT GOOD AT ANYTHING ELSE. All right, I ripped it off from Simon Clark, but still. Writing is the one and only thing in my life that I truly take seriously. It is the only reason I'm alive. If I didn't have this I would have withered away a long time ago. It's the one thing I'm proud of, and I'll be damned if anyone is going to take that away from me.
Fuck. Reading back, I sound like a fucking prick who's full of himself. Wow. I need to get laid.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #215: MY ADVENTURE IN MORRIS, IL
To be honest I didn't expect much. Morris, IL, isn't a big place. I had grave doubts that anyone would buy my weird books. The only thing I thought they might buy was STRIP. That's the most straightforward book I've written. It's still ultra-violent and hyper-sexed, but it's normal. The things that happen in that book could actually happen in real life. There are no monster cocks or anything in that one. I also had an odd feeling in the back of my head that I might be burned for a witch when they saw my books. At the very least I might be arrested. I wore my WARNING: OFFENSIVE shirt just so people knew before they approached my table.
I sold two books. The $20 I made off of them went into my gas tank for the ride home. Still, the show was fun, and more importantly, it was for free.
Unfortunately it rained today. This book fest was supposed to be held outside, but instead they held it inside the library. As a result we didn't get a lot of Corn Festival traffic. Still, it wasn't a bad show. It had a real intimate feeling to it. To my surprise no one was horrified. No one was disgusted when they saw my books. They certainly weren't to everyone's taste, but they were very polite about it. True library people. Even if they don't like something, they would never make a big fuss out of it. I should have known better, having worked at a library from 1996 to 2006.
They had me sharing a table with Gregory T. Obert. That made me a little nervous. I know how offensive my books can be to people, and I didn't want to ruin his fest experience because of the kind of author I am. I warned him ahead of time, "Either you're going to be amused by me, or I'm going to horrify you."
Luckily it was the former. He's a really good guy. He listened to me tell my terrifying real life stories for three hours. When we were packing up he said that he had some pretty good stories, too. If we ever get thrown in together again, I'm going to shut my mouth for a change and listen to him. Click on the link above. Buy his book, THE MAN ON THE BENCH. I haven't read the book (although I did a book swap for it), but having spent a while with him, I know it's going to be good. At the very least it's got a great cover, as maybe half a dozen non-customers told him today. It was his first public appearance, and he handled himself very well.
Originally I'd asked a friend of mine, Nicole Evans, to be my table mate. If you do shows, you can't do them alone. You need someone to watch your back. She co-wrote "Suicidal Tendencies" with me. You can find the story in TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Unfortunately she's run into some health and legal issues, so she couldn't make it. I put out the call to fellow IL authors, and Groot Marbles answered it. I've known him for quite some time online, but I've never met the guy even though we live maybe 45 minutes away from each other.
It was a sheer joy to meet him and his lady in person. We had a good conversation. Unfortunately he is the unluckiest person I've ever known. One of my brothers is supremely unlucky. Anything that can go wrong for him will go wrong. But Groot has it much worse. He told me about the shitty day he's had today, and then he told me that's pretty much every day for him. I wish I could have spent more time with him, but events conspired against us. I'm going to see him again in November, and hopefully his unluckiness won't get in the way of that. Also, he has some great news. I'm sure he can't announce it yet, but stay tuned.
Once again I couldn't help but notice that kids are drawn to my books. I don't know what it is. If there's a child in my vicinity, they will be attracted to my books. There was one kid who came by three times. His grandfather, a fellow author sitting near me, said that the kid did not stop at anyone else's table. It was just mine. He was not alone. A lot of children pawed my books, and it made me very nervous. Thankfully the parents were all understanding. (Groot mentioned that what was going on could very well be defined as child abuse. I was stricken by the idea, but the observation was so spot on I couldn't help but laugh.)
I should also add that at one point the kid who came to my table three times was in awe of TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Remember the kid I mentioned at the Printers Row show? The one who saw that book and stared at it like he'd seen titties for the first time in his life? That's exactly how this kid responded.
Groot told me that I should write children's books. I might take that under serious consideration.
But yeah. Two books sold. Will I be back next year? Probably. It's a good show. Not financially rewarding, but I had fun. Morris, IL: I will see you in twelve months. If you'll have me, that is.
PS: I had a wonderful conversation with the person who bought STRIP. She said that her boyfriend was working on a horror novel set in a strip club, and it sounded like an excellent idea. If you're reading this, let me know. When the book comes out I would love to read it.
I sold two books. The $20 I made off of them went into my gas tank for the ride home. Still, the show was fun, and more importantly, it was for free.
Unfortunately it rained today. This book fest was supposed to be held outside, but instead they held it inside the library. As a result we didn't get a lot of Corn Festival traffic. Still, it wasn't a bad show. It had a real intimate feeling to it. To my surprise no one was horrified. No one was disgusted when they saw my books. They certainly weren't to everyone's taste, but they were very polite about it. True library people. Even if they don't like something, they would never make a big fuss out of it. I should have known better, having worked at a library from 1996 to 2006.
They had me sharing a table with Gregory T. Obert. That made me a little nervous. I know how offensive my books can be to people, and I didn't want to ruin his fest experience because of the kind of author I am. I warned him ahead of time, "Either you're going to be amused by me, or I'm going to horrify you."
Luckily it was the former. He's a really good guy. He listened to me tell my terrifying real life stories for three hours. When we were packing up he said that he had some pretty good stories, too. If we ever get thrown in together again, I'm going to shut my mouth for a change and listen to him. Click on the link above. Buy his book, THE MAN ON THE BENCH. I haven't read the book (although I did a book swap for it), but having spent a while with him, I know it's going to be good. At the very least it's got a great cover, as maybe half a dozen non-customers told him today. It was his first public appearance, and he handled himself very well.
Originally I'd asked a friend of mine, Nicole Evans, to be my table mate. If you do shows, you can't do them alone. You need someone to watch your back. She co-wrote "Suicidal Tendencies" with me. You can find the story in TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Unfortunately she's run into some health and legal issues, so she couldn't make it. I put out the call to fellow IL authors, and Groot Marbles answered it. I've known him for quite some time online, but I've never met the guy even though we live maybe 45 minutes away from each other.
It was a sheer joy to meet him and his lady in person. We had a good conversation. Unfortunately he is the unluckiest person I've ever known. One of my brothers is supremely unlucky. Anything that can go wrong for him will go wrong. But Groot has it much worse. He told me about the shitty day he's had today, and then he told me that's pretty much every day for him. I wish I could have spent more time with him, but events conspired against us. I'm going to see him again in November, and hopefully his unluckiness won't get in the way of that. Also, he has some great news. I'm sure he can't announce it yet, but stay tuned.
Once again I couldn't help but notice that kids are drawn to my books. I don't know what it is. If there's a child in my vicinity, they will be attracted to my books. There was one kid who came by three times. His grandfather, a fellow author sitting near me, said that the kid did not stop at anyone else's table. It was just mine. He was not alone. A lot of children pawed my books, and it made me very nervous. Thankfully the parents were all understanding. (Groot mentioned that what was going on could very well be defined as child abuse. I was stricken by the idea, but the observation was so spot on I couldn't help but laugh.)
I should also add that at one point the kid who came to my table three times was in awe of TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE. Remember the kid I mentioned at the Printers Row show? The one who saw that book and stared at it like he'd seen titties for the first time in his life? That's exactly how this kid responded.
Groot told me that I should write children's books. I might take that under serious consideration.
But yeah. Two books sold. Will I be back next year? Probably. It's a good show. Not financially rewarding, but I had fun. Morris, IL: I will see you in twelve months. If you'll have me, that is.
PS: I had a wonderful conversation with the person who bought STRIP. She said that her boyfriend was working on a horror novel set in a strip club, and it sounded like an excellent idea. If you're reading this, let me know. When the book comes out I would love to read it.
WANNA BUY A BOOK PERSONALLY FROM ME?
I just did a book fest in Morris, IL, and it was not as successful as I was hoping. Right now I'm sitting on a treasure trove of stock. If you want to buy from me directly, let me know. Everything is ten bucks, or I have a 3 for $25 deal. My stock is as follows:
-STRIP: 2 (You should really buy from me. If you go to Amazon you'll be charged an arm and a leg. With me it's either $10 or cheaper if you go with the 3 for $25 deal.)
-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 3
-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 1
-DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 7
-STRANGE SEX 3: 4
-ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2
-STRANGE FUCKING STORIES: 1
I also have one more thing. It's not included in the 3 for $25 deal, though. I have the very last copy of STRANGER DANGER by Kevin Strange and Danger_Slater that you will find on the market. Go look at Amazon. See? No one's even selling it used. This book is out of print, and while you can purchase the novellas within separately, the likelihood of this book ever going back into print in this form is very, very slim. It is also signed by both Kevin and Danger. This is a super collectible right now. I could be a dick and charge $100 for it, but you can have it for $15. That's right, for $15 you can have the final copy of STRANGER DANGER for sale.
Let me know if you want some books. If you don't live close to me (so I can hand deliver to you), there might be shipping charges. If it's just for one book, I'll eat the cost, but if you want more than one I'll have to find out how much that costs.
-STRIP: 2 (You should really buy from me. If you go to Amazon you'll be charged an arm and a leg. With me it's either $10 or cheaper if you go with the 3 for $25 deal.)
-TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE: 3
-POOR BASTARDS AND RICH FUCKS: 1
-DONG OF FRANKENSTEIN: 7
-STRANGE SEX 3: 4
-ZOMBIE! ZOMBIE! BRAIN BANG!: 2
-STRANGE FUCKING STORIES: 1
Let me know if you want some books. If you don't live close to me (so I can hand deliver to you), there might be shipping charges. If it's just for one book, I'll eat the cost, but if you want more than one I'll have to find out how much that costs.
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