Cool story. I walked into the used book store today a few days ago. Usually, I'm met by the owner sitting behind the counter; he's often reading a book or gabbing with another customer. Today that day: nothing. Then I heard music of type that I'm unaccustomed to hearing in that establishment. It was like finding Canadian bacon and pineapple inside your taco shell. The sound came for the area of the store where the paperback sci-fi and westerns (among others) are shelved. Since those were the genres in which I was going to look, I lurched toward the music as if entranced--or at least with a modicum of curiosity--which is my favorite dosage, and the most I can get without a prescription.

 I found that the sci-fi books had been rearranged; that was a good thing. I also caught a lady in the very act of rearranging (I was going to say, "in flagrante delicto," but didn't want to risk the phrase being incorrectly taken in the sense of the second meaning). Naturally, I was forced into that old style of informal communication once known as conversation--completely unassisted by electronic devices. Nice lady. At one point she suggested a book with a story set in a location not too far from our town. That reminded me that one of my books is set in our very town. Ever eager to seize the opportunity for self-promotion, I said something about local settings and gave her a card that listed my books--if no one else will promote me, I'll have to do it myself.

"You're him," she said. For an instant, I felt like a celebrity. Turns out, she had just downloaded Finding Jack--The Orb after seeing a bit of publicity on the local internet news feed; she  had wanted to ask the host of that site about me when she had seen him across the street, but had decided against waving him down. We had a nice discussion about various book genres and what/who we enjoyed reading. What a pleasant surprise! I can only hope that she didn't find the experience so distasteful that she won't finish reading my book.

Follow up: I went back into the bookstore to pickup this book that Rachel K talked about on one of her blogs. I couldn't see anyone in the store. I gave a yell asking if anyone was home. No answer. I went to find the book anyway. While doing that, I heard voices in the back of the store. While the persons belonging to the voices moved back to the front of the store, I continued looking, and finally found the book. That's when I heard the lady say, "That Stanley Wheeler was in yesterday..." and that's where I interrupted. It's possible that she was going to say something nice or neutral about me, but on the odd chance that she had something of a different variety to say, I thought it might be a bit awkward for both of us if I overheard--and I didn't want to cower behind the shelves waiting for a chance to make a break for the door without being seen--so I said, "Be careful what you say, because I'm back."

The lady kindly said she just wanted to tell the owner that I had stopped by. She also wanted to tell me that she is on the local library board; they may be interested in having me speak at the library. I happily volunteered to waste oxygen for as long as they would like to have me do so.

***

Last year, while on the annual fishing trip with El Supremo and The Musketeer, I made a joke with the punch line "Quiet Earp." (That's now my tag for lame joke references--which I probably won't use much, because my jokes are kind of pretty awesome). This year on our fishing trip earlier this month (with a different musketeer), during which I caught the first (and biggest) fish, I made an equally bad joke. I'm not sure why I find it funny, because it's not. Anyway, one of my fishing companions made a comment about the wind blowing the boat into the shore. That reminded me of a book. I asked if they were familiar with the famous story of the cub scouts who were caught in a strong gust. They were not. I informed them that the story was more commonly known as "The Wind in the Webelos."

I don't think I've got anything left today that can top that joke for extreme lamitude (Yes, I made up that word; "lamitude" sounds better than "lameness;" although, 'lamefulness" sounds good too); I'll end with that.

Next time, maybe, a word about The Broken Gun by Louis Lamour.

Erotomania

From the 2003 French movie He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, starring Audrey Tautou, and Sam Le Bihan. It would be the former rather than the latter pictured above.
Audrey Tautou plays a promising art student in love with a married doctor. Unfortunately for the artist, the doctor is unwilling to leave his pregnant wife. The movie begins with the girl's face among the red roses of a flower shop where she purchases a single rose for her love. This cute little stick-of-a-girl finds disappointment in all of her attempts to become the sole owner of the doctor's heart. When the burden of this heaping pile of unfulfilled expectations drags her to the brink of ending her relationship with the doctor (and everyone else), she has a full conversion to the dark side; her efforts to obtain her desire intensify to full Mumm Ra mode. The film goes full noir from that moment. Neither her life, nor the doctor's life will ever be the same again.

To borrow from the lyrics of Red Rider's "Lunatic Fringe" (how's that for a segue?), I was "out upon the water"...except I just discovered that those are not the lyrics; that's just what I thought that I had been hearing all these years. Turns out the actual lyrics are "out along the walkway" which isn't nearly as interesting, nor at all a propos to a discussion of my fishing trip with El Supremo and The Musketeer. I only bring that up because of an exchange wherein El Supremo mentioned something about how quiet the environment was. The Musketeer agreed. Naturally, this reminded me of a gunman and sometime-sheriff. I mentioned that to my companions who appeared entirely lost by the reference. But of course they had not heard of that lesser known individual with the famous brothers...Quiet Earp, about whom the historical record is largely silent because of his calm and tranquil nature.

More importantly, another break-through on the noir novel. The death of an important character has left a void which requires filling. One character's entrance had already been planned, but another important character would benefit the story...and the more I thought about it, the more essential the character became. So now I have key players in place for the protagonist to interact with when he takes his investigation into the dangerous gambling den.