The goal of all writers is to get people to read what you write. When you self publish, there are no agents, or publishers helping you get your book out there. It’s all up to you. That means tell every family member and friend, try not to be obnoxious about it, that you’ve written a book they can easily buy on line. Use social media. Try to get a local bookstore to sell it. I’ve checked all those boxes, but it was time to make a pitch in person to people I didn’t know, a Meet the Author-Book Signing. You have to put yourself out there, even though you risk standing in a room with a pile of books, and no one shows up. With the help of Pete, the head of the Social Committee in my community, we set one up at the clubhouse.
Well, ten people did show up to hear me talk about the book, and writing, and self publishing, and I did sell a few books. Pete came, and told me he thought it went well. He then said he thought one of the stories would really hit home with the folks who live in our over 55 community. It’s the last of nine short stories in “Road of Life”. The story is about a grandfather taking a road trip with his teenage granddaughter to the Baseball Hall of Fame. It’s about his one last journey back to his youth, a chance to talk with his granddaughter about the road that lies ahead, and to give her a lasting memory of him. He’s knows he won’t be around to see her fulfill all her dreams.
I sent Pete a thank you e-mail. He responded the next morning saying he read the book, and was going to have his 15 year old granddaughter read the story. He was going to highlight the sentences about choices in life and discuss it with her. I told him there is no finer compliment than telling me he was going to share what I wrote with his granddaughter. The character in the story was really a future vision of myself hoping to give my own granddaughters a life lesson and a memory of me that she will remember with affection.
I never had a relationship with a grandfather. My father’s father died suddenly on a trip back to Italy the year before I was born. My mother’s father drank himself to death when I was 5 years old, and I have no memory of him. I have four granddaughters. They are the bright lights in our lives. Now that I’m a grandfather I realize what I missed. I have so many unanswered questions. Who were these men? Family stories both good and bad, true and, in some cases, untrue just makes me wonder what they were really like.
I only started thinking about this as I got older and became a grandfather. When you’re growing up, living your life, working, having your own family you don’t have time to think about things you didn’t experience. These little girls are a gift you get late in life. They make you a kid again. You can play with them, laugh with them, and let them laugh at you. Maybe it’s selfish. But I don’t want them to forget me, or how much I love them as they travel down the road of life.
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