Tell Me About Your Book Podcast

The latest podcast interview is now live for my novel Magglio Cervantes! The host and I spoke about the writing process, the importance of having purpose, and the novel. Thank you to the gracious Oaky Tyree, host of the Tell Me About Your Book podcast.

[Magglio Cervantes, the Amazon link]

The first contact with the host was last November, I emailed her pitching myself for consideration as a podcast guest. A reply email instructed me to complete and return an interview request form. With those additional details a date was set. The podcast recording took place on April 2 where we spoke via Zoom, the host from her home in Houston, Texas, and the audio was recorded for the podcast.

My preparation in the weeks leading up to our recording date included my morning walks with Ghost Dog, our German Shepherd / Husky. While walking I practiced responses to prospective interview questions pertaining to the writing of Magglio Cervantes. I had listened to many of the Tell Me About Your Book episodes, and that allowed me to become familiar with the format and anticipate a few questions.

Much respect to my pleasant and gracious host. Oaky maintains an impressively busy schedule with a full-time job, then in her personal time, she records weekly podcast interviews and conducts all the editing before posting the episodes online.

Please click [THIS LINK] to listen to the Magglio Cervantes podcast episode.

Meat Protocols

Her food-related peculiarities were sometimes astonishing in their absurdity, yet held a certain charm and were always amusing. At least, if you're only observing them as opposed to being the one relegated to living out the confining culinary proclivities.

She was a meat eater, this one, but such inclinations were not to be fulfilled without first being safely contained by a battery of safeguards. The meat eating was bound to certain strict rules. She was nutritiously desirous of meat's nourishing protein-based benefits. But only so long as it did not in any way resemble its original animal form.

A hamburger, for example, was a viable dining option, but not a filet or a steak, nor even a steak sandwich. Too closely resembling their original animal state. Ground beef, though, was all good, as it fell safely outside the confining codicils and mandates. Shredded beef tacos were helplessly disallowed.

Similarly, scrambled eggs were a definite go, but not a hard boiled egg. Again with the resemblance restriction. Egg salad was authorized, though with the requirement that the egg be sufficiently sliced and diced beyond any possible recognition.

Then there were the chicken and pork, but you get the idea. Pork chops are a no, but yes to liverwurst, should she, somehow, have a desire to consume such a thing. Chicken on the bone is a no, as is a drumstick, the chicken leg, not the musical instrument accessory, but a chicken taco from any fast-food restaurant presented nothing in the way of a gastronomic hurdle.

Additionally, during the meal, a person was disallowed from asking a question bringing attention to the fact of the flesh.

'How is the sandwich,' was a legitimate and allowable probe.

'How is the tuna sandwich,' was illegitimate. Such a precise query raising awareness of the animal comprising the sandwich would result in putting it down, a polite wiping of the mouth, terminally concluding the sandwich, then retreating to the side dishes, conscientiously making not a stink over the unknown party foul. Unknown, because really, who possibly could know these ridiculously intricate dining rules. She was absolutely not in the habit of pregaming her dining partners on the rules of the meal.

Furthermore, she would eat tuna at almost any opportunity, was her hankering so highly charged for this fish, but not a delicious tuna steak. A robustly mixed tuna salad was a yes, while a tin of tuna was not possible because the tasty skeins of the tuna cuttings were too close to original form, went the recurring limitations to be allowed passage through the strictly discerning gullet.

A work around was that she might request assistance from a friend or guest, if their visitation was properly timed to coordinate with the consumption of a can of tuna. The friend might be officiously asked to open a tin, drain the undesirable tuna juice in which it was packed, then "thoroughly mix the tuna so that it no longer looks anything like it was, a fish. Mash it up until it looks like it could be cat food. Then please empty it into that bowl," pointing to a bowl she had reached down from the cabinet while issuing the careful and important preparation instructions, "Then just leave it on the counter. I'll take it from there. And really, thank you. You don't understand the extent of your help."

So went the culinary matrix and fog of her daily nutritional existence. Seemingly always something that needed to be maneuvered or a food conundrum to clear.

Ridiculous and completely endearing, but there would be no complaint emanate from her. She'd come to peace with the conditions and cumbersome self-imposed rules. She accepted them and went forward through this caloric complexity with the untroubled nonchalance of acceptance won over many years of fastidious practice rather than strategically tacking back to establish a tiny beachhead from which to regain lost ground. There would be no challenging the considerable friction, the kind of thing from which almost anyone else was oblivious and free.

To most people it was simply food. It comes from animals, yes, and if we were not supposed to eat animals, they might contend, then they would not be made of meat. To which she would add her own flair, if we are supposed to eat animals, then they would not be made to look like animals.

[I dined not long ago with a friend and his wife when a meat-eating hang-up was revealed. Meat served in a format too closely resembling its natural state decreased the eating desirability to nil. Good-natured guffawing and an irresistible Q&A revealed much of the above. Anyway, that meal's discourse was a wonderful and fantastic inspirational treat. -wdk]

Unlaundered Shorts, the short stories

I'm excited and proud to announce the release of my second book! Unlaundered Shorts is live on Amazon. [Fun note, that's my Dad's profile on the cover.]

This is a collection of 23 short stories. The unique feature of this book, following each story is an explanation of its inspiration. I wanted to share the thought behind the stories and enjoyed adding their inspiring explanations behind the writing process.

Contained within the pages of Unlaundered Shorts are a bad batch of clowns, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer all grown up and lashing back, Abe Lincoln as a podcast guest, cows going extinct, a troop of sailing monkeys, Popeye the Sailor in real life, Superman as a pranking collegiate, Mother Theresa behaving poorly, dinosaurs, dog heaven, and a family that bonds over riding bicycles in the house.

Regarding the title, Unlaundered Shorts, these short stories are deemed unlaundered because they are not intended for the gentle reader. While these are not meant for bedtime reading to the kids, there are two child-friendly stories. The Adventures of Tedesco and Adventures of Jackie were both written for my own kids when they were young. The other shorts, though, consider yourself amply cautioned.

I'm proud of these stories and hope you have the opportunity to enjoy them. And if you do, please consider leaving a Star-rating review on Amazon or Good Reads.

Bubble Head

 

[photo credit to Men's Health magazine, January February 2023 issue]

That photo's of me from earlier today. My walk to work. Really, I walked to work with my head in a bubble. Well, not the whole way, the last five blocks on the approach to the office.

You know those tasty drinkable yogurts I've been relentlessly talking about for more than a week? I've been gorging on those tasty things, but I'm going to lay off for a while. Here's what happened. 

Not to get too gross, but my sinuses have been extra juicy lately. No runny nose or sickness symptoms or nothing, just, you know, a higher sinus molarity than usual. I'll keep it clean, but you know, lots of fluid. I attribute that increased sinus viscosity to those yogurts. And well, let me get back to the photo.

There's a coffee shop I have a weakness for. ('For which I have a weakness,' my Mom would prompt me. But I digress . . .) It's right there on the way to the office, that busy corner with the blue awning. I bought one of those pumpkin spice lattes with the whipped cream, and added a few shakes from the community chocolate powder. Trigger warning, I know your aversion to the community condiments, but I want to be up front with you. I took a sip upon exiting the shop, a little hot yet, but the deliciousness was totally intact.

I'd resumed my walk to work when I had a sneeze attack. Four or five brief, though violent, sneezes followed by a robust and dramatic denouement. Well, I felt a snot bubble or something shoot from a nostril. Thought it was an embarrassing public snot rocket. But no, as I opened my eyes post sneeze, my vision was mildly obstructed and hearing was also a little muffled, if slightly echoey. People were looking at me, fellow pedestrians, like I was wearing a big red clown nose. Something was clearly awry. 

First off, that really freaked me out because you know how fellow pedestrians here fastidiously abide their own business. No eye contact. An absolute and unspoken rule. Well, all of a sudden, all eyes were on me! I furtively felt for my fly to make sure I wasn't exposed. Then looked behind me to see if I was missing something. Not. After a few steps with no resolution, I walked by a restaurant window and saw my reflection.

Of all the fantastic things. My head was in a bubble!

Two adolescent boys were pointing at me and laughing their heads off. One of them aggressively approached with clearly nefarious intent, based on his body language. He made a rapid, upward swiping motion to pop my bubble! With reflexes quick as a ninja, I deflected his unwanted offensive and retained the bubble.

"Get that weak shit out of here," I said to him, as if having successfully blocked a slam dunk attempt. Then I stared him down, the little punk. I think I've been watching too much playoff hoops. The boys retreated, probably to harm some less skilled and unsuspecting pedestrian.

But that was so out of character for me. You know, I'm not a guy of showy aggression. Something took over me. I don't even know why I was defending it, the bubble. It was instinctive, as if it had become an extension of me, my space. Self-preservation just took over, this unanticipated and sudden need to preserve the bubble. It was totally reflexive.

Anyway, the smiling and pointing continued as I resumed my morning trek. A few people with their laughing and pointing. How sophomoric and childish. They were probably jealous. By this time I had grown attached to it. I was really proud of my bubble. My entire head being encapsulated! You see it in the photo.

It was so big, the bubble, that it was expanding and contracting with each breath. It was working like one of those 19th century submersive diving bells. I didn't know how long the oxygen would hold up, but I was determined to keep this going. Like when you're challenging yourself to eat an entire watermelon in one sitting and you're in a zone. My determination had become steadfast.

It was, thankfully, an un-breezy day. The bubble stayed steady and I held my head up proudly. I felt eight feet tall that morning. I crossed the street at one point and the stopped cars at the intersection started honking their horns at me in appreciation. It was a really fun moment. I raised my hand in an undirected wave of acknowledgment and kept moving.

As I got close to the office, my pal saw me, pointed and smiled. I smiled back with a head nod of assent. He was kind enough to take the above photo. Meanwhile, the pumpkin latte in hand, there was no chance to drink it, of course. I just held the thing like some useless prop. 

The bubble lasted half a day! By lunch time, the air inside was getting very stale. Plus, I was hungry and thirsty. So, I let my boss break the bubble. Which he did, with a finger. He immediately went to wash his hands after I explained that it was a sinus bubble. That first breath of air was so tasty! And cool. Much cooler than what the temperature had climbed to inside the bubble.

My girlfriend thought it was disgusting. My bulbous booger bubble, she called it, but she has a flair for alliteration. I prefer sinus bubble. And she's right, of course, disgusting, but she didn't see it directly. She only saw the photo, not live because she works across town. Probably a good thing, in this case.

There were challenges throughout the day. For example, tying my shoes while sitting at the desk was tough. I had to genuflect, facing the open aisle to keep the bubble from making contact with my keyboard or desk, and without bending down, out of consideration for the bubble, disallowing a visual as my fingers performed the task on the strength of muscle memory. Also, using the restroom presented an awkward dynamic. Fellow patrons granted me a wide berth of a urinal buffer between us. Going through doors was precarious, too, with the added bubble altitude.

Then there was the elevator! You know how people go silent and make a deliberate show of ignoring everyone else. Well, imagine the monumental restraint required for the others to ignore me this morning. I almost burst out laughing during one elevator ride, that silent and what was certainly confused tension. But I held it together, if just only.

There were also close calls, wanting to touch my face and battling back subsequent sneezes. Really, I challenge you, see how long you can go without touching your face, and no sneezing. I managed it and credit my heroic self-control. Also, my recent haircut turned out to be very opportune. That decreased hair circumference was clutch for bubble clearance.

A few times throughout the day, I couldn't help but to think of John Travolta, the star of The Boy In the Plastic Bubble film. Even if his bubble was made of plastic and encapsulated his whole self, not just his head. I submit to you that my feat was tougher to accomplish. I had to manage the thing while still subjected to a full range of motion and an ensemble of people, some of whom lacked empathy.

Like Walt in the office, the prankster. At one point he threw a paperclip at me from over a few partitions and across the room. He missed, thankfully, that dork. Surprisingly, and this was odd, my boss got upset and issued him that crummy project that'd been looming and we'd all been fearing. That was clearly retribution issued due to the failed bubble assault. I don't know the boss' attachment to my bubble, but I liked it.

Anyway, it was an oddly proud day. But really, I'm breaking up with those tasty dessert yogurts. Maybe this is the impetus needed for me to go Greek.

[I saw that photo in the magazine and couldn't turn the page. Then, when I did, I had to turn back to look more. The dude's eye contact demanding attention. Sure, it's an illusion, but what if . . .]

Retirement Commences

Escape velocity has been attained. I retired at the end of February and, so far, it's really the cat's pajamas!

At 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon working from home, gainful employment ended quietly and peacefully. Although, after 31 years cracking away as a commercial insurance underwriter, the conclusion was amusingly anticlimactic.

As I closed in on retirement with 20 minutes remaining in my career, before clicking off the laptop, I was getting giddy. After 31 years, only 20 minutes to go, then 19, 18, and so forth . . . I set my permanent retirement out-of-office email reply, signed off my apps, turned off the laptop, bundled the electrical cord, and removed my chair and computer table out of my son's room from whence I'd worked the final two months.

Being a self-proclaimed goofball, I awoke earlier than usual to see what it looked like and felt like. Then Ghost Dog and I went for a longer than usual morning walk. Building out that elusive and fabled retirement routine had begun.

Day one of retirement, being a Friday, was more like the onset of a three-day weekend. Beyond that, though, that next full week and beyond, in my head, was represented largely as a blank space. There were a few lunch playdates on the calendar, but it was as if there was a roadmap in my head, the destinations were there, but everything was dark as if the infrastructure had not yet been built-out. No roads, no streetlights. That would hopefully be mentally built out in the subsequent weeks as my retirement routine became established providing the infrastructure to better envision my future.

A few early observations from Retirement: 

[1] A fun side effect leading up to retirement in the preceding month, I'd enjoyed an enhanced coherence of thought. It's as if my brain was preemptively reallocating brain power away from work, freeing it up to deploy for non-work activity. It's been neat, and surprisingly noticeable, as if a distraction has been removed from my consciousness.

There is a book by Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Player Piano, where citizens have an alarm device implanted in their heads. The alarms periodically activate distracting them from deep and thoughtful contemplation. As retirement approached, I enjoyed enhanced clarity as if my distraction device had been deactivated.

[2] Referenced earlier, the mental blank space when thinking of the future. This was similar to what I experienced graduating from college, the summer of 1990. I had graduated and a job had not yet been procured. When I thought of the future at that tender point in my almost-adult life, thinking of those coming weeks and months, I had difficulty envisioning what that would look like. That's me again. As if I'm entering a dark room. I know there are things in there I want, but I haven't yet located the light switch. However, there is no fear about entering that dark room.

[3] I no longer have an adversarial relationship with the clock. By the fourth work day into retirement, the clock had lost its sinister persona. It had been my taskmaster, and I had been totally unaware until that morning's surprise revelation. But no longer would it dictate to me, with roving pin pricks throughout the day, what had to be done or be completed by when. An inconvenient constraint. The clock now merely represents a stationary point on a map.

[4] I've enjoyed a noticeable bump-up in patience! I've considered myself a patient fellow, although there have been triggers, like if there is not enough time to complete the desired array of tasks. Even then, I had developed an awareness of the onset of impatience, and that possibility of such a flareup has lately become more remote.

Life is good. And to be clear, life was good even during work. I was fortunate in my career of gainful employment, that employer, those professional tasks matching well with my abilities, and that coterie of distinguished colleagues with whom I worked. This has been a good run. Now then, just one final professional task remained, set my permanent retirement voicemail message.

"This is Bill with State Farm insurance. I am retired as of March 1, 2024. For assistance please call Underwriting, your assigned Business Lines Consultant or engage the Underwriting Chat feature. Thank you for calling."

With that, I turned off the cell phone and concluded my career.

Book Lover's Companion podcast

I had the good fortune of being on another podcast! The marketing plan for my novel Magglio Cervantes, published April 2023, was to engage podcasts to discuss the book. I sought out, and continue to seek, podcast opportunities, then email my marketing pitch offering myself as a guest.

The first five marketing email pitches yielded no response. But much like life, this was to be a learning process. The Book Lover's Companion podcast, my sixth pitch, was the first to respond favorably to my advances.

That initial email exchange was August 2023, and a recording date for January 2024 was offered. I gladly, and nervously, accepted. Heck, I didn't know what the process was, but was surprised, and thankful, to be offered a recording date without first vetting me, [well, they scouted out my Amazon author page], or make sure I could speak coherently, which I often do. 

The January recording date was proudly marked on my calendar for five months forward. [Note: this was my first podcast for which a recording date was set, though two other podcasts were subsequently corralled and recorded between August and January.]

As preparation for this upcoming date, I listened to many Book Lover's Companion episodes. Common questions were identified for which I could then prepare. It also allowed me to get familiar with the format and what to expect.

I practiced in the weeks leading up to the podcast appointment. On my morning walks with Ghost Dog, I'd play out conversations and interview questions in my head. Questions asked by a host, me answering, then replying to follow up questions. I was trying to manufacture hours of interview experience, because by the January recording date, this would be only my third podcast, barely one hour of actual podcast experience. And I must admit, by the recording date, I felt good and confident about my speaking points. 'If only they will ask me the right questions,' I thought to myself.

A week prior to our recording date, I received an email from the host. Our appointment was confirmed and a subsequent email contained a link. I was to click the link on the appointed day to join the podcast by video.

We recorded on January 20. Our conversation was conducted on video, though only the audio was recorded. The hosts were in Vienna recording at 8 pm their time. I'm here in Southern California, recording time was 11 am Pacific. [Very nice of them to accommodate me on the time conversion.]

I spent much of that Saturday morning managing my pre-game nerves by staying busy. A walk with Ghost Dog preceded breakfast, followed by a walk to Vons for groceries. Keep active, was the goal, do not get bogged down in a nerve-rattling game of wait and over-thinking.

I clicked the link 10 minutes early to join the video. Got in early as a courteous show of appreciation, instead of coming in late or too close to Go time. One of the two hosts was already present!

The extra minutes allowed us to confirm no IT difficulties, audio and microphone input and output were adequate, then fun pre-game conversation of Hellos and greetings before Go. For all the pre-game nerves, this felt more like a conversation than an interview.

Shortly before the start of recording, the host, of whom there were two, moved a green screen behind them, then picked their preferred virtual backdrop, the bookcase seen in the episode's media post, then clicked a screenshot of us to be used for the episode on their website.

During the recording I didn't feel nervous and the two hosts were delightful. The audio, however, doesn't lie, some choppy cadence on my part near the end, balancing nerves and trying to respond to questions for which I was unprepared. Don't take my word for it, listen in and decide for yourself. But hey, life is about the experiences. Regret is best relegated to the things we did not do or try, not the things we did.

Please click the following link to listen to the podcast. [Book Lover's Companion - Magglio Cervantes podcast]

[Thank you and much respect to my hosts, Edith and the Chattering Teacup @ the Book Lover's Companion podcast. -Bill]