Let the good times roll.

How much sharing is too much sharing? Anyone got an answer? A formula? A theory? I haven't got a clue.

As an author, from what I've been told or witnessed, I'm supposed to be sharing every opinion, past time, thought, and meal I have. That's me marketing myself. That's me creating a brand.

That's me getting on my nerves. That's why me doesn't do it.

Personally, I'm not big on knowing everything about anyone. Even the writers I adore reading, I don't necessarily adore their coffee mug collection or gardening hobby.

Not that they aren't lovely people with lovely lives, but I'm cool just reading their books when they come out.

Personally, I'm not great with sharing details about myself because 1) I'm a private person and 2) my life is about as fascinating as a coffee mug collection. And I'm good with that.

"It's no bad thing celebrating a simple life."
J.R.R. Tolkien

Post WWI, Tolkien lived a normal, ordinary life off paper and an unimaginable one on it. We could have been mates.

I'm saying all this as a heads-up. I'm gearing up to launch my second book, Just Another Sidekick (available August 2017), which is the next installment to Not Another Superhero. This means I'll be pressured - and will succumb to that pressure - to post aspects of my simple life you are not obligated to find interesting.

But doing it is a necessary evil.

However, I do have some boundaries. I won't take selfies with my meal. I won't take a picture of my feet on the beach. And I won't live tweet any sporting events. Everything else in the pursuit of marketing my book is fair game. That includes pictures of my coffee mug collection, which I don't have, and information about gardening, which I don't do.

You've been forwarned.

The success of less

Sabrina: "Do you want a view from the house?" 

Linus Larrabee: "Uh, sure." 

Sabrina: "Which one?" 

Linus Larrabee: "Uh, all of them." 

Sabrina: "More isn't always better Linus. Sometimes it's just more."

 
The story goes that Steven Wright started in stand-up like everyone starts in stand-up - screaming. Comedy clubs are notoriously loud. Hello, the laughing. To get attention, to be heard, you had to get loud.

Steven thought, "....nah." And changed tactics.

He spoke softly, lethargically, slowly, even a smidge mumbly. No one could hear him. Not in all the chaos. Not until the chaos hushed.

Instead of talking louder than everyone else, he made everyone else quiet down. Instead of competing with the noise, he got rid of the noise. Instead of being more, he was less.

And it worked. If you want to hear Steven Wright deliver a joke, you can't unless you shut up and listen.

That's the story. I have no idea where I heard it or when. My brother and I grew up as Steven Wright fans, listening to his infamous deadpan delivery on a cassette tape we wore out in spots. Then someone stole it.

"When I was a little kid we had a sand box. It was a quicksand box. I was an only child...eventually." Steven Wright

Maybe my brother told me the story. Maybe he made it up.

Steven, if you're out there, just go with it. 

Because he made me laugh

Via MommyLife, a great blog from a patriotic mother of 12 with the kind of sharp, no-nonsense, common sense zings only a mom can deliver.

Check out her site if you get a chance. But for now, check out Brian Regan. Funny and clean. Possible? Absolutely. When you're talented.



I love Pop Tarts. I miss Pop Tarts.