BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I actually have two of them. One is Wendy with WillowTree Press. The other is Scott McCoy who is an independent, outside publicist – meaning he is with an outside firm, not the publisher proper. This blog is about him. We all affectionately refer to Scott as “Chunkee”, because he’s a big guy. (I have to pull a Rowan and look up, just like Row does when he’s talking to Ben.)

Anyhow, I am fortunate in several ways having Chunkee and Firestorm Publicity Services… For one, Firestorm is located in St. Louis, where I live, so they are local. Makes it easier to meet up with the Chunk Man. For another, Chunkee is a good friend, as well as being my publicist. And, finally, he is more than just a friend and publicist, he’s kind of like a personal assistant as well.

To explain, he not only puts out press releases and other things that a publicist does, but he also books my gigs, handles a lot of my correspondence, and has even acted as “bodyguard” on the couple of occasions when that has been necessary.

Now, if all that isn’t enough, he also understands when it is crunch time for me trying to get a manuscript in by deadline. He knows that when such times arrive, I need not be disturbed unless it is something incredibly important. But, he also knows that I get moody and need comfort type stuff…

So, here we are at crunch time. I have a deadline to hit in about 10 days. So, I’m busy. I’m grouchy. And, I’m in need of those things which comfort my very soul.

Chunkee could tell this by the simple tone of my email responses to him…

Therefore, as I sat here at the dining room table, tapping away at the keyboard yesterday, I heard a car door, then the storm door on the front of my house creaking open. A moment or two later, I heard the car door again, followed by a vehicle pulling out of my driveway and heading off down the street. No doorbell. No knock. Nothing.

Curious, I went to the door and noticed through the windows that the storm door was propped open. Now… Like Rowan, my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t expecting any kind of delivery, and I have had stalkers in the past… My initial thoughts were– If I open the door is something going to explode? Will it maybe be some flaming poo instead? What could it be?…

So, with great trepidation I carefully opened the door. There, resting on the threshold I found a grocery bag with a note from Chunkee pinned to it, which read simply:

Care Package For Murv.

Looking inside I found a six pack of Blue Moon Belgian White Ale, a bag of “scoop” corn chips, and a jar of chili cheese dip. Three of my favorite comfort foods.

All I can say is Chunkee be the man. I couldn’t ask for a better publicist, or a better friend.

More to come…

Murv

Yeah, cake tops. No, NOT cake toppers, like the bride and groom thing, or silly shamrocks, or cheap plastic stuff for decorations.

I mean the TOPS of CAKES.

Kinda like muffin tops or whatever that was on Seinfeld.

Confused yet? I know I am.

Actually, I spent this past weekend at a secret bunker/undisclosed location for some R&R. Actually, that should be D&D, but not the role playing game kind. D&D as in Drinking and Debauchery…

Anyhow, one of the friends with whom I stayed makes wedding cakes as a supplement to her regular income. She won’t make them for just anybody, usually friends or referrals from friends, but let me tell you she could stand toe to toe with the best of them in the biz if she wanted.

Either way, I had never seen this done. I mean, yeah, I’d seen cakes made and have even made a few myself, but I’d never watched anyone make and decorate an actual wedding cake, which was quite an interesting process, what with the fountain and all that jazz.

And so, this is where cake tops and the “equation” in the title of this blog came from.

After baking all these different sized layers, in order to make everything nice and level for the pedestals and such, she lopped off the tops of the cakes, tossed ’em on a plate, and put them well across the room from where she was working. Why? So all of us idiots who were standing around in her kitchen watching (i.e. getting in her way) would have something to nibble on and therefore would leave her alone.

Just like the origin of the Hush Puppy…

Murv

PS. Yeah, I know. Not much of a blog, but I’m really concentrating on writing a book right now so there isn’t too much frivolity in my head for me to toss this way. I promise I’ll try to make the next one more interesting.