Yes I know it’s a tad obsessive. Checking amazon every oh. . .lets just say “a lot.” But at 6:00 this morning, my new book,“Finding Work When There Are No Jobs,” that book was priced at $14.99. And when I checked at, well. . .a little later, it was listed at $11.34.And there were only 12 copies left! On sale AND selling! It's at
I wondered if amazon knew I was working on getting the Kindle out as soon as I could? I wondered if they knew what I was thinking? Is that why they put it briefly on sale?
They sell a lot of books. Even really strange and different ones like mine.
People read the title and sometimes think, “Not for me!” I have a job. But when folks start reading the incredibly well edited stories in the book, (I was not the editor) and they start thinking about their own personal connection to work, they realize that it’s really a book for everyone. Not because there is some glorious pearl of wisdom in the book. Far from it. I am not a fan of self help books. Turns out there is no “magic answer.”
The purpose of this book is to start conversations about the way individuals connect to work. “Finding Work” is not a book that will tell every reader the one path to follow. Instead, these stories—some of which first appeared in Open Salon—these questions, and THE FIVE guiding principles will prompt every reader to chart their own path, beginning with the question
“What if I started thinking differently about the way I went about finding work? Maybe even consider, "What would I do if I HAD to find work?"
Questions for everyone. Whether you have a job or have less of a job than you used to or have no job.
It’s not the book I planned to publish. But then an awful lot of people lost their jobs, had to scramble, found themselves just holding on for dear life.
When you are holding on for dear life, or even when you’re not, I suppose advice can help. But it’s the power of stories that can prompt us to think differently, figure out our own plans.
Stories start conversations. And this is a book of stories.
I did not know I’d end up starting a publishing company. But now there is “Think Different Press.” I didn’t think about a web site. But now www.findingwork.org is out there under construction. How that all happened are stories for another time.
The full story of the book I wrote, Think Different Press, and the book I meant to write is now on fictionique under the title “Living the Dream”
The book I meant to write? Here’s a small story about that book if you’re interested.
Meanwhile. . .I gotta go to amazon and see if “Finding Work When There Are No Jobs” is still on sale. It’s been at least 20 minutes since I last looked. And I have zero reviews! If anyone feels so moved? Reviews help.
As to that book I meant to write. . . .
Born on the crowded, cobblestone hills rolling down from the giant white Basilica of the Sacre Coeur under rainy gray Parisian skies; the book I meant to write would, of course, have been a novel.
It would have been based loosely on the early years, before Cristina left me for that bond trader named Ralph. It would be a classic tale of love lost and rebirth, offering plot twists that, even in repeated readings, delivered surprises. Perhaps it would have taken the reader walking through the ancient cobblestone streets of Montmartre, inviting the reader to stumble upon a hidden cheese shop run by Monsieur Joee LeBlanc. Monsieur Joee would offer a taste of a nutty, ripe old cheese, first made centuries ago in the Alsace-Lorraine by a forgotten band of monks.
Alsace-Lorraine would have been Cristina’s ancestral home. That she was really descended from a lineage of royalty, and that she was in fact a bona fide princess, were things she wouldn’t tell me until the morning after that all important third date.
I would stumble out of bed to throw open the shutters and let in waves of Paris street sounds and sunlight (hey – this was my book, and I’d cliché all over the place if I wanted). I would see Cristina, sun-drenched blonde hair flying, marching regally down the street with our coffee and croissants. Then, listening to her footsteps on the stairs, I would be thinking of the walking we’d do that day, the bookstore visits, the hours I’d have to write, and she would make her entrance into my little room to proclaim, “Roger. I’m a princess. I thought you should know.”
This being fiction, I’d make her funny and wild. A minor TV actress, from a suburb of LA. Looking to be the next Lucy, but still a princess. At least until we took that trip to Paris and Ralph the bond trader showed up at a smoky jazz joint in Montmartre where it was said that Picasso, Einstein and Steve Martin used to hang out.
That was the book I meant to write. . .