A WRITER'S LIFE

In one large, faded green metal cabinet in my garage, one-hundred-and fifty-nine copies of my book The Oy Way fill up nearly two shelves. That number is the result of two major errors by Amazon’s publishing arm, Create Space.

When The Oy Way began selling well at bookstores, museums and other outlets around the country, I thought about submitting another printing order. I had also sold copies to many individuals on my own mailing lists, and after making presentations at bookstores, libraries, cultural events, health retreats, and at religious and secular gatherings.

I finally ordered more copies from Create Space, to match the ones I had already received and sold. Unfortunately, they first produced a batch of books that left off the last page. I contacted them, and they said “no problem,” and promised to send me a duplicate order immediately. When I asked who would be paying for the shipment back to the plant, I was told to just keep the books and do whatever I wanted to with them.

When the replacement shipment arrived, it too had a minor printing discrepancy, and I called Create Space once more. They apologized, promised to send a correct printing, and advised me that the incorrect books were mine to do with what I wanted to do.

What remains from those two shipments, are the copies that sit in the cabinet. They are in fine shape, and I primarily give them away as gifts, or sell them to individuals who request them directly from me.

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

One table tennis player, who bought a copy two years ago, loudly exclaims whenever he sees me, “How’s the Oy Way Man?” When he did so a few months ago at a Southern California table tennis tournament, a woman standing by misheard what he said, and started dancing about in a circle, semi-shouting, “Oy Vey! Oy Vey! Oy Vey!”

My wife and I just purchased two cemetery plots in Santa Cruz, and I have requested that neither the book’s title nor the dancing woman’s words, be inscribed on my gravestone.

I have put the majority of materials connected with The Oy Way, into file folders that now reside in a large plastic container in the garage. I have kept the main selling information in a nearby filing cabinet in my writing room. I would like to either sell the book outright to another publisher, or let them promote and sell it to the public, and I would garner a royalty on each sale.

THE BOOK IS STILL ALIVE

However, recently there seems to be renewed interest in The Oy Way, and in several diverse ways. Earlier this year, I received a voice mail message from Debbie at J. Levine Co., a prominent New York City Jewish bookstore. It was in response to an email I had sent to its owner last August, regarding a five-book consignment delivered to them in February 2012. Debbie said that they had sold two copies of the book, and the Los Gatos Alef Bet Jewish bookstore, regularly sells a copy or two.  I just spoke with Hiroko Nogami-Rosen, who owns the Dayenu Bookstore in San Francisco’s Jewish Community Center, and she said that she sold out the four books I personally delivered to her, and wants four more.  It’s a 150 mile round trip from my home, and I promised I’d deliver the books the next time I’m in the city, and would autograph them in Yiddish, as I have done in the past with all local bookstores.

A week ago, I received a notice from Amazon, that they had deposited monies in my Cogitator Publications business account, for books that they had sold.

Today I received a phone call from the office of an Ophthalmologist surgeon in town, saying that they had cash for me from the sale of The Oy Way, which they had displayed on their counter.

ALIVE AND, WELL…

The renewed interest in The Oy Way will not push me into early retirement, for that was accomplished quite a while ago.

Although these sales may give the false impression that I am being inundated with moneys, the truth is that I receive a sort-of-monthly $10.47 check from the Alef Bet Bookstore. Sadly, today is the last day before they go out of business, forced out by the Internet. Ironically Amazon, “the forcer,” is starting to build brick bookstores.

The two books sold by Amazon added a combined total of $13.42 to my business checking account, and when I called Debbie at Levine’s, she said she’d let the bookkeeper know that I was interested in finding out when, and if, I would be receiving any payment for the sale of two books.

The copy sold at the Ophthalmologist’s will provide me with $14.95 in cold hard cash, and I will probably buy lunch with it for my Ophthalmologist cousin.

IT’S ABOUT TIME

I will make a decent effort and try to sell the book to a publishing house, but if that doesn’t work, it’s time to finish my second book, My Incredible Odyssey. It’s based on my travels around the world after my parents died six weeks apart, and that was just thirty-five years ago this summer.

A SIGN OF THE TIMES

Lest I forget, I have four copies of The Oy Way in my writing room, two in each of our cars, and they are all autographed in Yiddish.

Zayt Mir Gezunt

LEARN ABOUT YOURSELF WITH YIDDISH 

Use Yiddish while doing mind and body calming exercises found in The Oy Way — Following the Path of Most Resistance, by going here. They are especially helpful at deadline times.

Next Time Around

Last Sunday, we drove fifty-eight miles to Hayward, California to attend the annual Northern California Ukulele Festival. I wore my Kamaka Hawaii hat, and my colorful Kamaka Hawaii dress shirt, and I had bought both items at the Kamaka store on Oahu.  We try going each year to the festival and scour booths that sell ukuleles and Hawaii-themed items, and listen to ukulele music in the auditorium.  I use the day to inspire me to pick up one of my three ukuleles and start playing, when I get home.

I have two inexpensive ones in flimsy, cloth cases that I bought at festivals, and one very good Kamaka model, which tends to gather dust at times.

I have always felt a sentimental tie to ukuleles after I learned that my father courted my mother in a canoe on Belle Isle in Detroit in the early 1930s, while strumming away on his ukulele.

When I was in Oahu, Hawaii in 1988, I went to the Polynesian Cultural Center run by the Mormon Church, and was standing by a canal when a boat floated by with a man strumming his ukulele. I shouted, “What kind of ukulele is that?” and he answered, “It’s a Kamaka. The only one I’d ever buy.” “Where are they sold?” I asked, and he replied, “Over on South Street.”

When I left the Center, I drove to Kamaka Hawaii, Inc. at 550 South Street, and met Sam, Jr. and Fred, the two sons of the founder Samuel K. Kamaka, Sr. I decided to write an article on the Kamaka family for the San Jose Mercury News travel section. When it was published, I was paid $150 for my time and effort, which didn’t really compensate me for my air travel to and from California, my car rental cost, my hotel and meals. I had gone to Hawaii for a vacation and to visit friends, and not to write a story.

I also bought my Kamaka ukulele for $250, and that price included a solid protective carrying case. Sam, Jr. burned the following onto the front of my ukulele just above the sound hole, “Aloha! Sam Kamaka. 9/9/1988.”

Since then, I have bought ukulele song books, dozens of vinyl albums, cds, and discs by Hawaiian musicians, videos on how to play, taken a group lesson from one professional, two private lessons from another, check instructional videos on You Tube, and have attended ukulele concerts. I have also visited the islands many times.

In the nearly twenty-six years since I acquired my Kamaka, I may have played it fifty times, or about twice a year. I get frustrated each time that I try, for my finger dexterity is lacking, and I am loath to practice. I have taken an inexpensive model when we go on an extended driving vacation, and I play for five or ten minutes at the start of each trip, before the ukulele gets relegated to the back seat.

If I really wanted to, I could have been a ukulele virtuoso by now.

I have owned my Kamaka for 9,496 days, and if I had devoted just five minutes a day to playing the instrument, that would total 47,880 minutes. That converts into 798 hours, playing just a bit at a time.

If I really wanted to be a proficient ukulele musician, I could have been one. At times I really wanted to master the ukulele, but I lacked the devotion, desire, and dedication to do so. I also let life get in the way.

Instead of playing, I devoted time to family, teaching, researching, making presentations on my research around the US, Israel and Australia, traveling around the world and other places, playing table tennis, and living. Writing also consumed much of my time, and that’s what I am doing right now. I have spent hours trying to get this piece to sing, the same way I have done with countless other articles and blogs. I also spent more than 950 hours working on my first book The Oy Way, and am now working on my second book, My Incredible Odyssey. 

Although I have failed to learn how to play the ukulele, buying my Kamaka back in 1988 was a good move. After talking with Chris Kamaka at the recent Ukulele Festival, I learned that my Kamaka is now selling for $895. However, I have no intention of selling it for a profit, since there is still time to learn how to play it, if I really want to do so.