The Year of Perry Block

Yeah.  I'd like to.  Just tell me Fucking How!

This year - 2018 - will be The Year of Perry Block.

That's because this year will see the publishing of my very first book, the eponymously named - as is my blog - Perry Block, Nouveau Old Formerly Cute.

There is one thing for sure about The Year of Perry Block:  I am going to promote the living crap out of the book in order to maximize the number of folks who buy it.   And there's no time to start like the present, namely the small get-together I attended last night ...

"Happy New Year, Mark. Did you know that this year I am publishing my first ever book?"

"That's great, Perry!  I knew you could do it."

"You know, Mark, when you write a book ..."

"Excuse me, Perry, did you happen to notice if they have any dip here?"

"No, I didn't.  But getting back to my book, I had the idea to..."

"I'm going to go look for dip. Maybe they got hummus even! See you later.”

Well, I guess not everyone is interested in literary matters. Just then I saw my good friend Ellen come through the front door. The two of us have gone through quite a lot together and I even helped her quit smoking.

“Ellen, great to see you!”

“Same here, Perry.  Have you bumped into Ralph yet?”

"No, I haven't. But I wanted to tell you about my book. It’s called …”

"Excuse me, but I’ve got to find Ralph!  I understand he’s had a bad case of athlete's foot and I just have to see how he’s doing!”

“But you barely know Ralph! He just moved here from Cleveland!”

“There he is! OMG, he might even have cellulitis! I’ll talk to you later.”

Yeah, athlete’s foot can be kind of painful and I’ve only known Ellen some 35-40 years. Now there's our genial host, my good buddy Farbman!

"Thanks for having me, Farbman. I don't often get invited out on New Year's Eve so I was happy to pass up both Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper for you.”

                      

"Glad you could come! Hey, I understand you're publishing a book this year."

"I sure am! it’s been quite an experience too."

"I'll bet. Well, I have to attend to my other guests, got to put out more dip. Maybe hummus.  And I have to see Ralph, our new friend from Cleveland; he's got a bad case of athletes' foot,  it might even be cellulitis!” 

“But, Farbman, this is my whole life wrapped up in ...`"

"There's Ralph, talking to Ellen.  He looks terrible!"

Yeah,  just like I'm feeling.

"Hi, Perry. I'm Bob.  Heard you wrote a book."

"Want dip, Bob? It’s in the kitchen, Bob! Ralph from Cleveland is eating it, Bob! 
He can’t be that bad if he’s standing up eating hummus, Bob!" 

I guess marketing a book is going to be a bit tougher than I thought.

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Psychoanalyzing My Muse

I’ve had a fairly bad case of writer’s block for the past several weeks and that means one thing.  

It’s time to seek out the Muse, the lyrical and poetic spirit born of ancient Greece whose raison d'etre  is to provide inspiration and creativity to enhance and enrich my writing. 

Unfortunately I don’t have one of those. I have a muse who took an on-line course in Inspiring the Hack Writer and provides me with ideas like “suppose we remake Get Out with Jewish guys instead of black guys as the victims.”

“Muse, would you come in here please?”

“Just a minute, Boss. Ha, ha, ha! The Stooges are on – that Curly Joe is a master of physical comedy!”

Yep, that’s my muse.

Fat, bald, slovenly, he’s the kind of muse a guy like me gets. If you’re looking for Sharon Stone as the Muse, better check with Joyce Carol Oates.  Or Paul Krugman, depending upon what kind of reading you’re in the mood for.

“Muse, I’m afraid I have writer’s block. I hate to tear you away from Moe gouging out Larry’s eyes, but I need some help.”

“What a coincidence!” exclaimed the Muse, appearing in my office with half an Entenmanns’ marble cake, which he promptly dispatched down his gullet.  “I have writer’s block too.”`

“You have writer’s block?  What good is a muse with writer’s block?”

“Don’t worry, Boss.  I’m taking active steps to address the problem.”

“Like what?”

“Applying for disability. Happen to know if there's disability benefits in Pennsylvania for mythical beings?”

“If you get disability, Muse, you’ll just lie on the couch all day drinking beer.”

“Yes, but at least I’ll be able to pay you for the beer.”

“How did I ever get stuck with a muse like you?

“Norman Mailer had just passed away and I migrated over to you.”

“YOU were Norman Mailer’s muse?!”

“No, I was working for a guy who wrote fart jokes. I was just using Mailer as a point of reference.”`

“I’ve been thinking, Muse.  Perhaps some therapy could help you with your writer's block. You know, I go to therapy myself.”

“Go to therapy? You're the Poster Boy for Therapy!"

"Well, I need some help now and then."

"Now and then? How long you been seeing Dr.Kropotkin?"

“Since he was in medical school.  But I think I'm about to make a major breakthrough."

“What?”

“That I’m out of money.”

“Well, Boss, I guess I could try it.  I’ve got one question?”

“Yes?”

“Does Kropotkin have a comfy couch?”

And so the Muse trotted off to see Dr. Kropotkin.  Within a week he came into my office with a new fire in his eye and what appeared to be a new enthusiasm and lust for life.

“You were right Boss!" said the Muse.  "I’ve learned so much from Dr. Kropotkin!”

“Great! So you're ready to help me now?”

"No, but I'm ready to charge you $300 for a 45 minute hour, yawn while I scribble on a note pad, and talk about your lack of a sex life all you want!"  

Yep, that’s my muse.

And, by the way,  I still have writer's block.

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I am a Distinguished Author

Distinguished. Sophisticated.  Exploitative

Yes, the  picture above is indeed me.

My prose is lyrical, my thoughts are profound, but I am not wearing any pants in the picture.

This fall I will be publishing a new book called "Perry Block - Nouveau Old, Formerly Cute." It chronicles the tale of a neurotic, ill-adjusted, self-deprecating Jewish Baby Boomer consumed with aging angst whose life veers from one catastrophe to the next.  

It's quite a stretch for me, but I can handle it. I'm hoping it gets picked up as a musical.

I am proud to say that my first book "My Friend Moshe: the Story of a Horse and the Boy who Hated Him" was reviewed by the prestigious New York Review of Books which pronounced it  “excellent kindling.” 

It was also the first book ever to feature an intra-book salad bar. The whole concept would have worked too were it not for the croutons, which kept insinuating themselves into the plot. 

My second book, "Wayne's World," concerned an invasion of Earth by a planet of Wayne Newton impersonators. This was my first foray into the World of Science Fiction; unfortunately as soon as I was caught by Security it booted me out of the World of Science Fiction and posted a guard.

It's true that "Wayne's World" was published by vanity press, but there is no truth to the rumor that the publishing company has since gone bankrupt for lack of self-confidence. 

I hope you will look for my new book later in the fall. If you find it, please let me know where it is. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit back in my sumptuous leather recliner here in my comprehensive library, and fill my pipe. 

Damn! 

I'm out of bubble fluid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The picture above is actually Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  Maybe I'll take him under my wing.

Trading My Muse

The Muse

                                                 Decidedly Not Mine, However                                                 

Most writers have a muse that dwells within them and provides them with a host of new and exciting ideas to inspire and enhance their writing. I have a muse that dwells mostly within my refrigerator and provides me with a host of new and exciting ideas that would be rejected by My Weekly Reader.

"Muse! Muse!"  I hollered. "Where are you? I haven't had a post accepted by the Broad Street Review in months!"

"Yeah, I’m aware of that, Boss. You know, I’m kind of annoyed you're not living up to my high standards as a muse."

"Living up to your standards?  The best idea you've given me in the last six months was a television show featuring a panel of chefs who cook for senior citizens called The Gum."

“Shows about food are very popular, Boss."

“Yeah, I've noticed food is very popular with you too.  It flies out of this house like it's being chased by ISIS.”

"I'm a growing muse, Boss.  I'm only 2,420 years old.  That's 14 in Muse years."

"Well, good luck with puberty. And another thing: the idea you gave me about a spoof of a Facebook page for Director David Lynch tanked as badly as Chevy Chase's career.”

“What are you saying?  Are you telling me people on the internet don’t love posts about vomit and children who look like spermatozoa?” 

"It was my worst post since The Pure Joy of Macroeconomics, which by the way, you gave me as well."

"Boss, did it ever occur to you that you're not very copacetic to work for?"

"I'll remember that the next time I let you borrow the car and you turn up two weeks later in Tijuana hugging a donkey."

"Know what, Boss? That's it! I wanna be traded!"

"Traded?! They have trading in the muse world?"

"Of course they do.  I myself was formerly the muse to Lucy Maud Montgomery who wrote the Anne of Green Gables novels." 

"You were responsible for Anne of Green Gables?!!"

"Nah, I told her to write pornography.  Next day I was traded."

"Well, to whom do you want to be traded now?"

"James Michener, Jack London, or William Saroyan."

"But all those guys are dead!"

"Of course they are.  At this stage of the game, I really don't want to work all that hard."

"Okay, Muse,  I'm contact some of the writers I know on Facebook and Twitter and see if I can work out a deal."

"Fair enough.  Do you think you could  trade me to someone who uses the Oxford Comma. I hate it when a guy writes:  'I brought dinner, Grandmom and a turkey.'”

“Well, you may have to settle. Let's just hope Grandmom tastes half as good as the turkey!”

"Okay, Boss.  And one more thing: please hurry!"

“Why's that, Muse?”

“Trading deadline is Monday."

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Thank You, Michele Young-Stone!

Michele Young-Stone

Michele Young-Stone is a terrific new writer on the American literary scene and her debut novel The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors has won praise from readers and critics alike.

It is so good that I actually read it!,  a major testament in that I am so ill-read I think "Huckleberry Finn" is a type of pie served only at Red Lobster.

That's why I was surprised when Michele asked me several weeks ago if I would like to author a guest post for her blog, Michele Young-Stone, Novelist.  Normally in the course of life I'm not asked to do much more than shut up and stand in the corner, so Michele's request caught me quite off guard. 

But I was indeed humbled and honored by it. Although now that I think about it, does it really make sense to be both humbled and honored? 

Aren't they opposites?    WTF?

"Write what you know" is a credo to which many writers subscribe and I subscribe to it as well, primarily because I got a t-shirt and 50% off my subscription. Thus I decided to write about what I know best which is writing a humor blog, or to be more precise, writing an unsuccessful humor blog. 

My post  for Michele is entitled "How to be a Successful Unsuccessful Humor Writer," and I sincerely hope it will inspire,  guide, and support eager new humor writers in  falling on their faces just as  I have these last few years.  

And thank you again for this opportunity, Michele.  I am humbled.  And honored.

But not both at the same time.

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Note: A new and updated version of the post I prepared for Michele containing further research into the subject of failing miserably at writing a humor blog appears here.

Don't miss it!  If you've got nothing better to do in 2017.