Idiots and Self-Publishing

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them." That's what Henry David Thoreau thought.

Well, I am not like most men. I live a small, pathetic life, and will go the the grave with nothing. The only song that'll go down with me will be whatever funeral dirge the celebrants choose to sing. I like this one (Mary Frye - 1932):

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!

Total crap, of course, but it's a pretty song, at least the way Libera does it. (Hint: hold your Shift key down when you click these links.)

I'd like to die rich, and that can easily happen if everyone on the Internet would go to my site and order one of my books. I've never been much of a salesman, but I've read that once you get 'em hooked, you have to press for the sale. So okay, before you dry those tears, click that link and get yourself a book right now.

[-=glw=-]