Charlie Dear

My latest piece is up at Here’s a sample:

Let’s get the crabbiness out of the way, Goshkin thought.
He sat at the front of the café, a clear sight line through the Covid-necessitated open front-doors, his lap top before him, his books and “For Sale” sign. He wore PETA-defying anaconda boots – perhaps Berkeley’s only pair – a steel-and-gemstone bracelet, handmade by Austin, who sold from the parking lot. A black beret covered white hair, an Archie Moore t-shirt surgical scars.
The object of his immediate attention, Dear Charlie (Water Row Books. 2021), collected correspondence from the esteemed – in some circles – cartoonist/artist S. Clay Wilson (1941-2021) to the esteemed – in smaller circles – poet/novelist Charles Plymell (1935–present). It went for $99, 68-pages of – maybe – quality paper but nothing-special cover, a real what-the-fuck. He could understand gussied-up, limited editions for the collectors’ market, but how about something for the man-in-the-street or – perhaps more suiting the consciousness involved – gutter? His copy came, numbered, with glued-in-place card of a (reproduced) drawing of Wilson’s iconic Checkered Demon chugging (“SCHLORK!”) a beer, and marginally value-enhanced by Plymell’s signature (and Wilson’s “facsimile”). Ordered several days after launch, it clocked in at #15 of 100, so product hadn’t exactly leapt off shelves.

One other thing. TCJ now has given contributers an “Author’s Page,” I saw mine this morning and, like Adele said, it’s like walking through a museum of my mind. Here’s the link to it:

I hope you can get in. If not, consider coup-pasting into your browser.