Webbed Feat

This whole social media thing is wild – or wildfire. I'm using today's blog to announce that the kevinlitwinbooks.com website has launched, but about 10 people already mentioned it to me seemingly only minutes after I, myself, first heard about it Thursday afternoon.

“Nice site. Congrats,” Gary told me at work – before I even had the chance to look at it.

“That's the power of social media,” boss Natasha mentioned Friday morning. “I saw it on Alison's Facebook page last night, and Diana already had it posted on her page.”

I still hardly know what's going on but want to thank Jon Brooks at Image Building Communications in Omaha for the web design. You've already gotten quite a few compliments, Jon.

Now I can press my foot on the accelerator and start sending more query letters to the agents I really want to bother. It'll be nice to add my website link at the end of every letter.

Never Saw a Cop

This doesn't relate to the website but involves writing: Yesterday I stumbled upon an English class journal I kept in college and thought I'd share a quick anecdote from it:

One mid-term, college friend Dan and I decided to drive from Detroit to Daytona Beach for spring break, and I had a hopped-up Camaro that was perfect for the 900-mile nonstop trip. The night before leaving, Dan purchased a radar detector so we could rocket as fast as possible to Daytona without ever having to worry about police.

“Ohio and Georgia are major speed traps, so this is brilliant,” he said while installing it perfectly.

We headed out the next morning and were soon blazing down Interstate 75, with the detector solidly perched on the dashboard. We blasted through Ohio speeding all the way, then roared through Kentucky and Tennessee and then steamrolled through Georgia. Every time I looked, the speedometer seemed to read 90 mph.

When we finally thundered into Daytona Beach, the normal 14-hour drive had taken us only 11 hours to complete. We pulled into a beachfront hotel and parked the Camaro, and I reached to the back of the detector to click the “off” switch.

But suddenly, I just sat for a few moments in stunned silence before looking at Dan. We never clicked it on.