As I start looking at the month’s wind-down, my tendency toward penny-pinching automatically kicks in and I begin trying to dream up fool-proof ways to earn a few extra shekels. Actually, forget “few.”  A shitload would be better – legal tender, of course.

As usual, I’m stymied as to the how of it.   “Just write a best seller,” I tell myself. It’s hard when my interest and knowledge all center on Oysterville. Great subject matter but even if every man, woman, and dog (there are no children here) bought my books, the population base is way too small. To be on the top 100 list on Amazon.com, for instance, I’d need to sell 1,000 copies a day in the first few days after the book’s release. To be on the Wall Street Journal’s BSL you must sell 3,000 copies the first week; for the New York Times, 9,000 copies. Oysterville full-time population: 14. You figure it out.

Right now I’m reading Janet Evanovich’s Tricky Twenty-Two and it occurs to me that perhaps I can use her series as a model. Instead of being centered in “The Burg” (short for Chambersburg – who knew?), I could call it the Ville. Although that sounds a bit too Downton Abbeyish… Maybe “The Spit” (short for Sandspit).

The Rubber Boots and Oyster Set, circa 1900

Instead of a cast of marginal slimeball types, my characters might be more the Rubber Boot Set (locals) with occasional roles for the Umbrella Toters from the Big City. I think I could easily substitute our Cemetery for the viewing rooms at the Burg’s popular funeral home. There are plenty of candidates for Grandma Mazur but I’m a bit flummoxed about Lula, the former “respectable ‘ho” and Ranger with his “murky” past and his “hard muscle and perfect body.”  In both cases, it’s the ethnic diversity that’s a problem.

Nor am I sure about all the fabulous fast food establishments peppering the Evanovich books. We don’t have a Cluck-in-a-Bucket or a tempting all-you-can-eat sausage bar anywhere nearby. On the other hand we have the whole “when the tide’s out the table’s set” thing going for us.

I’m sure if I could just put a rural northwest tweak on the Stephanie Plum novels, I’d have a  shot at affording whatever our next disaster turns out to be — probably a belly-up septic system if it doesn’t quit raining soon. Come to think of it, flooded drainfields and overflowing sewage may be the very subject I should consider for this proposed “Spit” series (bringing us right back to that shitload of money.)

On second thought, I think I’ll just call the library order the next Stephanie Plum novel, Turbo Twenty-Three,  and consider our ever-rising water table another day…