Many people have asked
me in the last few months if there will be a sequel to I'm Trying Here, my first book. The answer is
no, at least not right now. I never rule out the possibility of future
projects, but for now a continuation of my first work is not where I am headed.
My next book that is on pace to be done by January or February is a more serious
work, a book about the Holocaust, and my experiences learning about it, and
visiting Auschwitz. It is a cross-breeding of genres, part historical, part
philosophical, part motivational, and part memoir. I don't want to give too
many spoilers, and I am not ready to unveil the title, but I would like to
leave a few small excerpts for anxious readers. Stay tuned for new updates on
the book's progress, title and cover. I am very excited about this book, and as
a young delusional artist, I of course think it will be a masterpiece on par
with New York Bestsellers. But until I reach some modicum of fame, I need you
to go purchase my first book. If you already have, there are still two
invaluable things you can do to help my career. You can leave a review on Amazon
and or Goodreads, and you can tell a friend. Okay, enough begging for favors.
Here are the excerpts, let me know what you think.
Excerpt I
"I wake up. It’s
3:21 a.m. I’m twenty-seven years old. I haven’t been on a school bus for years,
and I have long since left Arizona. I’m alone in a cheap hotel room in Warsaw,
Poland. A familiar song reverberates in my foggy head. Its chorus repeats the simplistic
and symbolic words, “I’m coming home, I’m coming home.” I go to the bathroom
and return to bed wondering what elicited such a vivid and frightful
dream."
Excerpt II
"I
looked towards the main entrance and saw white birds flying around in what looked
like figure eights. I thought about how eternally free those birds were and how
their whiteness and freedom contrasted so greatly with the victims of
Auschwitz, the ghosts behind the barbed wire fences."
Excerpt III
"I stood
there and held back tears for the mothers who would never see their infants
again, and my stomach churned for the fathers that would never teach their kids
how to throw a ball, or anything for that matter. I thought of my own parents
and the love that that they had woven into my life from day one. In the same
way that you put yourself in the shoes of the protagonist in a dramatic movie,
I put myself in the shoes of the family members that lost so much. I was
reminded of the ingenious brevity of the author Thomas Wolfe who scattered his
novel Look Homeward, Angel with the phrase “O Lost!”
Excerpt IV
"In the middle of
the mountain of stolen suitcases, the name Greilsamer poked out, beneath it lay
luggage of a Mr. Steindler. In the distance, barely visible, I saw Orov protrude
through the rubble, almost as if to say, "Remember me?" I thought of
my own surname and what it would look like on a discarded box of my belongings.
The whole idea of it all ripped me insides apart. I shuffled on laterally and
saw dozens more names, Slavic names I couldn't pronounce. But I knew they all
had a history, a past full of holidays, newborns, smiles, and Bar Mitzvahs. I
would never know the contents of these suitcases, nor would anyone else, and
for some reason that bothered me."
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