Bowling, beer and books – tonight at the Village Lanes!

Let me admit right now that even though I wrote a novel whose main voice is a teenage star bowler from Sandusky, Ohio, I have never lived in Sandusky and I have just about zero bowling experience. But the truth is Midnight Bowling is a love story, and we all know that love can be unpredictable. For example, how could I have known that I’d fall in love with old-school bowling centers like Durham’s own Village Lanes? So I’m thrilled they’re hosting me TONIGHT, JUNE 9, 7-9 PM at the Village Lanes for a party to introduce Midnight Bowling on home turf. Also hosting is my wonderful Durham-based publisher, Carolina Wren Press. And joining us is the Lebowski-inspired Splitskrieg bowling league. If you buy a copy of Midnight Bowling, get a beer on the house. Come bowl with...
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MIDNIGHT BOWLING Rolls Out Today. Please Join Me!

If you’re here in Greensboro, and you have a bit of free time between 7 – 8pm tonight, I would like to see your sweet face at Scuppernong Books to help me celebrate sending MIDNIGHT BOWLING, my new novel, on its first roll. You’ll make my day, and I promise you some laughs, a hug (unless you’re not a hugger and that’s OK) and my gratitude. Some questions people have asked, w my answers: Where is it? … Scuppernong Books is on 304 S. Elm St. near the corner of Washington & Elm. Where do I park? … free street parking, the lot on Elm & McGee, or the deck on Washington & Green. Can I bring my kid(s)? … YES! This is a family bookstore. Also, writers love plot twists and kids never fail to deliver. What if I can’t come tonight but I want to get a (signed) copy? … Just call up Scuppernong Books, 336.763.1919, and reserve your copy. If you want it signed, say to whom. Are you gonna talk all night? (K I made this up) … Nope. I’m gonna chit chat w you, make you laugh, read a few lines, and (hopefully) sell some books. How many books should I buy? (Maybe I made this one up, too) … I can’t make a specific recommendation, so I’ll just mention some upcoming events: Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, birthdays… If you’re on the fence about coming tonight, please just come. You’ll make my day, and then you can rope me into your event next time....
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MIDNIGHT BOWLING

CHAPTER ONE Two million people watched that day in January 1963 when my father choked at the pro bowling championship at the Showboat in Las Vegas. Everybody he knew had seen it, and he had plenty of time to think about that on the drive home to Sandusky. I didn’t know about any of this when my father took me, his skinny, brown-haired daughter and only child, to the Galaxy Lanes for the first time ten years later. It was my ninth birthday, November eighth, 1973, and he’d just gotten a promotion at Engineered Fittings and so he said we had a lot to look forward to. And not only that, he said, his old coach Leo Florida was back in town. There was of course no way for me to understand what this meant to him even if he’d tried to explain it: who he’d been before I was born, what he’d hoped and dreamed for, and how I figured into any of it…. ….By the time we left—hours later, it turned out—I’d fallen in love with bowling the way you love a food and can’t remember what life was like before you tasted it. I loved it for the way the ball curved—hooked, my father explained—magically into the pins. But, no, he said; it wasn’t magic. A hook took years to get right; it was a fingerprint, the full expression of a bowler’s movement, traced across the boards. I closed my eyes and listened—I loved the way he sounded, explaining everything to me, and I believed he had come back to bowling not just to see Leo Florida again, but because of me, because of us. My father wanted me to know that perfection could still be had in the form of a ball curving with just the right spin toward its target. Correct action could prevail. “Don’t let Leo make you think the how doesn’t matter,” my father said to me over and over again. Maybe he worried from the beginning that Leo would ruin me like he’d nearly ruined him. Anyway, I didn’t care—I believed my father when he said the past didn’t matter. The important thing was that he was my coach, and we were the perfect combination: natural-born talent and experience. All we needed was each other—we knew this the way we knew the order of pinfall in a perfect strike, left-handed or right-handed, or the...
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