Nothing is simple

Why is it that nothing ever works the way we expect it or want it to? Perhaps I should explain that.
 
Andrew had a great idea which he passed on to me - put your books onto Kindle, get readers that way, there is gold in them thar pages.

Great plan, how do I do that? I ask.

Andrew told me and I went straight to Joe, my brother-in-law.

"Does this make sense to you?" I asked.

"Nee bother," says he in a Mackem accent as he duly did what was needed to be done.

Don't ask, I have no idea, but he had to convert text into something or other - Mandarin Chinese for all I know. The point is, he did it and now the first book is there, ready for anyone to download at a peppercorn price - and a lot of folk have done just that. In fact, I am given to understand that it's actually being discussed or mentioned on Facebook. I don't go on there myself so I got that second-hand.

"Right then," said Joseph. "Time to get the next one ready so we can put it on Kindle in a couple of months' time."

Well, I have a total of thirty-two novels, or similar, ready to convert into cash. Five of them (I think it is five) are award winners so that's okay - promising - and the more I put on there, the more folk will read them if they like my style of writing.

Joe had the next offering, a Pretty Boy Floyd story all converted from hard copy onto a memory stick.

"Right," said he, "all you have to do now is edit it all and that will be that."

Can't do it of course. Apparently the thing we have got is simply a document file and the computer will not let me edit it at all. Joe has tried to download several programmes to allow editing - none of them have worked.

So, the big question today is, "How do I edit a file that is (according to Joe) in PDF (whatever that is) into something I can edit on the computer?

We all went to York on Saturday gone. About forty-five of us piled onto a bus at a tenner a head, many carrying booze to sustain them on the road to a pub-crawl around York. Well, it WAS after nine in the morning - people need a drink by then. I was sitting next to my sister Ellen Jane, Skippy, or, as she is known to the FBI, "Pwhoaarrr, keep her away from us!"

We all duly arrived at York and everyone scattered, seeking pubs. When we got back on the bus at half nine that night there were many cheerful characters and the drive back was spent with those at the front singing Beatles songs while those at the back sang football songs and everybody poured beer down their throats. Not me of course, I'm training to be a saint.

Got back home at about half eleven and went straight into the pub for a drink. I went home at about two in the morning - my sister had gone hours earlier. And that was the tale of the trip to York.

So, all I need now is some idea of how to convert the text from PDF to something I can edit - and find out how to stop my sister from sitting next to me on our next booze run.

The Voice In The Wilderness