I learned about something called subclavian steal in med school.

Then, a couple years ago, I learned about something I call "reverse steal."

It was invented by a priest who wrote a book which he finally self-published after failing to interest any publishers in taking it on.

With boxes of the books sitting around in mint condition during the holidays one year, it dawned on him: the perfect solution.

He took a bunch of his books into a local Barnes & Noble and made a neat space for them right up front on the tables that feature the highlighted books.

Then he walked out of the store.

He wrote about his experience for the New York Times, and I was absolutely, instantaneously enchanted.

He didn't call it a "reverse steal," that's my term, but it's perfect.

He would go back about once a week with a bunch more books and replenish the stack, which mysteriously got smaller but never completely disappeared.

After the holidays, he stopped.

I tried this last Christmas season at my local Barnes & Noble, in the Barracks Road Shopping Center, and it was an amazing feeling.

I loved it.

With my book, though, there was a slightly different outcome: every week I'd return, the stack of copies of my latest magnum opus were gone.

So I simply put a new stack there.

Hey, it's only paper.

I had a friend try to buy one: you can't imagine the uproar when it didn't scan properly (it has an ISBN and a barcode, so it looks totally legit).

Store manager, the whole nine yards.

Oh, but I'm a fool, and I don't mind saying so myself.

So, if you find yourself in Charlottesville, Virginia in the next couple of weeks, and you see my book on the table at the front of Barnes & Noble, look but don't try to buy it, unless you like folly as much as I do.

Amazon's got it, without the drama.