From 1997 through 2004, I played keyboards (and often sang) in several original bands that lasted anywhere from 3 weeks to 13 months. These bands were a mix of pop / rock efforts. I loathed and loved them equally at times. The ultimate goal was always to get gigs — anywhere and anytime. 10pm Tuesday at the Khyber Pass or Pontiac Grill, sure thing. Even if three people showed up and were only there for whiskey night caps, we would do whatever it took. A backyard BBQ in 95 degree July heat? Yep, we took that spot to play for the birds and squirrels while everyone nibbled on food in the central air inside.
Here’s a sample of the sounds from Pagoda, one of the longer running bands:
Some lyrics:
The prophet is drawing near. Can’t you feel the portals blooming in the air? All of the scriptures that have ever been written are slowly bleeding into one. And he’s rubbed elbows with the New Jersey Devil. And he’s driven with Christ and floored the pedal. He knows exactly when the shit is going down.
A neighborhood Fishtown friend ran a kitten rescue out of her home. She had a litter of orange and white cats.
We adopted a male, one that was animated and looked at us often.
At home where we lived in sin, Melissa named him Santucci in about 30 seconds, named after our favorite pizzeria.
“We can call him Tooch.”
Hanging out with Tooch at our Fishtown house on NYE 2007. Tooch had been living with us for just a few days.
I proposed to Melissa days later at the Moshulu on NYE. She said yes.
Tooch’s middle name was Rambo.
He was a true house cat and never tried to sneak out. We put him on a leash in our little yard, just so show him the outside world, but he was more annoyed than anything.
He watched Netflix DVDs with us, sitting on our laps or like a gargoyle on the sofa’s edge.
He played with a turquoise sequin belt and a fluorescent pink scratch pad.
We gave him a bath once and it was the angriest he’d ever been. I swore he’d claw me to pieces.
Tooch didn’t really like the freedom of the great outdoors. We left the door open accidentally for hours and he never ran out.
He wore a collar for a few days, but almost strangled himself trying to get it off.
I was trying to record percussion instruments and he kept jumping up near the microphone. I decided to record his purring and meowing and made “Happy Tooch“.
He had a lot of nicknames: Tooch MaLooch, Tooch Master General, TuLaRooch.
He knocked down a wine bottle one night and bloodied his nose a bit.
His tail was rather long.
He always hid from my parents. I think he was scared of my Dad’s laugh.
He was a scaredy cat of sorts. If you farted, he’d run out of the room, sometimes so fast that his claws couldn’t gain traction.
He slept along our legs in bed and sometimes nibbled on our toes.
He liked to be petted, but not on the stomach. Under his chin was his favorite.
His hunting instincts made him a moth’s worse nightmare. He thrust his body to attack shadows.
He was the homestead captain of the house, always there, ready to lay on laps.
He lost a lot of whiskers once, getting them singed by a candle.
His white hair stuck to my navy pea coat from just walking by him.
Melissa took amazing photos of him jumping in the air and made a t-shirt for me out of an image.
We didn’t know his exact birthday, so we chose Halloween as it was around that time.
I sense he liked holidays and festive wrappings to play with. Santa gave him stocking stuffers and he was included in Melissa’s holiday postcards.
When we moved to Glenside, he stayed in our office for weeks before slowly making his way through the much bigger house.
He scratched up the brown leather sofa pretty bad on one side, but was rather good to our stuff.
He knew what was going on in the basement.
He jumped through swaying plexiglass entry doors.
He only ate hard dry food. He never ate moist food. We gave him grilled branzino from Zahav once and he wouldn’t touch it. Cheese, milk, nothing.
He didn’t like to leave the house. When dropping him off at family or friends for vacation, he usually hid behind major appliances.
He hated going to the vet. If you touched his travel bag, he’d hide in a section that we couldn’t reach in the basement. We had to get him in a room first.
He liked to stick his paws under the bathroom door while you were sitting on the toilet.
If his food bowl was missing just enough to show the bottom, he’d meow until we filled it. We called this the “bald spot”.
He started having issues with going to the bathroom and wasn’t using the box anymore.
He made puddles on our wood burning stove hearth.
He strained and wailed when going. Sometimes he was fine.
Vets recommended Miralax, herbal treatments, organic moist food from Whole Foods, but nothing helped.
It was disgusting but we grew used to it, for almost two years.
He frothed at the mouth and howled one day, clearly in immense pain.
Melissa took him to the vet, just a 5 minute drive away. He didn’t fight it.
He was analyzed and treated for about 6 hours.
Surgery was an option, but not a guaranteed outcome.
We decided that it was best to end the pain and say goodbye.
We sat in a room with him for 20 minutes and talked to him, petted him, while he sat on an ottoman. He was sedated but knew who we were.
He wanted to sit on Melissa’s lap, so she let him.
We told stories of him and teared up.
He was soon put to sleep.
We drove home and put him in his favorite blue chair. It was upright and had a soft velvet feel.
We then all went out to the nearest Santucci’s restaurant for dinner, a surreal day.
The next day, we buried him in the backyard in an area that we planned to have a flower garden.
He brought tremendous joy for over 12 years to our family.
He was the 3rd member, always there to connect eyes and help me relax, always there to jump on my lap and stop be from being frantic, so that I could stay put and watch the birds out the window.
Thanks to everyone that came out to Bettie Jack Gallery on October 4th! It was great talking about the book to new and old faces, especially those that live in Oreland and were name dropping old faces from the 80s. It’s amazing how many families raised in Oreland stay in Oreland, or at least moved nearby (like I did).
If you’re a fiction writer looking to self-publish your first novel, this article is for you.
In researching how to self-publish Be Home By Dinner, I found many articles about different methods of each stage along the way. But I didn’t find articles that captured the full process from start to finish. There’s multiple avenues to go about the self-publishing process. This post explains the route I chose utilizing 7 unique tools.
Although many consider it less prestigious, there are benefits of self-publishing, including:
Creative control
Print on demand (kill less trees – no waste)
Retain rights for adaptations
Better royalties
Longer shelf life
Deadlines and schedules are yours to determine
No agents needed (or months trying to find one)
1. Google Docs
If you have a GMAIL or other Google account, Google Docs provides a simple way to write wherever you have an internet connection. There’s also an offline mode as well. Google Docs continually saves as you write. Spelling and grammar checkers are included so you can see typos as they happen. (Of course, intent is not known by Google Docs or any software. This can cause headaches down the line, which I’ll explain.)
No need to click Ctrl + S to save your work. Just keep on writing.
As your digital manuscript gets lengthy, there are chapter bookmarklet tools that add a Table Of Contents for hyperlinking to specific chapters. My novel was just over 87,000 words with 60 punchy short chapters, so this came in handy to hop around the book. This is also essential if you don’t write in chronological order.
Although Google Docs continually saved my progress, I saved copies of the document after each session. This may have been overkill, but provided insurance in case the master file that may get corrupted.
Google Docs Cost: Free
2. Google Sheets
I used Google Sheets to create a quick snapshot of each chapter via a spreadsheet. This included:
Date Range
Age Of Protagonist
Chapter Number
Chapter Title
Characters Introduced
Settings Introduced
Chapter Highlights / Synopsis
No math formulas here. Just text.
I also color coded the backgrounds to emphasize which chapter non-adjacent chapters were connected. As my story took place over a 15-year period, this spreadsheet was essential to piece the novel together and view the entirety of it at a singular glance. It served as a personal CliffsNotes.
Google Sheets Cost: Free
3. Pro Writing Aid
After the final draft was complete, I imported the manuscript into Pro Writing Aid. This tool identifies issues and recommendations for:
Spelling
Grammar
Diction
Accidental Homonyms
Overused Phrases
Cliche Use
Sticky Sentences (that may slow down a reader)
Overused Pronouns (which create a boring read)
Alliteration Verification
Echoes (phrases used in close proximity)
Pacing (identify slower readability)
Sentence Length Gauge (pointing out if they are varied or not)
Pro Writing Aid home page.
Any of the above are flagged by unique colors over the text and can be altered immediately. Or, the recommendation can be denied and never appear again.
Pro Writing Aid offers a Google Chrome plugin to add to your Google Doc, but I preferred using the native application.
The one thing that it doesn’t sniff for is context. The first printed edition of Be Home By Dinner had 14 overlooked errors. For example, “cell phone” was stated where “cellophane” was supposed to be. As And this was in a chapter that took place before cell phones were prevalent. (My apologies for anyone that purchased this edition.) But this is the great thing about the print-on-demand service that Amazon offers. I uploaded the new file within an hour and new shipments had the corrected version within a day.
You may chose to bypass using Pro Writing Aid or other similar software, but it offers a wealth of insight into your writing habits and allows for quick adjustments.
Pro Writing Aid Cost: $60 for a full year
4. Photoshop
If you have experience with Photoshop, Illustrator, Canva, Gimp (which is free) or any other graphic design software, you can create your own ebook and paperback cover. One ebook cover is all that you need for all digital channels.
For the paperback print cover, Amazon provides extensive guidelines and templates for the back and front covers. Based on the page length, the spine size is revealed via a calculator.
“Be Home By Dinner” layout of front cover, spine and back cover.
If you don’t have graphic design skills, you can outsource your cover design to a wealth of designers on Fiverr.com. Rates start at $10.
Photoshop Cost: $20.99 / month
5. Pressbooks
Once you’ve nailed down your final draft, the next step is to find a layout software to that will export your book into the required file types:
PDF (for Amazon Paperback)
EPUB (Barnes & Noble NOOK, Apple Books, Google Play Books, Kobo etc.)
MOBI (Amazon Kindle)
Layout options for your book include:
20 unique themes for chapter fonts, body fonts, author page, chapter listing, front matter, back matter, each with particular look and feel.
I went with the “Leonard “ theme. The bold chapter title typewriter style font was ideal for suspense novel and the drop cap at each chapter’s beginning was a nice touch.
Pressbooks “Leonard Theme” is great for mystery, thrillers and suspense fiction.
If you’ve ever used WordPress for managing web site content, Pressbooks may be the best option, as it’s built with WordPress.
If you’ve used WordPress, this layout and menu should look familiar.
Pressbooks allows you to add the META information about your book into the EPUB and MOBI files. This info includes copyright information, book genre, book categories, ISBN (if you already bought one), taglines and descriptions, keywords to aid with search, and more.
Pressbooks Cost: $99 per book (if you want paperback and ebook)
6. Draft2Digital
To distribute your book to all ebook outlets outside of Amazon, such as Barnes & Noble NOOK Books, Apple Books, Google Play Books, Kobo and several others that you likely never heard of, you’ll need to choose an online ebook distributor.
I went with Draft2Digital because of its simplistic setup, easy dashboard and royalties payment method and free ISBN (International Standard Book Number) number. These digits are unique to your book and used as a commercial identifier and are typically around $125.00.
Even though I marketed the option of buying my book on these non-Amazon channels, only about 1% of sales came from these offerings after 90 days. The print version on Amazon and the Kindle were dominant, but this isn’t the case for everyone.
They provide other services as well: Author Pages, Universal Book Links (with direct links to all channels of purchase), buttons for you website and more.
Draft2Digital Setup Cost: Free
Draft2Digital Royalties
Authors earn 85% of ebook price.
7. Amazon KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing)
The evil and tax evading Amazon.com is the essential online store for self publishers. According to Bloomberg.com, Amazon captures 88.9% of ebook sales and 41% of the physical books market.
As with Draft2Digital.com, you get a free ISBN when you publish your book through Amazon. Amazon also had their unique number called ASIN.
There’s an option to join KDP Select which allows for a few unique perks:
5 days of free Kindle downloads (good for exposure and gaining quick readership)
Kindle Countdown Deals (good for creating exclusive limited time offers)
Kindle Unlimited program – This is like a Netflix for Kindle books and allows subscribers to read as many books as they want. Authors are paid on a per page basis.
Amazon KDP Setup Cost: Free
Ebook Royalties
Books priced from $2.99 to $9.99, authors get 70%.
For books priced outside of the above range, authors get 35%.
Paperback Royalties
You get 60% minus the cost of print production. My 6″ x 9″ book of 346 pages with matte finish was $4.99 each to produce.
Questions?
If you have any questions about the above, feel free to contact me or leave a comment below. I tried to keep this as succinct as possible.
Since Melissa and I moved to Glenside in 2012, five new excellent bar / restaurants have opened up in the 19038:
Bernie’s Restaurant and Bar
Roberts Block Restaurant
Glenside Ale House
The Ways Brewery and Restaurant
Bill’s Best Brewery
Since having two kids, we can only seem to get out for a date once a season, so I’m the furthest thing from a regular at any of these joints. But they are highly welcome and makes for one hell of a bar crawl someday.
The Ways had a large teen driven staff. The waiter shrugged and didn’t get my Perfect Strangers reference to the “Little Cousin Larry” beer. Regardless of feeling ancient, the tacos were delicious.
There’s no denying what’s going on inside of The Way’s Brewery and Restaurant.The Ways Brewery and Restaurant has some beautiful doors. You may find yourself lingering outside of them in awe.
Bill’s Best had a tasting room vibe. It’s essentially a large room with a bar and seating behind, a great place to lock in on a Phillies game and talk easily to the patron next to you while gouging on a hot dog or sandwich with heaping toppings.
Both Bill’s Best and The Ways had outdoor seating options.
I forgot to get a photo at Bill’s Best, but here is Melissa just down the street beneath an overpass.
We also stopped by a fave, The Blue Comet, where they had a new Hawaiian themed cocktail menu.
Taking a break on a bench at the corner of Glenside Avenue and Easton Road. The Blue Comet is night all dim lit. Check out the back garden area and enjoy a cocktail with the birds.The Blue Comet’s Surf Rock inspired cocktail menu.
Our final stop was Bettie Jack in Keswick Village, where we checked out First Friday and to see Be Home By Dinner on display. An old caddie friend of mind was playing Grateful Dead tunes with one of his bands, jamming outside on the sidewalk. The tunes could be heard blocks away as your approached the Keswick Circle.
The back room of Bettie Jack has a bass drum coffee table and a light fixture based on the most Philly centric word ever. “Be Home By Dinner” for sale at Bettie JackChecking out former caddy, Bernie Gillespie of Shady Groove Duo.I look the best when I’m blurry.No date night is complete without an odd photo with a mannequin and a floating popsicle. Right?Flower box at the corner of Easton Road and Glenside Avenue.
One of the great things about e-books is that you can make edits to any typos or grammatical errors and quickly republish as a new edition. New covers can also be used. For the Amazon Kindle version, I recently changed the cover to the below “Sasha” alternative version. If you’ve read the book, the girl in the photo should bear resemblance to the distracting character in Be Home By Dinner.
In Chapter 10 of Be Home By Dinner, the protagonist, Garvey Nolan, notices a newspaper article hung up in the back of his Dad’s shed. The article details how his Dad saved a General from a fiery plane crash back in his U.S. Air Force days. Garvey’s dad introduced intuition and gut instincts to Garvey, which he later uses in the book multiple times in order to survive the emotional turbulence of adolescence, avoid being captured by crazed adults and escape risky peer influencers.
In reality, my Dad did indeed save a general from a fiery crash at Scott Air Force Base in Illinois, back in 1961, while enlisted in the U.S. Air Force as a medic. Below is a newspaper article from The Philadelphia Bulletin, an old evening newspaper that was published from 1847 to 1982. Enjoy the story:
Chapter 3 of Be Home By Dinner centers around a newly purchased red AMC Spirit, a subcompact sporty car.
In reality, my Dad and I got into an accident in this car in 1979, which totaled the vehicle. I was 4-years-old. The accident was one of a handful of 1970s events that are my first memories, but this was the most vivid. I can still recall the plastic smell of the black interior and the jarring sensation of the car flipping over multiple times, ending us suspended upside down by our seat belts.
Other earliest memories are vague and through translucent lenses, like watching Star Wars at a drive-in movie theater (Route 309, perhaps?) and falling asleep when C-3P0 roamed lost in the Tatooine desert.
Below is a newspaper spotlight about the accident as well as a couple magazine ads about the unique vehicle:
In designing the cover for Be Home By Dinner, I came up with eight different variations. As the story spans fifteen years, there were a lot of ideas and metaphoric imagery that seemed to work. After whittling it down to three variations, I decided to present the options to my social media friends and followers on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter and have them vote on the best one. The results were alarming. Of 115 votes:
Pixel Duo = 3 votes
Fireworks Table = 26 votes
Cassettes = 86 votes
My favorite was the “Pixel Duo”. This included a pixilated couple standing in front of trees that were covered in toilet paper, a world of mischief at their backs. As hiding within the veil of 8-bit video game graphics is a constant in the book, I felt that this was a strong image to reveal the setting, tone and period. I didn’t even question it until I let people vote. Comments came in that the toilet paper didn’t seem visible and that the pixilated couple was confusing.
“Pixel Duo” cover
“Fireworks Table” was my second favorite, which featured a deteriorating white table with ladyfingers, smoke bombs, a golf ball and hints of fingerprinted blood. Although these items were important elements of the book, it seemed too busy and didn’t translate well when at a small “thumbnail” size, which is how most initially view book covers in the online world.
“Fireworks Table”‘ cover
“Cassettes” featured an upright cassette with a stack of multicolored ones behind it, all with a hideous yellow and white felt textured wall as a background. The cheery nostalgia of the image made me equally cringe and grin. It seemed filthy, as if I could smell the second hand smoke emanating from the floral fabric.
“Cassettes” cover
With “Cassettes” winning in a landslide, I thought more about the role of this hissing and easily deteriorating medium in the story. The device itself plays a critical role as a form of evidence and is a constant as music self-discovery unfolds. A mental “mix tape” occurs as well, which uplifts the protagonist to an ending he couldn’t fathom occurring. “Cassettes” was also was the easiest to read and identify at a smaller image scale.
“Fireworks Table 2” cover
Above, I dabbled with adding a cassette image to the “Fireworks Table”, but it appeared even more crowded.
Final back cover full bleed image.
But the updated “Fireworks Table 2” image became an ideal back cover image, with the spine’s orange literally bleeding over it with a Photoshop Overlay layer effect. The gleeful colors of the front cover image came to an abrupt end on the back, where the table of objects appeared to be devices in a photography dark room. The antagonist’s “instaphotos” seem to linger nearby, something the reader eventually learns about.
Sunset Road Cover
In a panic, I went to the drawing board and tried to find the perfect sunset image, an evergreen signal of the mandated curfews that the kids of Oreland obeyed. I felt certain, momentarily, that this was the way to go.
“Pay Phone” cover
I then considered an image of a boy at a payphone, which happens several times in the book with the protagonist. The image appeared too dreadful and not reflective of the entirety of the period covered in the story. It was too late 70s. I was just in love with the image. If I had unique imagery for each chapter title, this would have been perfect to use.
Final back cover, spine and front cover
Finally, I happily settled on the above. The orange streak on the cassette, the color of warning, became the color of the spine and bled onto the back cover reveal of some devices of mischief.
I sat on the curb at the end of the walkway, tapping my sneakers onto Redford Road, staring at the rainbow sheen of leaked motor oil. Star Wars figures stood propped up against the lawn edging with weapons in hand. Behind me, the walkway led to the front screen door where I saw Mom attending to my feverish sister. Dad was at a bank, cashing a check. I was 4-years-old.
My family had recently moved to Oreland, West Oreland to be exact, or White City as the original generation dubbed it. The rectangular cookie cutter homes were constructed shortly after WWII, all painted white.
The perimeter of my front lawn universe was the curb at the street, tall hedges to the right and bushes to the left. My parents allowed me to roam free within these boundaries, a realm of azaleas, scattered toys, a tall pine and skittish squirrels.
From the lawn, I could see several homes, all occupied by retired grandparents. They often worked on gardening projects with meticulous precision. Many were veterans that purchased their homes with the help of the G.I. Bill.
The Finns lived across the street. They drank cider on a fancy tree swing and waved at me as I made battle sound effects with my mouth. Mr. Finn sported a feather in his hat with a cardigan sweater. Mrs. Finn wore a bonnet with a shawl. They swung hand in hand.
“Garvey, what’re ya gonna be for Halloween tomorrow?” Mr. Finn called out.
I ignored him and looked back at Mom. She was spoon feeding something to my sister, Siobhan.
The Finns stood up and walked to their front door, waving me over. Mrs. Finn shivered, rubbing her upper arms with her hands to warm up. “Do you like British biscuits?” she called out.
“What is that?” I asked.
“They’re kind’ve like cookies. Superb. Come over and have some.”
I thought about how Dad spoke of Mr. Finn as a good guy, an American war hero.
The wind whooshed through yellowing leaves, revealing their lighter colored bottoms. Clouds raced by the sun, as if someone was toggling a dimmer switch, their shadows gliding over the street. I stood up, looked both ways and leaped into the street toward the widening smiles of the Finns. Glancing back, I didn’t see Mom through the screen door anymore. The glare of the TV lit up Siobhan’s glum freckled face. Sweaty blond bangs laid heavy on her forehead.
Inside the Finn household, I took a seat on a stiff sofa. Mr. Finn sat on a wingback chair and turned on the TV. “Ya know, Oreland is exactly as named. A land of ore,” Mr. Finn said, tapping his cane. “Iron ore. American iron ore was made into steel to make aircraft so we could bomb the Nazis.”
“Oh, please,” cried Mrs. Finn. “Now’s not that time for that. Have some biscuits, boys.”
“Well, it’s true. We need to educate our youth. America produced the most in ’45.”
Mrs. Finn shook her head and put a tray of assorted beige delectables in front of us. I grabbed one with a jelly dot on it. Mr. Finn put on a PBS show called All Creatures Great And Small.
The living room decor included intricate framed paintings, plush pillows, ceramic figurines, and doilies. A variety of clocks ticked and chimed. The Finns stared at me with glazed eyes and grins, somehow comforted by my sloppy chomps and crumbs falling from my mouth. Their white fluffy cat sat on a puffy bed.
I watched the show and peered out the window, waiting to see if Mom was looking for me. I darted my eyes from television frame to window frame, back and forth.
“You’re allowed over here, right?” asked Mrs. Finn.
“Yeah, I am,” I said.
“Garvey Nolan, are you certain?”
Dad drove up to the side of our house in his green Volkswagen Beetle. He got out with a couple boxes of pizza. He headed up the walkway to the front door. He put the pizzas down and ran about our yard, peeking in bushes, arms out in a panic. He rushed to the curb and looked up and down the road, stroking his black mustache and adjusting his thick plastic glasses.
The excitement of doing something devastatingly wrong brought out a rush in me I had never experienced. But the sheer suffering on Dad’s face was difficult to endure. I burst off the sofa and ran out of the Finn house, screaming out to Dad. He saw me, dropped to his knees and put his hands together as if he was praying.
“Look both ways first before crossing!” Dad hollered.
My feet were a couple steps into the road. A blur of a yellow car whizzed by with the horn held down, like a large lemon taffy being stretched. Leaves and dust whirled about. I looked both ways and crossed. Dad stared down the yellow car that sat idling at a stop sign in the distance. The driver side window rolled down. The sound of heavy sobbing and fists pounding on the dashboard emanated from the window. The driver said something about a wife.
“Garv, stay right here,” said Dad, pointing to our walkway. He ran after the yellow car, shouting words I knew were naughty and only for grownups. The yellow car, a small sporty breed, screeched off when Dad got close.
“Couldn’t get his plate numbers,” said Dad, jogging back. “This is why you look both ways. Crazy cockroach. I’ve seen this car before. Keeps going 40 down our road.”
Dad pulled out a folded Polaroid photo from his back pocket and put it in front of me. “This is him,” he said. “A speeder. I’ll get him someday. Oreland is not a shortcut to anything. This is no cut through town. People that live here don’t drive like that.” The photo had a blur of the yellow car passing by our house with an arm extended out of a partially rolled-down window. The middle finger was up like a flagpole waiting to be adorned.
Mr. Finn jogged out, holding his hat. “Tornado warning!” he cried. “It scrolled on the bottom of my TV.”
Blustering wind tossed gravel at my face. I squinted. Mom raced from neighboring front yards. Her blond hair bounced as her apron flung off. “There you are! Where did you go?” she asked.
The sky was sea-foam green. “I’m sorry. I was—”
Trashcan lids whizzed along the lawn. Dad picked me up and carried me over his shoulders. I watched Mom’s red painted toenails follow as we raced inside.
