While I was still writing my book, "A Little on the Side," I made a decision to self-publish after consulting with an English professor I met from the University of Chicago. She explained that more and more people were doing it because the process had become much simpler during the computer age. She felt that the subject matter of my book lent itself well to the idea of self-publishing. Heeding her advice, I attended a seminar about self-publishing. I learned a few key things at the seminar. Publishing houses leave the majority of the publicity work to the author, especially to new authors. Also, by self-publishing, the author retains complete rights to the book which enables him or her to make more money per book. I was sold.
The seminar I attended was actually quite helpful. The materials provided a step by step guide about how to self-publish. I supplemented that information with a book I purchased separately. Self-publishing turned out to be a little harder than I anticipated, but it was an interesting process. For the most part, even though I was learning as I was going, the process went smoothly, except for one thing. The cover. Operating on a shoestring budget, I didn’t have thousands to spend to hire a graphic artist with years of experience in preparing computer-ready art for book covers. So I asked around town and settled on a relatively new graphic arts firm. I had a vision for the book cover. The firm told me it wouldn’t be a problem. They could do it. A couple of weeks later, they emailed a mock up of the cover to me. It didn’t look anything like what I wanted and incorporated copyrighted images stolen from the Internet. Not good, I thought. Idiots!
I had to find someone else. I did fairly quickly. The sister of an accountant who worked for my father was a graphic artist. I met with her at Starbuck’s and gave her an idea of what I wanted. After several attempts over the course of two months, it was clear that this woman had no business being in the graphics art field. She was clueless about what a printer needed. One evening, after I hadn’t heard from her in over a week, I called her from a bar where I was about to see some friends perform. As I was asking about the status of the cover, she gave me the dimensions she used. Totally wrong! Another idiot! After two months, I was back to square one. In the back of my mind, I felt that she didn’t have her heart in the project anyway. I don’t think she liked the subject matter of my book. Not too many young women do.
I was pretty frustrated at this point. I couldn’t do the book cover myself. Indeed, it was the only aspect of the project with which I needed someone else’s help. I explained my sad tale to an acquaintance of mine. He’s a musician who is the sound director for a local theater repertoire company. He said he knew someone who could do the cover. Someone with whom he had worked in the past. He warned me about one thing. The guy was very shy.
And that’s how I met Joe at the Daily Grind on Lark Street. My friend was right. Joe was shy. Still, he seemed to know what he was talking about and quickly said he had a few ideas. He asked me to meet with him a couple of weeks later.
We met at the Daily Grind again. They make a good cup of coffee there. Joe didn’t order any. He’s not a coffee drinker. He suggested it for a meeting because he doesn’t drive and it’s in the neighborhood. By the way, even though I think it’s a good place to get a cup of coffee, I was not very impressed by the coffee beans I bought there for home use. Go and figure.
Joe presented me with four possible covers. I liked them all except for one. WOW! I had a choice. I wasn’t able to choose on the spot, so I told him I would think about which one I liked the best and would get back to him soon. Finally, it seemed like my cover would get done.
I walked out of the Daily Grind happy. It was a sunny day and I had three possible covers to choose from. How to decide? Although there was one design I favored, it was an important decision and I wanted an impartial opinion. As I walked down Lark Street to my car, an impartial opinion presented itself in the form of a funky looking young woman standing outside a used bookstore. She looked very artsy and was adorned in tattoos.
I approached this young woman of about 30, introduced myself and asked her if she wouldn’t mind offering her opinion. She was hardly taken aback by this request from a complete stranger and agreed to look at the covers. She liked the same one I did! Very good, I thought. Affirmation!
It was very fortuitous that I met Karen at all. She was only standing outside at the time because the bookstore she wanted to visit hadn’t opened yet. She was waiting. I wasn’t in a big rush myself, so I stayed to chat with her a while. As it turned out, not only was Karen able to render an impartial opinion, she also was able to give me an educated one. She was an artist. I checked her out a bit. She was cute, but too young for me. Too young for me means that, most likely, she wouldn’t be interested in dating an older man. I later learned how right I was. She liked younger men. We had a very pleasant conversation. She told me that she was in the process of opening a flower shop and invited me to stop by when she did. I thanked her for her help and off I went.
Now that I had a cover, I became consumed with getting my book printed. Joe not only did the cover, but he also formatted the text for the printers. Things went smoothly at this point and my book became a reality soon after.
In the course of my travels through Albany, I noticed that Karen had opened up flower shop. Curious about her shop, and even more curious about Karen, I stopped in. Gone was her funky attire. Nary a tattoo showed. Maybe none at all. Karen looked sweet and sophisticated in her new shop. In her new role as a florist, Karen was transformed. She was conscious of the fact that her street kid friends would not be represented well among her new clientele. With added responsibilities and a business to promote, Karen was suddenly much more mature. I liked the new Karen. She seemed calmer and looked much softer than her street persona.
I discovered that Karen loved to chat. She was even amenable to debating the pros and cons of my book, "A Little on the Side." Not only that, but she offered to sell copies on consignment. A business relationship was forged. And a friendship.
Karen’s shop was on my way downtown, so I would stop in every now and then to chat and check up on my book sales. I also learned a few untidy details about her personal life. Karen liked to discuss them. And discuss them. And discuss them. Her life was in turmoil. Her husband was a brute and she wanted a divorce. Apparently, those truck-driving men lose their appeal at some point. To complicate matters, she was in love with a college student ten years her junior. And if that wasn’t enough, her husband suspected her of having an affair. She was! He was right about that. The only problem was that he suspected she was having an affair with an older man, not a college kid. So what, you ask? Well, for whatever reason, Karen’s husband was convinced that she was having an affair with the same guy who wrote "A Little on the Side - The Married Man’s Ultimate Guide to Cheating or How to Save Your Marriage." He had seen my book displayed at the store and that was enough evidence for him, despite her denials. I told you he was a brutish truck driver, right? To be honest, it’s not like I wouldn’t sleep with her. She is young and cute. But as I said before, she liked younger guys. Karen suggested that I use the name Stuart if her husband ever popped into the store while I was there. Stuart? Where did she come up with that? Hell, if it would save my neck, she could introduce me as Osama bin Laden.
As you might imagine, I didn’t stop into the store without calling in advance. I wanted to make sure that the guy who might know the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa’s body wasn’t going to come around. No way did I want to end up in the swamps of Jersey for a crime I didn’t commit.
Some time passed. Karen’s husband didn’t seem like he would pose any problem. I was Stuart now. Karen and I were clear on that.
It was February and I was planning on having a book signing at Noche, the new hip, swank lounge in downtown Albany. In conjunction with the book signing, I made arrangements to appear on the radio on Valentine’s Day. I thought it would be funny to discuss my book on the Hallmark holiday of love. It was easy to get the radio gig because a friend was one of the show’s hosts. He told me they would cut a promo and run it during the day before my appearance on his show. I was grateful. Publicity is important when you are trying to sell a book.
Everything was set. Monday night, the day before my spot, my friend emailed me. Actually, he forwarded an email to me. Not everyone was happy about the fact that I was to appear on the radio, least of all, Karen’s husband. Although he didn’t sign the email, it was apparent that he sent it. I don’t think it’s necessary to share the expletive laden details of his missive, but I can summarize it for you. Basically, he couldn’t believe that "The Wolf" (the show’s primary host) would have someone like me on his show. He even included that I was f%#&ing his wife. The tone of the email was irate and moralistic. I found the moralistic aspect quite humorous because "The Wolf" is a typical shock jock in the mold of Howard Stern. The angry tone of the letter was a cause of some concern to me and my friend. After all, it’s not hard to find the radio station. That’s public information. I emailed my friend that Sid Stein could not and would not be intimidated. Yeah, right.
The radio show went great. It was very funny and we all had a good time. Callers were up in arms about my book, but that’s what made the show so funny. At the end of the show, "The Wolf" thanked me for coming, even though he thought I was "despicable." Still on the air, the female host suggested that I should consider hiring a bodyguard before going to my car. I joked that I already had one. I didn’t, of course. I don’t even know where you hire them. I live in Albany. Who has bodyguards here except for maybe the Governor, and I had already pissed them off. (see my post entitled "Sid Stein vs. The State Police)
My friend offered to walk me to my car but I declined. However, I clearly remember the moment I had to leave the building. I got to the glass door, looked around as much as I could and spotted my car in the lot. I knew that once I was outside, no one could help me. They were all busy on the radio. If Karen’s husband was out there, I was a goner. Be brave, I told myself. And RUN to your car. I opened the door and made a beeline for my getaway vehicle. No one was outside. I guess the truck driver was out trucking around. Sid Stein was safe for another day.
The seminar I attended was actually quite helpful. The materials provided a step by step guide about how to self-publish. I supplemented that information with a book I purchased separately. Self-publishing turned out to be a little harder than I anticipated, but it was an interesting process. For the most part, even though I was learning as I was going, the process went smoothly, except for one thing. The cover. Operating on a shoestring budget, I didn’t have thousands to spend to hire a graphic artist with years of experience in preparing computer-ready art for book covers. So I asked around town and settled on a relatively new graphic arts firm. I had a vision for the book cover. The firm told me it wouldn’t be a problem. They could do it. A couple of weeks later, they emailed a mock up of the cover to me. It didn’t look anything like what I wanted and incorporated copyrighted images stolen from the Internet. Not good, I thought. Idiots!
I had to find someone else. I did fairly quickly. The sister of an accountant who worked for my father was a graphic artist. I met with her at Starbuck’s and gave her an idea of what I wanted. After several attempts over the course of two months, it was clear that this woman had no business being in the graphics art field. She was clueless about what a printer needed. One evening, after I hadn’t heard from her in over a week, I called her from a bar where I was about to see some friends perform. As I was asking about the status of the cover, she gave me the dimensions she used. Totally wrong! Another idiot! After two months, I was back to square one. In the back of my mind, I felt that she didn’t have her heart in the project anyway. I don’t think she liked the subject matter of my book. Not too many young women do.
I was pretty frustrated at this point. I couldn’t do the book cover myself. Indeed, it was the only aspect of the project with which I needed someone else’s help. I explained my sad tale to an acquaintance of mine. He’s a musician who is the sound director for a local theater repertoire company. He said he knew someone who could do the cover. Someone with whom he had worked in the past. He warned me about one thing. The guy was very shy.
And that’s how I met Joe at the Daily Grind on Lark Street. My friend was right. Joe was shy. Still, he seemed to know what he was talking about and quickly said he had a few ideas. He asked me to meet with him a couple of weeks later.
We met at the Daily Grind again. They make a good cup of coffee there. Joe didn’t order any. He’s not a coffee drinker. He suggested it for a meeting because he doesn’t drive and it’s in the neighborhood. By the way, even though I think it’s a good place to get a cup of coffee, I was not very impressed by the coffee beans I bought there for home use. Go and figure.
Joe presented me with four possible covers. I liked them all except for one. WOW! I had a choice. I wasn’t able to choose on the spot, so I told him I would think about which one I liked the best and would get back to him soon. Finally, it seemed like my cover would get done.
I walked out of the Daily Grind happy. It was a sunny day and I had three possible covers to choose from. How to decide? Although there was one design I favored, it was an important decision and I wanted an impartial opinion. As I walked down Lark Street to my car, an impartial opinion presented itself in the form of a funky looking young woman standing outside a used bookstore. She looked very artsy and was adorned in tattoos.
I approached this young woman of about 30, introduced myself and asked her if she wouldn’t mind offering her opinion. She was hardly taken aback by this request from a complete stranger and agreed to look at the covers. She liked the same one I did! Very good, I thought. Affirmation!
It was very fortuitous that I met Karen at all. She was only standing outside at the time because the bookstore she wanted to visit hadn’t opened yet. She was waiting. I wasn’t in a big rush myself, so I stayed to chat with her a while. As it turned out, not only was Karen able to render an impartial opinion, she also was able to give me an educated one. She was an artist. I checked her out a bit. She was cute, but too young for me. Too young for me means that, most likely, she wouldn’t be interested in dating an older man. I later learned how right I was. She liked younger men. We had a very pleasant conversation. She told me that she was in the process of opening a flower shop and invited me to stop by when she did. I thanked her for her help and off I went.
Now that I had a cover, I became consumed with getting my book printed. Joe not only did the cover, but he also formatted the text for the printers. Things went smoothly at this point and my book became a reality soon after.
In the course of my travels through Albany, I noticed that Karen had opened up flower shop. Curious about her shop, and even more curious about Karen, I stopped in. Gone was her funky attire. Nary a tattoo showed. Maybe none at all. Karen looked sweet and sophisticated in her new shop. In her new role as a florist, Karen was transformed. She was conscious of the fact that her street kid friends would not be represented well among her new clientele. With added responsibilities and a business to promote, Karen was suddenly much more mature. I liked the new Karen. She seemed calmer and looked much softer than her street persona.
I discovered that Karen loved to chat. She was even amenable to debating the pros and cons of my book, "A Little on the Side." Not only that, but she offered to sell copies on consignment. A business relationship was forged. And a friendship.
Karen’s shop was on my way downtown, so I would stop in every now and then to chat and check up on my book sales. I also learned a few untidy details about her personal life. Karen liked to discuss them. And discuss them. And discuss them. Her life was in turmoil. Her husband was a brute and she wanted a divorce. Apparently, those truck-driving men lose their appeal at some point. To complicate matters, she was in love with a college student ten years her junior. And if that wasn’t enough, her husband suspected her of having an affair. She was! He was right about that. The only problem was that he suspected she was having an affair with an older man, not a college kid. So what, you ask? Well, for whatever reason, Karen’s husband was convinced that she was having an affair with the same guy who wrote "A Little on the Side - The Married Man’s Ultimate Guide to Cheating or How to Save Your Marriage." He had seen my book displayed at the store and that was enough evidence for him, despite her denials. I told you he was a brutish truck driver, right? To be honest, it’s not like I wouldn’t sleep with her. She is young and cute. But as I said before, she liked younger guys. Karen suggested that I use the name Stuart if her husband ever popped into the store while I was there. Stuart? Where did she come up with that? Hell, if it would save my neck, she could introduce me as Osama bin Laden.
As you might imagine, I didn’t stop into the store without calling in advance. I wanted to make sure that the guy who might know the whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa’s body wasn’t going to come around. No way did I want to end up in the swamps of Jersey for a crime I didn’t commit.
Some time passed. Karen’s husband didn’t seem like he would pose any problem. I was Stuart now. Karen and I were clear on that.
It was February and I was planning on having a book signing at Noche, the new hip, swank lounge in downtown Albany. In conjunction with the book signing, I made arrangements to appear on the radio on Valentine’s Day. I thought it would be funny to discuss my book on the Hallmark holiday of love. It was easy to get the radio gig because a friend was one of the show’s hosts. He told me they would cut a promo and run it during the day before my appearance on his show. I was grateful. Publicity is important when you are trying to sell a book.
Everything was set. Monday night, the day before my spot, my friend emailed me. Actually, he forwarded an email to me. Not everyone was happy about the fact that I was to appear on the radio, least of all, Karen’s husband. Although he didn’t sign the email, it was apparent that he sent it. I don’t think it’s necessary to share the expletive laden details of his missive, but I can summarize it for you. Basically, he couldn’t believe that "The Wolf" (the show’s primary host) would have someone like me on his show. He even included that I was f%#&ing his wife. The tone of the email was irate and moralistic. I found the moralistic aspect quite humorous because "The Wolf" is a typical shock jock in the mold of Howard Stern. The angry tone of the letter was a cause of some concern to me and my friend. After all, it’s not hard to find the radio station. That’s public information. I emailed my friend that Sid Stein could not and would not be intimidated. Yeah, right.
The radio show went great. It was very funny and we all had a good time. Callers were up in arms about my book, but that’s what made the show so funny. At the end of the show, "The Wolf" thanked me for coming, even though he thought I was "despicable." Still on the air, the female host suggested that I should consider hiring a bodyguard before going to my car. I joked that I already had one. I didn’t, of course. I don’t even know where you hire them. I live in Albany. Who has bodyguards here except for maybe the Governor, and I had already pissed them off. (see my post entitled "Sid Stein vs. The State Police)
My friend offered to walk me to my car but I declined. However, I clearly remember the moment I had to leave the building. I got to the glass door, looked around as much as I could and spotted my car in the lot. I knew that once I was outside, no one could help me. They were all busy on the radio. If Karen’s husband was out there, I was a goner. Be brave, I told myself. And RUN to your car. I opened the door and made a beeline for my getaway vehicle. No one was outside. I guess the truck driver was out trucking around. Sid Stein was safe for another day.
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