SELF PUBLISHING ON 800 BUCKS

THE EIGHT FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON PICKS UP VENDOR NUMBER FIVE!


This just in: Tim Anderson of Second Use Building Materials in Seattle, Washington has agreed to carry my new book, The Eight Fingered Criminal's  Son, a kooky collection of quirky stories based on true events. In addition, Big Tim came up with the brilliant marketing strategy of chaining a copy of my new book next to the commode. The boys at Tempe Auto Repair have agreed to follow suit with chained this whole copy of the book in can idea.

Folks, this thing is taking off.


As a side line, Tim Anderson is a six foot ten inch defenseman in the Seattle Recreational Hockey League. Anderson is most proud of the fact that he leads the league in penalty minutes. So don't even think about stealing he copy from his john.


The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son will be available for purchase in November at the following venues:
Lakeside Sports on Beaver Island, Michigan
http://www.beaverisland.org/lakesports/index.html

Island Style Kitchen Designs on Mauii, Hawaii
http://www.islandstyledesigns.com/

Tempe Auto Repair in Tempe, Arizona
http://www.tempeautorepair.com/

GELI Book Store in Bangkok, Thailand

Second Use Building Materials in Seattle, Washington.
http://www.seconduse.com/

And just in case you won't be in Tempe, Seattle, Michigan, Hawaii ot Bangkok in the near future, The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son will be available at this site.

Above is a rendition, sketched by your's truly, of a scene from Dart Safety and the Purple Bikini, one of the stories in The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son.

Watch Tom Jones in the latest promotional video here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5S4Jcl_iRw&feature=player_embedded

Self Publishing on 800 Bucks

Last week I announced my intention to self publish a collection of stories called The Eight Fingered Criminal’s Son. Going by the comments on my little blog proclamation, I can safely state that no less than twelve people are now aware that my book will soon be published.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re right. Baby, this thing is big.

In case you missed the announcement, a book store in Thailand has agreed to carry the book. Yeah, The Eight Fingered Criminal’s Son will be available soon at a book store near you, if you happen to live in Bangkok, Thailand.

The book will also be on my web site and from the trunk of my car. I just think it’s cool that my first book store is in Bangkok.

Here are my latest moves:

Budget
My budget is 800 bucks. I spent 14 bucks taking my Indie filmmaker to the Village The film guy thinks he contracted food poisoning, Nice start, huh? I have 786 dollars left in budget.

Publicity
Somehow, I convinced a couple of independent filmmakers to help me shoot a 45 second promotional video this week. Watch for the video on Face Book, You Tube and Blogger.

Editing
I used to say I wouldn’t self publish anything unless it was edited by a pro with a legit track record. Come to think of it, I also used to say I’d never self publish. The point is I did a little research on genuine editors with legit track records and I learned these people cost a lot of money. I do not have a lot of money; therefore, I’ve enlisted three friends; a technical writer and two outstanding teachers to give my stories the once over for glaring typos or errors I may have missed.

Printing
Several people have steered me to Lulu. I’m having trouble getting concrete prices from these people. I spent a few hours researching printing and book publishing companies. The cost of a hundred books seems to range from five hundred to several thousand bucks. There are several printers within driving distance of my house; working with one of these outfits would save shipping costs. I don’t plan to print until late October, so I’ll take my time on this the most expensive aspect of publishing and printing my first hundred books.

Watch for the epic promotional video and I’ll keep you posted on the process. Many of you have shared information and advice. Thank you and please, keep the pointers coming.

If you’re thinking of self publishing you need to check out this article.

http://reviews.cnet.com/self-publishing/


I dug up this sketch in an old journal. I'm thinking it might serve as a rough draft for the cover.

"The Worst Waterman in the World (1986)"

A Short Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“The Worst Waterman in the World (1986)"
by W.Z Snyder

© 2006 William Snyder

I may have been the worst waterman ever to wear the Sparklettes uniform. Two and a half years out of college, I had experienced short careers as a bad insurance claims adjuster, a fairly satisfied landscaper’s assistant, a stand up comedian, a cable television host, and a waiter. I also had forked over three hundred bucks in order to earn a certificate from the American School of Bartending. Believing I was headed nowhere; I decided it was time to take on a real job. A friend had a Sparkletts Water route and was pulling a good income. He put a word in for me and I was quickly hired. My official starting position was that of a relief waterman, meaning I took other water guys’ routes when they called in sick or on vacation. Sometimes the directions were good and sometimes they were not. As I mentioned, I was a terrible relief waterman, constantly getting lost and often coming in from my routes long after the sun went down. While I absolutely hated the job, I did undergo some memorable experiences. Delivering water allowed me to see how a true cross section of Los Angelinos lived. I entered thousands of homes over my six months with Sparkletts, delivering water to the wealthiest neighborhoods and the poorest neighborhoods, as well as some of the toughest parts of town.

The scariest place I delivered water was called The Jungle. It was a giant cul-de-sac, probably a half-mile long, located in South Los Angeles. The regular water guy was a former NBA basketball player named Randy Smith. I was assigned to take his route the week he vacationed in Spain. It’s strange for me to imagine a guy delivering water in The Jungle one week and sipping sangria on a Spanish beach the next. Hell, it’s strange to imagine a guy plummeting from professional athlete to waterman. But I guess life is like that. You might think delivering water would be an enormous financial step down for a former professional athlete, but some water guys were pulling in six figures. And this was the mid eighties. Randy had played into the late seventies when NBA salaries were nowhere near the infinitesimal amounts that have become commonplace today. Randy gave me perfect instructions for the route. He had been robbed at gunpoint while working his route more than once. The man talked about being robbed matter of factly. I didn't get the idea he felt anger or fear over the situation. To Randy, the experience of staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and the probability that it would happen again were just part of the territory. It was one of the most lucrative routes in LA and he was willing to take a little yin with his yang. Or is it yang with his yin?

“Bill, you got to be part of the streets. Blend in. Don’t ask no questions. And you don’t want nobody thinking you scared. They’ll eat you up if they do, Bill. An’ keep a twenty with you all the time, cause if somebody wanna rob you, you better have somethin’ for ‘em.”

The Bloods street gang controlled this neighborhood. There were a couple of big ferocious dudes in red sitting on the hoods of cars on either side of the street at the entrance to the Jungle. The same two guys were there each day. I never looked at them, just drove right by, giving it my best to blend in with the scenery. I followed Randy’s advice to the letter; keeping that crisp twenty-dollar bill in my pocket, ready to give it up at any time. When the gang-bangers approached I was fully prepared reach into my pocket and pull out that twenty. I kept waiting for someone to stick a gun in my face but it never happened. The boys in red never said boo to me. With Randy’s precise directions, there were no surprises. My week in the Jungle ran snag free. As a matter of fact, it was the only route I finished on time every day.

I delivered a lot of water to poor Mexican illegal immigrants. Being from Mexico, they didn’t trust the same LA tap water I drank every day of my life. At what point did we as Americans become convinced we need to pay ridiculous prices for the same H2O that comes cheap out of the faucet? I suppose I should climb down off of the fence and state that I believe this whole bottled water business is an Emperor’s New Clothes kind of story. The day is going to come when someone sells people special purified air for ten bucks a bottle. Most of the homes were neat and clean inside. Dinnertime deliveries were especially tough because the food smelled so damned good. I can still savor the mouthwatering aroma of frijoles and tamales being prepared in those tiny kitchens. I’m telling you it was murder. I was usually far behind schedule and wouldn’t be eating until much later. Another thing worth mentioning is that these poor Mexicans who worked for less than minimum wage always paid their bills on time. More than once, I came upon vacant apartments with little white envelopes addressed aguacero (water man). The people had gone back to Mexico but made it a point to pay what they owed. I guess to them, it was about honor.

You can read this story in it's entirety in DART SAFETY AND THE PURPLE BIKINI AND OTHER ADVENTURES OF THE EIGHT FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON. See current postings for information on how to purchace the book.