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24May/130

And I Am an Alcoholic

A never-before-released short story I wrote a year or so ago.  I had totally forgot about it, just stumbled upon it, and though I should release it.

 

And I Am An Alcoholic

 

 

by Aaron Goldfarb

 

 

Adam had been going to meetings for a solid month but had yet to speak.  Every Wednesday afternoon at 4, he’d drag his ass to the YWCA basement, and just sit there and listen.  He didn’t know if that was technically “allowed,” but these didn’t exactly seem like the kind of people who followed everything to the letter of the law.

Typically between seven and eighteen attended the meetings, drawing from a group of four dozen Adam would have estimated. There were nine of them at this week’s meeting.  Next to Adam sat Cindy.  She was only in her thirties but looked like she’d been around for Armstrong’s moon landing.  The previous week, she’d told an unbelievably disgusting story about once having given a homeless dude a blowjob for a sip—just a sip!—of his booze.  If Adam wasn’t repulsed enough, Cindy then went into graphic detail about the odor that blasted her face when the pulled down his jeans in that back alley.  About the stray lint and mold—yes, she said mold!—caked onto his matted pubic hair.  About how she thought she even saw a critter—a louse or a crab!—but how she went through with it any way because she had no other options.  Fuck, just so she could have a long tug from his Early Times.

Thank you for sharing, Cindy.

Across from Adam sat a worthless blob of shit named Charlie.  Charlie wore dusty overalls, flannel shirts, and starched stiff hats with a rope across the back of the bill and patches on the front face explaining what kind of veteran he was, if you knew how to comprehend those kind of things.  He attended all the meetings, every single week, and always had a new, boring ass story to tell everyone.  Last week he had told one about the time he drank so many “Blue Lights” while ice fishing that he’d passed out with one of his hands down the hole, only to wake up with severe frostbite.  But, Adam quickly noticed he still had and was using both his hands and all ten fingers—one and five to drink the shitty Folger’s Crystals, the other and five to literally dunk a donut into the aforementioned shitty coffee—that the story didn’t hold much weight in Adam’s mind.  This week, Charlie had already wasted ten minutes on another lame-o tale.  Adam’s mind drifted during it as he inhaled the strong stench of chlorine from the swimming pool on the same level, listening to the shouts from some old lady Water-obics class, Adam just anxiously waiting for the next person to tell their stories as Charlie refused to stop gabbing in the way old people do.  Going on and on about the time he chugged so much red wine he fell asleep in the audience during his daughter’s ballet recital.  That’s what red wine—and children’s ballet!—usually makes you do, thought Adam.  Yawn.

Thank you for sharing, Charlie.

Next to Charlie, amazingly, actually listening to his boring story, even nodding along in sympathy, was this dork Rob.  It wasn’t quite clear why he attended these meetings as he seemed to have his shit together.  All of Rob’s stories were predicated on the fact he’d once been a successful broker for J.P. Morgan.  Vice President.  Nice house.  Nice car.  Nice wife.  Boring life.  So he’d said.  Until he’d gotten a homebrewing kit as a gift one Christmas and fallen in love with the hobby.

Soon, Rob was spending what little free time he had in the family garage brewing beer.  He had little time but he had a whole lotta money and he eventually decided to quit his day job and open a craft micro-brewery in an abandoned warehouse in Orange County.  Heroes & Villains Ales & Lagers he called it.  Adam thought that was, admittedly, a cool start to a story, but unfortunately Rob’s stories never got more interesting than that.  Each week was just another pathetic installment about how the brewery hemorrhaged his money, forced him to cash out (with penalties!) his 401K, lost him his wife and eventually his house, and left him with nothing…except to resorting to drinking himself blotto every single night on, you guessed it, his own beer that no one else wanted to buy in the first place because it was shitty beer.  How circular.  How boring.

Thank you for sharing (another shitty story), Rob.

“OK, who’s next?  You ready yet, Adam?”

Adam looked around nervously at all the anonymous faces he knew more things about than any of his own family members, friends, co-workers.  The sad faces of generally the same people he saw every single week, the same boring people with the same boring, shitty stories he’d now been subjected to for a month.  He was beginning to wonder if his idea would ever even pay off.

“No.  No.  Sorry, no, Mike.  I’m just not…ready…to share yet.”

“And that’s OK, Adam.  With time.  I’m still glad you’ve taken the first step to attend these meetings, though.  That’s the most important thing.  And I hope you’re learning that…we’re just like you.  All right, all right, then who’s next?  Perhaps you, sir.  I don’t believe we’ve met you before, is this your first meeting…?”

“Uh…Shawn.  Not yet, no.  I’m Shawn.  Yes, this is my first.”

“Hi Shawn!”

“And…I, uh, am an alcoholic.”

Shawn wasn’t that old, or bad looking, but he looked like he had very recently been young and very good-looking.  With a slightly receding hairline masked by a skilled haircut, nice clothes and expensive shoes, one could have never told that Shawn was an alcoholic.  Alcoholics, they’re just like us! thought Adam.

“I grew up drinking from an early age.  That’s what life’s like in a showbiz family.  Uh, sorry, if you didn’t know, my father is—”

“Uhn uhn uh.  No need, Shawn.”

“Right.  Well, you’d have heard of him and you wouldn’t need IMDB, that’s for sure.  There were always lavish parties around my house.  Kids were treated like adults.  And by that I mean we could do what we wanted.  What was our maid Flora going to do when she caught me nipping my old man’s Cognac?  Rat on me and risk losing her job, getting herself FedExed back to fucking Peru?!  What caterer was going to stop me from guzzling champagne at my father’s 50th birthday party back when I was only 11?  And risk out on a massive tip at the end of the night?  No way.  No fucking way.

“And it was no way for a child to be raised.  My wealth and success were a guarantee I didn’t need to be good at school or sports…or life.  I only needed to be good at doing nothing.  And when you have nothing to do, boozing is the easiest ‘something’ to do.  Soon I was drinking before school and after school.  Sometimes even during.  Vodka in my OJ carton.  I’m not sure whether no one noticed…or no one cared.  I’m not sure which would be worse.

“At age 13 I lost my virginity to a very famous child star who now is also in rehab—my pops was working with her.  Now I was addicted to sex too.  I know what you’re thinking:  all horny little teenage boys are addicted to sex.  Yes, I’m sure that’s true.  But very few have the fame, wealth, access, and controlled substances I had.  The stage mothers pimping out their daughters to me, just so afterward I might possibly mention to my father over dinner, ‘You know pops, I really think little Maddie could resonate with a family audience.’  Right, as if my family and I ever once even sat down together at the dinner table.  Not once did we.

“By the time I reached my twenties, I was jaded.  Nothing thrilled me any more.  But, even worse, nothing scared me.  And, when nothing scares you, you become a very scary human being.”

Shawn looked on the verge of tears, on the verge of truly breaking up.  Adam watched and listened in, for once at one of these loser meetings, completely riveted.  This is what he had been waiting for.

“Three months ago was the last time I had a drink.  I remember…I remember I’d been drinking and smoking weed all afternoon by my pool…and all by myself.  Not cause I wanted to, but cause I really have no friends.  I was drinking martinis.  And by ‘martinis,’ I mean straight gin with just a single olive…”

Adam smirked, audibly, but no one else in the room did.

“I remember being hungry, really craving a burger, but since help didn’t work weekends I had no way to easily get one.  Of course, I have no idea how to cook.  I don’t even really know how to go to a grocery store.  So, what do a guy like me do?  I decided to drive to the Chateau Marmont nearby.  Who does that?!  Their stupid burger costs like $50.  I didn’t even change out of my swimsuit or put on any shoes, I just slung a towel around my neck and drove to the hotel.

“The valet said nothing because I always tip him well, and the bartender didn’t either, perhaps because I was being somewhat behaved for once, famished, just quietly inhaling my cheeseburger, wiping my greasy, bloody face on the beach towel still hanging around my neck, drinking more and more ‘martinis.’

Adam again smiled at the mention of ‘martinis,’ though no one else in the room did.

“I remember the bar beginning to fill up as it got later in the evening.  Pretty people, beautiful people, successful, wealthy, famous people.  Lindsey was there. That guy from Mad Men sat down beside me. I pretended like I didn’t know who he was, even though we’d met at an Emmy’s party a few weeks earlier.  Soon we were doing coke in the bathroom.

“Eventually, women were surrounding us both.  Skanks they were, pardon my…misogyny.  But they were fucking skanks.  There were always skanks around me, anxious to trade their attention, implants, and pussy for my money, drugs, lifestyle…access to fame.

“But like always, I’d soon grown tired with the scene and wanted to go home.  But not alone.  I was in no mood to be alone.  So I picked out the three girls I wanted to have a foursome with.  Yes, a foursome.  You other men here probably don’t even realize the certain, how should I put it, depravity that a very elite group of men like me have access to.  And which you don’t.

“Now, of course, none of these skanks have cars, certainly not ones I’d ride in, so we have to take mine.  I may be wasted and making terrible decision after terrible decision, but somewhere in the recesses of my brain, there must have been one sober brain cell that doesn’t think:  ‘Hey, drunk driving is bad,’ but instead thinks:  ‘There’s no fucking way the valet will ever give me back my car in my current condition.’  It doesn’t matter who I am, doesn’t matter how much I tip him, there’s simply too much liability (and future bad press) for a hotel of this stature.  So I come up with a plan.

“Like Ocean’s 11 the three skanks and I sneak into the valet parking lot and, after awhile, somehow find my car.  Success!  Only…one problem:  how to start the fucking thing?  Because who has my keys?  Why the valet of course.  All hope is lost.  Until…I notice something.  There’s a tow truck idling in the lot and, wouldn’t you know it, lucky me, the keys are in the ignition.

“I don’t really recall the specifics, but the skanks and I must have flipped my Porsche into neutral to roll it up onto the tow, and we were soon in business.  I peeled out of the parking lot, the tow truck dragging my Porsche behind it, two of the skanks in the front of my tiny Porsche, the ugliest of the three—and, believe me, she was still a fucking “10”—I’d forced to ride in the trunk.  I’d never driven a tow truck before, certainly not shitfaced, so I wasn’t used to the handling.  As the tow truck sped out of the parking lot, the momentum sling shot the Porsche around behind it, taking out the valet stand.  Luckily, the valets were inside so no one was hurt.  Even more luckily…they called the cops on me.

“The police eventually found me in my master bedroom in the midst of transitioning from a threesome to a foursome.  I’d left the front door wide open and parked the tow truck and Porsche right in my flower bed.  According to the police report, I feigned ignorance, trying to claim I was actually a ‘highly successful’ tow truck driver, which I guess would explain all the women and the $3 million house.  I don’t even remember saying any of that.

“I’m being sued by the Chateau and the three women, my license is currently suspended, and I’ll probably go to jail for a long, long while for driving two cars under the influence.  It’s somewhat unprecedented, even in this vile city.  Grand theft tow truck, I suppose.”

Again Adam smirked, thinking Shawn was trying to be funny.  He wasn’t.

“But that’s all fine with me.  I’ve actually never felt better because I haven’t had a drink since that terrible night—and I never plan to have another one ever again.”

The group applauded and shouted out encouragement to Shawn.

For once, even Adam joined in, trying the hide the huge smile on his face and the ideas swirling in his head:

“Thank you for sharing, Rob.”

Adam was slightly late in arriving to his blind date at the Thai restaurant on La Brea.  His date Bridget was fidgeting with her iPhone when he arrived, an annoyed look on her face.  Her gorgeous face.  When he’d discovered fidgety Bridget’s profile on Match.com, Adam was smitten, even if her bio story was boring.  He all but begged her to go on a date with him.

Email after email, she’d refused for awhile—until finally relenting after he’d suggested meeting at this particular pricy and trendy Thai restaurant.  In his year of online dating, Adam had learned that suggesting a nice spot was usually enough to land a date, but never enough to land anything more.  That sucked.

Before he’d even sat down, Adam apologized for being tardy, explaining that it had taken him forever to find a parking spot on the busy street, which it truly had.

“Well why didn’t you just valet it?” Bridget snottily wondered.

“Because…well, let’s just say, you don’t want to know what happened the last time I used a valet.”

Bridget raised her eyebrows, intrigued, as Adam took his seat and leaned in close, like he was sharing a state secret.

“So I was sitting around the pool, drinking a few martinis—and by ‘martinis,’ I mean straight gin and one olive, when I really had a craving for a cheeseburger…”

Bridget smiled, amused, subtly tucking her iPhone back into her purse.

“Which, before I go on, shall we order a couple drinks?  Martinis for both of us?”

 

*

 

“Hi, my name is Adam.  And I am an…alcoholic.”

“Hi Adam!”

“If you live in this city and you’re single, well, it seems you have to drink.  Let me tell you, I’ve never been a particularly interesting guy.  Smart and clever, maybe, but never interesting.  Never been one of those guys with a so-called ‘great personality.”  And I drive a real shitty car too.  Not something like Shawn has.  Had.  Sorry, Shawn.”

Shawn nodded, “no problem.”

“I’d gone on countless dates.  Internet dates, I couldn’t even meet a girl legitimately.  One date a week or so.  None of them were a success.  At all.  You know why?  Because I didn’t have anything interesting to say.  Whether you want to admit it or not, dates are entertainment for women.  Dates are showbiz.  You, the man, are the performer, and she is your paying customer.  Although, you’re usually the one actually paying—hey, how’s that work?!

“So I decided to do something about it.  I wanted to be one of those guys with cool, awesome, hilarious stories.  A Tucker Max type.  So I started going out and drinking heavily.  Beers and vodka and shots.  Whatever was put in front of my face, went down my face.  Even Jaeger.  And, I assumed, by simply doing that, by simply drinking a ton, that amazing things would start to happen to me.  Crazy hookups and funny confrontations and maybe even a bar fight or two.  Anything for a story, right?  Then I’d finally be an interesting man with a few killer anecdotes to liven up any date.

“But you know what?  None of that shit happened to me!  Nothing happened to me, in fact, except I became the guy passing out and slobbering all over himself in the corner of the bar.  That wasn’t helping my sex life at all.  So I put those days to rest and devised a new…life strategy.  With help from all of you.

“Last week, I had a first date with this girl Bridget.  Gorgeous.  In my past life, I would have bored her to tears.  Talked about the traffic and weather and street parking problems in Los Angeles and gotten so drunk that…who knows.  But now—this time—because I was following this new strategy in my life, she hung onto every single word I said, even laughing until she had hiccups.

“And, let’s just say, the night didn’t end until morning.”

Adam smiled, proud of himself, as the group applauded him, shouting out words of encouragement (“See, that’s what happens when you clean up!”  “Way to date sober!”  “Good job kicking the habit!”)

Adam couldn’t wait for his second date with Bridget.

Adam couldn’t wait to meet up with her at the bar that night.

Adam couldn’t wait to hear another AWESOME story from Shawn.

Thank you for sharing, Adam.

 

If you enjoyed this, please check out my collection of short stories about sex, the sexes, and sexiness in New York City, The Cheat Sheet.

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25Mar/131

How To Make an Audiobook

When they say an author is "accessible," that usually means he's stupid enough to give out his contact information to anyone who would possibly want it.  Like me.  aaron@aarongoldfarb.com.  It's on my website, in my books, usually in the byline of freelance stuff I write, and probably even scrawled in some of New York's finer cocktail bar bathrooms.  This means, I get a LOT of unsolicited emails.

Most of it is from nice, normal people who wants to offer a compliment, or a comment, or just shoot the shit.  The shat is usually shot and I've even become friends with some of these people.  Other emails are from crazy people.  Those have their own special charm.  But the email topic I get written to about most--aside from, "Honey, why don't you call your mother more often?"--is why I don't have an audiobook.

NOW I DO.


 

I never realized people listened to so many books.  I suppose that makes sense considering my own little three-year experiment called "Trying to Sell Books You Have to Actually Read" has determined:  no one really reads any more.  Personally, I'd never listened to a single audiobook in my life, but if people wanted a "How to Fail" audiobook--and if that's what they were waiting for before they would finally "read" my book--I would give them one.

But how?

I obviously wanted to self-publish it, but that still brought forth two conundrums:

1.  I'm a fine enough actor to narrate the book, but had no time nor energy to spend hours upon hours actually doing the recording.

2.  Professional recordings can be expensive/at-home recordings amateur hour.  I have a four-year-old macbook that constantly gives me the spinning rainbow of death and I live above the constant dynamite explosions of Second Avenue Subway construction.  There was no I could record it at home.  No way I was going to shell out an expected $2000-$5000 for professional recording time.

So I emailed Audible and asked them what the heck I should do.

And they pointed me toward ACX--one of the poorest promoted websites in the universe, but one of the most indispensable websites for authors.

[The rest of this post is going to read as if ACX paid me to promote them, but I swear they didn't.  I simply had such a wonderful experience with the company that I want to reign down infinite hosannas on them...as well as let other authors know about this incredible (and incredibly poorly-promoted) website.]

ACX is essentially the Kindle Direct Publishing for audiobooks.  It's even owned by Amazon, which makes it weird it's so poorly promoted.  Oh well.

The steps in going from written book to audiobook are a breezy seven-fold:

1.  Accept auditions

I uploaded the first chapter of "How to Fail" in late October just to see what would happen.  My hopes were low, but within hours I was getting numerous auditions sent me.  Human-beings across the world were actually recording Chapter One of my book, hoping I would select them to record the entire thing.

I got several dozen of these auditions within the first 48 hours.  100% of the auditions were "professional."  Impressively so.  Many didn't fit the bill whatsoever for the voice I had in mind.  They were too gruff or too "old" or didn't quite hit the right cadences and notes of comedy for "How to Fail." A few men did really nail their auditions, though, and within days I picked one:  Kevin Killavey.

2.  Hire a guy

Kevin (and his sound engineer girlfriend) already had an impressive audiobook resume including a Phillip K. Dick work and "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (which hit #1), so I knew I was getting some true pros.

Per ACX's contract, I could choose to either pay Kevin an hourly rate (usually in the $200/hour range), or simply give him 50% of future profits.  Wanting to make him an invested partner--and not wanting to spend any of my own money--I chose the latter.  This would also mean I gave all sales rights exclusively to Amazon, ACX, Audible, and iTunes for the next 7 years.  That seemed fine to me considering there's really no other place to buy audiobooks nowadays (famous last words).

Before I fully hired Kevin, he had to submit the first fifteen minutes of the book to me in a timely fashion.  He did, the recording was excellent, and we proceeded from there.

3.  Hang out for a long time while said guy does all the work

I started this process in mid-November, and honestly wanted the audiobook to be ready for Christmas sales.  Unfortunately, flawlessly recording and producing nine hours of material can take a damn long time.  Fortunately, the author (me!) doesn't have to do anything during this process.  I suppose you can crack an e-whip every so often, but Kevin's a busy guy (shooting zombie movies) and I wanted a quality audiobook produced more than I needed one quickly produced.

4.  Listen to recording and offer edits

Sometime around early January, Kevin submitted to me his nine-ish hour cut of the entire book.  Now was my turn to go to work.  I carefully listened to the entire recording in whole, an open copy of "How to Fail" in front of me at all times.  Truth be told, I was BLOWN AWAY at Kevin's comedy chops.  All the comedic cadences, satire, and subtle ironic humor he NAILED.  Just like it sounded in my head when I wrote the book.  Even better, he was remarkable at shifting voice between characters (he could seriously pull off some Lennay Kekua shit if he wanted to).  Though I assumed I would have done a fine job narrating my own book, I could have never done what he did.  He truly made it come alive.

Throughout the entire nine hour recording, I only found 19 errors (mostly minor stuff, and much better than the number of errors in the paperback!).  I submitted my error list back to Kevin, and then went back to sipping pina coladas on the beach.

5.  Hang out for a shorter time

Within a few weeks, he re-submitted the recording to me.  I checked to see if and how he had fixed all 19 errors--he had, nicely--and then I...

6.  Approve book

Approved the book.  Which involves clicking one button if I recall.  Very simple.  I also had to upload a cover JPEG.  The rest of the meta-data of "How to Fail" was already re-appropriated from the book's Amazon profile.

Total hours personally invested:  ~12 hours (9 of them listening to the audiobook)
Total dollars personally invested:  $0

7.  Sell book

Two weeks or so later, "How to Fail" the audiobook appeared on AUDIBLE.

A few days later, it appeared on both AMAZON and iTUNES.

And now, I ask that you please buy it.  It's truly the best audiobook I have ever heard.  If you hate reading, you'll love listening.

Listen to a free sample.


Listen to a free sample.

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25Mar/130

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8Feb/134

Everything I’ve Ever Written

Any biography of me currently lists me as having written one to perhaps three things.  Of course, that's hardly the truth.  The other day I was thinking about how much stuff one has to actually write before they can produce work good enough that the world actually wants it.  So, I decided to make a real bibliography and list every major thing I have ever written, the vast majority of which, you will see, have never seen the light of day.

Fort's Brain [2000] -- (feature film screenplay) terrible college script.

Gatsby Returns [2001] -- (feature film screenplay) slightly less terrible college script.

The Good Life [2001] -- (feature film screenplay) co-written with Tim Calpin, named after a Weezer song. An American Pie rip-off written in 30 days. Landed us a manager (sort of) and then was optioned by an independent film producer who never paid us because he got divorced and his wife took him for a bath.

Cracker [2001] -- (feature film screenplay) co-written with Tim Calpin.  A comedic safecracking movie.

Dandy [2003] -- (feature film screenplay) co-written with Tim Calpin.  Dark comedy, won a Slamdance screenwriting award though I can't find any proof of that online.

How to Fail [2004] -- (feature film screenplay) Based on a great idea I turned into a terrible screenplay.  For the moment...

Without Men [2004] -- (feature film screenplay) Dark comedy that posited a world in which all the men had died in wars and women were the only thing left.

Heroes & Villains [2005] -- (novel) Action drama about a police strike in New York.

Heroes & Villains [2005] -- (feature film screenplay) Written after I couldn't quite finish the novel and decided the concept might work better as a movie.  It didn't.

A Better You!!! [2005] -- (feature film screenplay) Comedy optioned several different times by several different people.  Made me some money but was never produced.  I still think it's a pretty viable property.

Jesse's Toy Box [2006] -- (half-hour TV series) First four episodes and show bible written about a sex toys shop in bible belt Florida.  Received a lot of interest and then Seth Rogen fucked up my shit.  If I have a single "labor of love," it might be this.  My favorite thing I've ever written and I still hope to make it one day.

Trophy Husbands [2007]-- (feature film screenplay) Optioned for a minimal amount by a man I'm pretty sure was a con artist.  He now uses a different name online.

Proud Papa [2007] -- (feature film screenplay) Comedy about the world's greatest (accidental) sperm donor.

Lied Life [2007] -- (feature film screenplay) I can't even really remember what this was about, but I recall it was inspired by Michael Clayton and was probably pretty crappy.

Subbing [2008] -- (feature film screenplay) Co-written with Anton Azucar based on his years as a substitute teacher.  Comedy in no way based on the-more famous Tom Berrenger vehicle.

Everybody's Famous [2008] - (feature film screenplay) Dark comedy satire about a dystopian world where everyone is...famous.

Par for the Course [2008] -- (half-hour TV series) Pilot episode and bible about life on a low-level pro golf tour.

Homeschool U [2008] -- (feature film screenplay) Dark comedy about the most home-schooled children of all time.

[redacted] [2009] -- (feature film screenplay) Comedy screenplay based on an idea by Craig T. Wood.

The Honey Trap [2010] -- (stageplay) I don't even like attending plays, but I still tried to write one. Received decent attention and a reading was nearly put together. I can't recall why it fell apart.

How to Fail:  The Self-Hurt Guide [2010] -- (novel) FINALLY, the first major project of mine an Average Joe could actually consume!

The Cheat Sheet [2010] -- (short story collection)

The References [2012] -- (half-hour TV series) Co-written with Jake Hart.  Pilot episode and bible based on the first short story in The Cheat Sheet.  Currently making the rounds in Hollywood.

Drunk Drinking [2012] -- (essay collection)  Self-published.

[redacted] [2013] -- (feature film screenplay) Co-written with Jake Hart.  High-concept action movie.  Currently making the rounds in Hollywood.

[redacted] [2013-2014] -- (novels) Three upcoming novels, manuscripts mostly finished.

Three Rings [2013] -- (one-hour TV series)  Co-created with a Brooklyn producer.

TOTALS:

17 feature film screenplays
4 television series created
1 stageplay
0 produced (as of right now)

7 books written
3 published (as of right now)

 

So there you have it.  Wow, I can't even believe I've written so much stuff--that you can't ever read or see.  Maybe 10% of work I've created has been released to the masses.  That's kind of depressing.

I'd love my fellow writers out there to do likewise.  Give it a try, and pass this along.

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5Dec/120

Aaron Goldfarb Holiday Gifts

This year, I wanted to offer personally autographed copies of HOW TO FAIL and THE CHEAT SHEET to the FIRST 25 people interested in each.  Order by December 15 and I'll guarantee them by Christmas. I'll sign them to whomever and write anything you want.

FREE shipping in North America.  (If you want it shipped elsewhere, send me an email aaron@aarongoldfarb.com to discuss)

HOW TO FAIL: THE SELF-HURT GUIDE

autographed, $30.00


 

THE CHEAT SHEET

autographed, $25


 

AUTOGRAPHED DUO


both autographed, $50


 

As I said, I'll write whatever nasty (or friendly) note you want inside of the books.  Want to zing your boss, blast an ex, tell mom to suck it?  Just tell me what you want me in the "special instructions" area on check-out.  Like this girl, who wanted me to call a slutty friend of hers a slut:

I also still have some sordid HOW TO FAIL t-shirts available, perfect if you don't have a gift for mom or dad yet:

Sorry Jews.  Just realized Hanukkah starts this weekend.  SHIT.

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10Aug/123

Conversations With A Fan

I respond to pretty much every single person that writes me (aaron@aarongoldfarb.com), but I never debate the merits of my writing with any one...unless they're a maniac.

Everything below is clearly (sic) and *SPOILER ALERT* too:

On Sun, Jul 8, 2012 at 6:10 PM, [redacted] wrote:

Do you know the three attributes to keep you out of prison???
They are marital status, drug use, and education
Also the ending was weak. Not everybody can paint,by the way painting are ex cons favorite occupations. This ending was like I won the lottery,. No character development of partner alcohol and gf promblems disappear?? Have you read american pyscho that was I thought you were going
Hope this helps [redacted]

*

From: Aaron Goldfarb
Date: Jul 9, 2012 9:07 AM
Subject: Re: Review
To: [redacted]

[Redacted],

Thanks for writing. I enjoyed reading your note. As you might guess, I get a lot of emails (I suppose that's what happens when you put your email address on your book cover!). I respond to most all of them, but I usually don't address critical takes on my book. But something about your email compelled me to...

Do you know the three attributes to keep you out of prison???
They are marital status, drug use, and education

I didn't.

Now Stu is certainly not married, but aside from beer and booze he doesn't really do any drugs, and as mentioned in Chapter 1 (pages 1 and 2) he has a pretty good educational background: ("...a high I.Q., honors classes, a high school class presidency, athletic skills and accomplishments, science fair awards, writing prizes, a happy disposition, a winning smile, 99th percentile SAT score, “Most Likely to Succeed” senior year, the love of family, the adoration of friends and the opposite sex, and scholarship acceptance to a top fifty American university.  My success continued in college where I graduated magna cum laude (Latin for “only drinks five nights a week,” summa cum laude meaning “only drinks three nights a week”)...

The third one you never used and the other two you were guilty. Why didn't your character not end in prison.

As Stu says, again in Chapter 1 (pages 4 and 5): As a failure, things can’t get much worse. I’m not a ticking time bomb. There will be no climactic point at which said bomb explodes and I kill myself accidentally or get busted for shrooms at Newark International. I’m not Len Bias or Darryl Strawberry or Courtney Love or Keith Moon. I’m just your garden variety fuck up. I’m haunted by demons but they aren’t very potent demons. They’re lazy, failure demons just like their possessor. They stand on my left shoulder and goad me into drinking massive amounts of booze, stupidly spending my little money, falling ass backwards into unpleasant intercourse with fatties and uglies, screwing up job interviews, and calling the wrong kinds of people “douchebag.”

Also the ending was weak. Not everybody can paint,by the way painting are ex cons favorite occupations.

As Stu mentions in Chapter 4 (pages 76 and 77), he had spent a whole summer painting houses and really enjoyed it: The only job I've ever enjoyed was a blue collar one. Back in the summer between sophomore and junior year of college, Keith convinced me that instead of interning at some stuffy office, waitering, bagging groceries, we should get a house in South Carolina and golf every day.  Our first day in North Myrtle Beach, we saw a rich local loading some day-laborers into a pickup truck and asked him about work, needing some coin to facilitate our golfing lifestyle. Mr. Showalter was having his gigantic guest house painted and was thrilled to have two English-speaking boys up for the low-paying job. Low-paying for a true adult, sure, but for us, ten dollars an hour was phenomenal.

This ending was like I won the lottery,. No character development of partner alcohol and gf promblems disappear??

I'm not quite sure how the ending was like him winning the lottery. He is still a drinker of alcohol (though, as he mentioned on page 359, he just has "a few beers"), his girlfriend problems have only disappeared in the sense that he doesn't think about Ash any more, but he STILL has no real money and STILL sleeps on a couch--just this time in an apartment he shares in Queens with a buddy. Doesn't seem like much of a "lottery win" to me. Though you might disagree.

However, one thing has changed: his mental outlook on life. Whereas before Stu was depressed about all the things he didn't have in life that a successful person (like his rich friends) would have, by the end of the book he's learned that success in life is just in being happy. And you can do that simply by changing your attitude and accepting yourself. Which he has done.

Have you read american pyscho that was I thought you were going

One of my all-time favorites.

Hope this helps [redacted]

It did. Hope my replies helped.

Would love if you'd add your review to my Amazon page.

Aaron

Aaron note:  Tip for fellow authors, you always ask for an Amazon review.

*

On Tue, Jul 10, 2012 at 12:19 AM, [redacted] wrote:

Let me explain better the 3 attributes
Marital statue means your life as a child and life as an adult
You lost your job and you couldn't go tell your parents, so you have no support from them. Of course you aren't going to let a gf tell you what to do. I don't have to tell you a bunch of men would be dead or whatever if they didn't listen to women. That's marital status

Everybody works with stupid people, even though your character is highly educated, but he didn't use his schooling.another fact college graduates are about 4 percent.. you did a good job describing how miserable he was. That causes the drinking

Drinking makes you make bad decisions which your character did not. A lot of crappy things happen to him. What dumb things did he do????

Another fact. Do you know the highest group of people who commit suicide
They are homosexual teenagers, I thought it was interesting that you pick woman as your home saving for you rather than two men

One more thing I absolutely hated the chapter where everybody apologized. What did you learn, all of them were wrong where is the lesson on how to fail. Did you have a Holden moment or once everybody says sorry you are successful.

I have known many rich and smart people in prison. Its just that you hit all the danger points and managed to become successful
By doing what?????

I just was surprised by the ending.

Hope this help explain myself better [redacted]

*

On Wed, Jul 11, 2012 at 7:45 AM, Aaron Goldfarb wrote:

Thanks. I truly enjoyed reading that.

 

Remember this, fellow authors, for the next time you consider making your email address readily available.

 

 


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25Jul/1234

How Amazon Users Steal Books

This piece was bought by a major publication back in January, but they were too scared to run it.  So I decided to take it back and just run it myself unedited.

How Amazon Users Steal Books

 

by

 

Aaron Goldfarb


The arrest of German-Finnish superhacker (and future Mike-Myers-in-makeup-and-a-fat-suit movie character) Kim Dotcom and the seizure of his website Megaupload has left college kids fuming and me concerned about one very important issue:

How will people continue stealing my books?

Back in 1970 Abbie Hoffman encouraged people to steal his book with a titular directive, but that old-fashioned way of illegally torrenting is not really practical any more.  Mainly because you don’t see bookstores around and even if you do they’re now places for the homeless to hit the loo and wash up.  Ditto with libraries, now mainly for the homeless to check their e-mail and look at porn.  The death of paper is clearly going to have an apocalyptic effect on the homeless lifestyle more than the publishing industry.

Still, there are other ways to get books for free.

Some are legal like BookLending.com, Kindle’s own Lending Library (though you’ll need a $79/year Prime membership), and e-mailing authors with a sob story about how you love reading but can’t scrounge together a few bucks since you were an English major in college and now can’t get a job in this economy and therefore have to shamelessly beg for a free PDF.

Most others are illegal--depending who you ask!--with countless disreputable sites like Pirates Bay, Iso Hunt, and Torrent Room still yet to be shuttered by the U.S. Department of Justice.  Have at it and I hope you (don’t) find the FBI knocking on your door while you’re in flagrante torrenting.

If stealing isn’t your thing yet you still have a total disinterest in spending even a nickle on reading material, you’ll need a little ingenuity and a lot of free time, but you can read entire books on your computer via Amazon’s “Search inside” or Google Books look-through functions.  As a recent Emory grad who brought this method to my attention told me, “No one in college pays for books any more.  We always figure out a way to read stuff for free.”

You say, but doesn’t “Search inside” only allow you to see a few sample pages?  In theory but not function.  When you begin a search, you will typically be allowed to view the cover, copyright info (ha!), table of contents, and a few introductory pages before the pages quit going in numerical order and start randomly jumping ahead.  For my book How to Fail, that jump-ahead occurs after page five, sending you to page nine, and that’s fairly similar to other books.

At this point, you begin typing keyword guesses into the “Search Inside this Book” box on the left sidebar until you locate either the next page sequentially or one close to it.  You have some wiggle room because every time you land on a new page via a keyword search you are afforded the ability to flip back and forth several pages from where you landed.

The key is figuring out words likely to appear on every single page.  Amazon doesn’t index commonplace words like “a” or "the”--though it does allow “this,” “you,” and “I”--so you’ll have to focus on words commonplace to what you’re reading.  A Harry Potter book and you might guess “Hogwarts.”  The Steve Jobs biography and “Apple” or “asshole” might be good.  My book and “failure” should get you all the pages you lack initially.  With a +/- of a few pages granted for each search, for most books you’ll only need one or two keywords to read every single page.  Stealing, sure, but at least you have to think up an “Open sesame!”-like password to gain access.  Though I agree with poker player and author Rafe Furst, who has used this method since 2007, but notes, “Personally, I find it tedious and not that satisfying to read a book (via “Search Inside”) and end up buying the book if I'm at all interested.”

Still, there’s an even more ethically murky way Amazon users steal books that tops all the above.  I discovered it recently when looking at back-end sales totals for Kindle copies of my books, noticing a column marked “Units Refunded.”

 

 
I was baffled at first, “Who would possibly return an ebook?!”  Especially ones like mine usually priced less than $5.  But, month after month, around 4.5% of buyers return my books for a refund.  I asked other authors if they were encountering similar numbers.  Ben Nesvig, author of First World Problems:  101 Reasons Why the Terrorists Hate Us, told me he averages about 5% returns for his book.  Another friend, a popular technologies writer, told me likewise, as did nearly all authors I surveyed.  I put a call into Amazon and though they wouldn’t give me any exact data, I’m guessing it would indeed hover at around 5%.

Now a normal person might assume these refunds were from people that accidentally bought a book, then returned it seconds later, like when you forget to ask for extra naan on a SeamlessWeb order and have to quickly edit it before the restaurant has begun fulfillment.  But, I’m no normal person, I’m a money-grubbing author that never wants to have another day job.  So I dug deeper and discovered something shocking:

“Books you purchase from the Kindle Store are eligible for return and refund if we receive your request within seven days of the date of purchase.”

(To return and refund, go to Manage Your Kindle, click the actions tab for the title you’d like to return, and select “Return for Refund.”)

 

 

 

Seven days?  Who can’t read a book in seven days?!

There are people buying ebooks, reading them quickly, then returning them for a full refund, like stay-at-home mom Elisabeth Gilbert who told me, “I have literally never spent money on an ebook since getting an iPad.”  Numerous other readers told me likewise.  Though I didn’t ask, I’m sure they also tuck the tags when they buy new clothes for a date, then take them back to Banana Republic in the morning.

“Those are their rules,” explains Jon, a legal professional.  “I don’t feel like I’m stealing anything since Amazon allows this.”

Maybe they shouldn’t.  Maybe Amazon should only allot 24 hours to make a return.  Or not allow a return once you’ve read past page 20 or so, something they have the ability to monitor.

It’s not like this is completely a modern technology problem, though modern technology makes it much easier to beat the system, and makes system-beaters far less guilt-ridden, especially during these tough economic times.  “Why should I feel bad?  I’m not stealing anything real,” is the thought common to serial refunders like a Seton Hall student I spoke to.  There’s always been people who bought hardback books, quickly read them, then returned them, capitalizing on lax 30-day refund policies at most chains.  Barnes & Noble even lowered their return time to 14-days back in 2008, sick of being used as a library.  Bookstores average around a 1% return rate on paper books, but who knows how many of those were people just bummed out they were given Tom Brokaw’s new tome as a Hanukkah present.  (Interestingly, bookstores themselves return anywhere from 25%-50% of unsold books back to the publishers for a full refund.)

Ebooks are returned at five times the rate of physical books, because returning physical books is simply tougher.  A physical book has to stay crisp and clean and it’s a physical object you literally have to drive back to a physical location.  Ebooks are frivolous possession-wise:  a scroll of the mouse, a click of a button, zapped to your Kindle or iPad or iPhone in a matter of seconds, then returned six days later by reversing the steps.  Stealing one isn’t even zero-sum, literally an infinite number exist.

Seth Godin once told me, for a young author like myself, I shouldn’t be worried about sales or even making money, I should be worried about building a “tribe” of fans, not coincidentally also the title of one of his best-selling (selling!) books.  Likewise, Paolo Coehlo is a firm believer in simply getting his books out there electronically, going so far as to pirate his own work, which he feels has greatly contributed to the 65 million sales of The Alchemist alone.  And, Cory Doctorow has famously said:  “For pretty much every writer, the problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity.”

So I suppose I should be thankful I’m building a tribe and becoming a little less obscure through electronic theft.

Having said that, if you truly want to get an author’s book for free, there’s a better way.  Derek Jeter can’t be the only person who gives his paramours personalized parting gifts.

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17Jul/127

A Sex Toys Shop, the Infomercial Man, and Trophy Husbands : The Screenplays of Goldfarb

For the longest time I didn't write books, I wrote screenplays.  No, you've never seen any of these movies or TV shows because none of them were ever made (for a variety of reasons).  Eventually, I got so fed up with writing stuff only read by my manager, my mom, and a few studio and network execs (or, more likely, their lowly assistants), that I decided to actually write something I knew the masses would get to enjoy.  That was How to Fail.

Amazon now makes it very easy to share screenplays as part of their Amazon Studios, so I decided to dust off some old works and let you read these screenplays heretofore only read by manager, mom, and those lowly assistants.

Jesse's Toy Box was the first TV show I ever created and it's the rare labor of love I still hold onto in the hopes of getting it made one day.  The premise:  Ronnie Fish, a Brooklyn slacker, inherits a Christian bookstore in Florida when his uncle dies suddenly. However, upon arrival, Ronnie flips some letters on the marquee and converts Jesus’s Joy Box into Jesse’s Toy Box—Levy, Florida’s first and only sex toys shop.

I shopped this project around Hollywood for most of the late-2000s, getting plenty of interest, but constantly hearing the same refrain:  "A sex toys sitcom would never work."  One day, I awoke to news from Variety that Seth Rogen (he was uber-hot at the time and taking meetings left and right) had just sold a similar premise to Showtime based simply on the premise.  Even worse, he was tabbing his personal assistant to script and produce it!  Of course, no surprise, some four years later, Rogen's pseudo-project has never aired, never gone into production, never even been written for all I know.  Mine has and here you can check out the pilot episode script and a 25-page "bible" which details how the show would develop over four seasons-plus.  I still think it could be a huge winner.

Trophy Husbands was one of those high-concept Hollywood ideas in which you merely need a title to know all about the project.  The logline:  Everyone's heard of a "trophy wife," but in Silicon Valley a group of ambitious young men is trying to make a startup business out of being the opposite: handsome, young "trophy husbands" married to, and trying to dupe old, rich women out of their wealth.  I knew it was a project I had to have circulating in Hollywood ASAP because it was such an easy idea.  Of course, again, bigger people than me sold the premise but it's still listed as "in development" on IMDB.  I'm guessing it'll also never get made.  I still think my script is quite sharp, funny, and worth a read.

A Better You!!! was probably the first really good script I ever wrote:  For decades we've been inundated with infomercials trying to sell us stuff. Workout DVDs, books that "teach" you French in a week, and CDs that show you how to speed read. Who actually buys this crap?! Dallas resident Batch Holt does, though he eventually comes to understand that it takes more than 6-pack abs, super speed-reading abilities, and the DVD advice of a geeky dating guru to become A BETTER YOU.

This script was actually optioned by an indie producer and for the longest time looked like it was going to go into production.  But one quickly learns that movies are so much harder to get made than you'd ever think and the producer wasn't able to quite raise the funds needed to begin shooting.  I took a lot of meetings, had my hopes constantly raised--then dashed, and made a few bucks for my troubles, but the public has never got a chance to enjoy A Better You!!! until now.

 

Let me know what you think.  If people enjoy reading these I'm happy to post some other screenplays I've written.

 

And don't forget, the offer for a free copy of Drunk Drinking ends on Friday!

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13Jul/120

Drunk Drinking

Social media.

Where new brides annoy us with countless wedding photos.

New mommies annoy us with innumerable baby pics (Hudson’s first poopy!).

And newly published authors annoy the shit out of you with pleas to buy their new book.

Not this time.

This is the one and only time I’m going to tell you about Drunk Drinking, just released on Amazon.  It’s my collection of writings--mostly new, some old (but improved!)--all about that one subject we truly care about most.  There are stories and essays about the drunkest par 3 public golf course in America, about the nerdiness of rare beer release “parties,” how one drinks alone in a packed bar on a Friday night, what a liquor cabinet should look like depending on your age, and one about a guy simply known as “the anti-game, self-inflicted cockblocking tourist.”

Twenty-two pieces in all, with one special bonus essay.  Over 35,000 words you probably haven’t read before.

If you liked How to Fail:  The Self-Hurt Guide or The Cheat Sheet, you’ll like Drunk Drinking.  Guaranteed.  If you hated those, why are you reading my blog, weirdo?

Even better...want a free copy of Drunk Drinking?

For the rest of the week, just write an Amazon review of either How to Fail here or The Cheat Sheet here, email me a link to that review (aaron@aarongoldfarb.com), and I’ll send you a Kindle, epub, or PDF file of Drunk Drinking.

Even better than that, for the one Amazon review that makes me laugh hardest, I’ll send you a “The Works” goodie bag full of autographed books and Goldfarb schwag.


Or you can just pick up Drunk Drinking for about the cost of sending five Third World children to college.

 

Even if you don’t buy, please share this on Twitter or Facebook.  The more you share it now--this second!--the less likely am I to renege on my promise to never annoy you with the hawking of this book ever again.  Or to start posting tons of baby pics on Facebook.

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15Nov/110

The Speech That Was Never Spoken

Paneling

Last week I was invited to speak about using social media to promote your creative business.

Actually...I wasn't.

I just thought I was.  (I was actually invited to be one of five members of a panel discussion at Brooklyn Winery during which I drank too much and acted contrarian too often).  Thus, I prepared a speech I never gave.  I hate to waste "content," so here it is:

Any one who tells you they have the secret to helping you gain social media followers is a snake oil salesman.

You want to know the one BIG secret:  be famous.

It doesn’t matter how shitty of Tweeter you are...if you’re famous, you’ll have followers.  Think of the most famous person you can that doesn’t have a Twitter account.  If they signed up tomorrow morning, they’d have several hundred thousand followers by the end of the day.  Even if all their posts were about what hair products they’re currently using.

Lady Gaga can post about her lunch and Beiber can post about a shit he just took and they keep gaining followers.  No one cares about their content.  Even the famous people that are supposedly “quality” Tweeters--Ashton for instance--write absolute garbage (AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I composed this piece before Ashton's major Twitter gaffe).  My least interesting friends are far more interesting.

The only celebrities worth following are very good comedians and very uneducated professional athletes.  Sometimes I think some of the athletes I follow are speaking another language.  If this talk had slides, right now a slide would pop up that showed a Tweet from Antonio Cromartie.

For the rest of us, from the conditionally famous on down, we have to provide brief content that is interesting.  There’s nothing more frivolous and unstable than social media followers.  They are so fickle.

For instance, you all might be bored by me, or disgusted by me, or repulsed by me.  But you paid $5 and you’re several subway stops from home and there’s free wine (AUTHOR'S NOTE:  There actually wasn't.  Not even for the "talent") so I’d really have to be boring or disgusting or repulsive to get you to stand up and leave.  Not true on social media.

Write a boring or disgusting or repulsive thing on Twitter and there’s a certain kind of social media follower (a high percentage actually) that almost takes pride in UNFOLLOWING.

“I CANNOT believe he wrote two mildly unfunny Tweets in a row.  Not only am I unfollowing--but I am going to @ him and tell him that I am unfollowing him.”

People on social media are fucking nuts.  They demand a bizarre level of excellence for something that is FREE and easily ignorable.

But if that’s what they want, then that’s what you have to give them.  I have lots of interests and I used to Tweet about lots of things.  I’m a craft beer fan, I used to have a craft beer blog, so I used to occasionally Tweet about fancy beers I was drinking.  And a small percentage of my followers loved to hear about that.  But the VAST majority didn’t care.  They knew me, and followed me, because I’m “Aaron Goldfarb,” the comedic and satirical novelist.  So one Tweet about beer, or Syracuse basketball, and they held their mouse above the unfollow button.  Two or three Tweets about that subject and “Unfollow.”

The same goes for self-promotion.  One or two Tweets per week about what you’re doing, where you’re speaking, what Tumblrs read by only five people have an upcoming interview with you, and your followers can deal with it.  Any more, and they will unfollow you with no prejudice.

So I actually like to think of the Twitter arena as the stage, just like I mentioned before.  I sit here and I try to be interesting and informative and funny.  I’m not sitting here spending the majority of the time talking about an article I was quoted in, or another interview I gave, or a book I have coming out next year.  I’m not talking about a good beer I had yesterday or my thoughts on Syracuse basketball for the upcoming season (promising).  If that was my brand, maybe--but for better or worse it’s not.  Mine is to be funny and entertaining and when I am--and not TOO profane--I gain followers, I gain RTs, and I gain conversations and sharing.  When I’m not, it’s at best a wall of silence, at worst followers start dumping me like a bad habit.

And that’s one final thing I’d advise--don’t pay attention to any of this.  Sitting here, I can see who is listening to me.  I can see who is laughing and who is twiddling their thumbs and what attractive women are beguiled.  I can see if any one stands and walks out on this.  And that would fuck me up if that happened.  They might have gotten an emergency phone call, or drank too much free wine (AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Impossible), I don’t know--but if they walk out on me, my head would be fucked with.  And it’s easy for the same thing to happen on social media.

It’s easy to notice, “Holy shit, I lost 20 followers today!” and start wondering why and analyzing what you Tweeted and then trying to Tweet things more in line with what you think doesn’t lose followers.  But don’t do that.  Don’t pay attention to your number.  Who cares why you lose fans?  Just trust me that you will eventually, and at worst slowly but surely, gain fans if you just follow your focus--whether that’s being entertaining or being interesting or being perceptive or being news-breaking.  Whatever your reason for being on Twitter and creating content is, be the best you can be at that, and don’t self-promote too much, and don’t talk about what you’re drinking too much, and for God’s sake don’t fucking Retweet Andy Borowitz too much--and you’ll do all right.

But what do I know? I barely have 2000 followers.

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