Bottle On the Brain

The story I wrote for the short story anthology Movable Feasts is called "The Bottle." Set in the late 19th century, the story is about the pettifoggers who peddled curative tonics, and their struggle in the face of a public who was becoming wise to their ways. I just realized that my story would have been much better if I'd used "pettifoggers" in it, because it's one of the best words I've ever found via Dictionary.com.

Published earlier this year, the collection was edited by my good friend Jim Corrigan. Not a man to let grass grow under his feet, Jim solicited stories for another anthology soon after. Whereas the theme for Movable Feasts was "eating out," the unifying concept for the next book is "travel."

I certainly took some liberties with the the theme the first time around, and wrote too many words, but I felt pretty good about "The Bottle." I published my own collection of short stories, (C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity in 2010. All 15 stories were centered on music (and one of them was called "Message In a Beer Bottle" -- go figure), so I wanted to do something different for Jim's premier collection.

When Jim asked if I was on board for his upcoming travel-themed collection, I of course said yes. I had no idea at the time what I would write, but I knew I'd come up with something. I'd been outlining a collection of stories about the town where I grew up, and realized that one of the ideas I had could be molded to fit the travel theme.

One of the characters from my childhood was someone one of my friends dubbed Lady Death. I sketched out a basic idea for the story, and knew that once again my interpretation of travel might be a little loose, but I liked the idea of the story and started working on it.

I've plugged away on and off over the last few months, and have mostly completed a first draft. As I got toward the story's climax, I did a little research that led me to some important information that fit perfectly into my story. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that, quite unexpectedly, I've ended up writing another story in which a bottle plays a role.

Unlike in "The Bottle," the glass vessel in my new story (working title "Lady Death Trip") isn't a central component. But it certainly plays an important role.

Once I finish the story and things move along toward publication (Jim is working with several authors, and is in the reading phase right now with some of them) I'll offer more details, and let you know when and where you can buy the book.

Out of My Hands...for Now

Last week, after more than a year of on-and-off work, I emailed the manuscript of my road trip memoir to six friends and family members. The book isn't done, but I needed to get it out of my hands and in front of the eyes of impartial readers. This is a big step for me.

I spent 10 years writing my first book, (C)rock Stories: Million Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity. I received some feedback during that process, but I was never confident enough to send the finished product out ahead of time to see what people thought. While I'm proud of the book, I know it would've been better if other folks had looked at it before publication.

I self published that book, and I may do the same with my memoir. I'd like to find a publisher, but no matter which way I go, I want the memoir to be the best possible book it can be. I've already received some helpful feedback, and at least one person has read the entire manuscript. I'm anxious to read the comments he emailed.

In the meantime, I'm working on two short stories in a planned series about growing up in Simsbury, Connecticut. I plan to submit one of the stories to my buddy Jim Corrigan, who's soliciting stories for his second anthology. He recently self published the first one, Movable Feasts, which includes one of my stories.

I'm also moving forward with my children's book. As I write this, Staples is salivating over the order I placed online today to get five copies of a mock-up of the book. Once those are in hand, I'll schedule a meeting with the folks at Ward Maps, who are the official licensing agent for the MBTA. For those who don't know, my book is about riding the MBTA's Green Line in Boston. If the book gets accepted, I plan to write at least three other books in that series.

The picture at the top of this entry is one I took with my first camera on a family trip in 1977. I was 12 years old, and loved boogie vans. I shot that beauty in Salt Lake City. I plan to include that photo in my book, along with others such as the van I traveled in, shots of myself and some of the guys I traveled with, and pictures of me before the trip, when I was fat and had a beard.

I hadn't thought much about including photos in the memoir, because I had none from the trip. I'd brought a camera and shot two rolls of film, but when I went to get them developed, I was told they were blank. That was the same camera I'd used to take the van photo up there, I believe. I threw the camera away in disgust.

But upon reading Satan Is Real, the autobiography by Charlie Louvin, and seeing the pictures he included, I realized I could insert pictures into my book that, while they weren't from the trip (with the exception of one or two taken by somebody else), would contribute to the overall product.

Stay tuned for more about the memoir, as I'll know more about how much more work I have to do once I get more feedback.

In the meantime, please to enjoy Fu Manchu:

A Peek Behind the Memoir Curtain

I'm knee-deep in my road trip memoir. Sometimes I feel a bit schizophrenic, living in The Now Times with my wife and kids; in 1988, when I traveled from New England to the Southwest with three buddies; and in the future, when I can revisit some of the places we hit along the way.

I like the way the book is coming together, but I still have plenty of work to do on it. I have no idea if it's a viable product for a traditional publisher. I plan to push it in that direction, but will go the print on-demand route if I have to, as I did with my first book, (C)rock Stories: Million Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity.

Over the past 11 months of working on the book, I've done a lot of research online. I've looked into campgrounds and motels where we stayed, checked out maps of our route, discovered tourist attractions that I wish we'd visited, and scoped out bars and clubs where we hung out.

So I figured I'd share some of what I found in the latter category, as that's the stuff that I find most interesting.

Unfortunately, some of the places we went to have been lost in the mists of time. Either I forget them, or they simply don't exist 25 years after the fact.

There was the Goal Post Cafe near Bucknell University, for instance. There, on the first night of our trip, we saw a band called The Plague. Sounds like a punk band, no? Well, it wasn't. The bar may still be there, but I can't find any trace of it online.

In Philly, we spent a great night at a place that I remember as being called Frank's. But my good friend Jay Breitling, who knows a thing or twelve about boozing it up in the City of Brotherly Love, wonders whether we were at Dirty Frank's, which is a legendary watering hole. I have no idea where we were, but we had a blast drinking and watching three of the funniest guys in the world pump quarters into one of those "claw" games where you try to win stupid prizes like stuffed bears and different stuffed bears.

In Myrtle Beach, we hung out at the Rock Burger. Owned by one of the guys from lame-o band Firehouse (not to be confused with awesome band fIREHOSE), the bar had hot, friendly waitresses who kept trying to sell t-shirts to my buddies (Andy, Pete, John) and me. The place closed in '95, but someone opened it up about 10 years later in a new spot.

We also spent time at a placed called Pier 14, which I have no memory of, and Buddy's Place, where we heard a redneck singer in the band use the "N-word" after the lone black guy left the bar. The band then proceeded to play "(Sittin' On) the Dock of the Bay," which of course was written and performed by one of the most amazing performers of all time, Otis Redding -- who's black.

Continuing south, we hit Athens, Georgia, home of R.E.M. There, we hit the legendary 40 Watt Club, which R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck used to co-own. We saw a few bands there, neither of which I liked. I sorta, kinda tried to hit on a chick from a band called Ray Ugly, and because I was so drunk, I thought she was sorta, kinda good looking. Pete assured me she wasn't, but she was nice enough to take us to a party, but I passed out in the van soon after we got there.

Andy struck out with the bartender.

Our home base while in Athens was a great Mexican restaurant/bar called Gus Garcia's. The bartenders there took a shine to us, and even gave us some free shots. One of them told us, as he was coming on to his shift, that there was a Klan rally about 10 miles outside of town. I don't know if he was jerking our chains, but we decided to stay put.

The place doesn't seem to be in business anymore, unfortunately.

Naturally, when we hit New Orleans, the pace of drinking and insanity picked up a bit. We hit a bunch of bars, the most memorable of which was a strip club called Big Daddy's.

Compared to the pathetic joints I'd been to in Connecticut, Big Daddy's was ornate, and the dancers were almost attractive. We were drawn to the place by the mannequin swinging out over the sidewalk from a window of the bar. There was also a swing inside the bar where live girls did rotating shifts.

We didn't spend much time there, but we sure did spend too much money on drinks, that's for sure.

Read all about Big Daddy's sordid past here. This place is also deadzo.

The Rum Boogie Cafe in Memphis holds the distinction of being the place where I spent the most time drinking in one location, in my life. John and I spent eight hours there drinking beer and Jagermeister, whooping it up for Mojo Buford, who, unbeknownst to us at the time, had been Muddy Waters' harp player at one time.

Here's a taste of Mr. Mojo:

Andy and Pete started at the Rum Boogie with us around 3:30 but left four hours later for a professional wrestling event.

We parted ways (temporarily) with Andy in Memphis. The next bars that John, Pete and I hung out in were in Albuquerque.

There were two bars we frequented during out three-month hitch in the Land of Enchantment.

El Madrid was right around the corner from the house we rented. It looked like this, and still does.

We shot pool there, drank cheap beer and saw some mostly unmemorable bands and even a performance poet. The mural is killer, isn't it?

We also spent time at the Fat Chance Bar & Grill. There, we saw local bands including Cracks In the Sidewalk, whose bass player was incredibly hot, and A Murder of Crows, who kicked a large amount of ass.

Here's a 1986 video from public access TV of Cracks In the Sidewalk. They start playing around the 1:15 mark, and when they finish, another band comes on. The bass player doesn't look hot in this video, but trust me, she was.

Alas, the Fat Chance closed in 1997.

So there's a little taste of what I'm brewing up in my memoir.

Rock and Writing

This is Tales From the House Band, Volume 2. It is an anthology featuring 15 short stories at least tangentially related to music. One of the stories from my collection, (C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity, is included in this new book. I hope you'll consider buying it and telling your friends and neighbors about it and suggesting that, "Hey, you know, you really don't have enough Dave Brigham in your library."

The book came out without much fanfare back in early December. For some reason, the publisher, Plus One Press, doesn't feature the book on its web site. Nevertheless, it's available online and at brick-and-mortar stores if you ask nicely for them to order it.

I self-published (C)rock Stories more than two years ago, but felt OK contributing one of those stories to Tales From the House Band #2. I'm not sure if Plus One is planning a third installment in the series. If so, I would consider joining in again, if they'll have me (my story, "Three Times a Lady Sniff," is by far the most vulgar story in the book, although, in my mind, also the closest to reality).

If I'm asked, I would write a new story.

I've got a lot on my plate right now, with my memoir, a planned children's book series and my long-on-the-back-burner novel. But I'm excited to write a new story about music, even though I don't have any ideas for one right now.

By the way, I've got a reading planned next month in Portsmouth, NH, at River Run Bookstore. Thanks to my buddy Peter for setting that up. Unlike the reading from Tales that I did in Arlington, Mass., last month, this time I'll be on my own. Which means I'll probably torment attendees with my full story about the trials and tribulations of following the Butthole Surfers on the road.

Hope you can make it.

NaNoWriMo Revisited

Five years ago I took part in National Novel Writing Month. Known as NaNoWriMo, the endeavor challenges folks to write a 50,000-word novel between 12:01 a.m. on November 1st and 11:59 p.m. on November 30th each year.

Encouraged by my buddy Jay, I decided to devote as much time as possible to this adventure. I did so knowing I wouldn't get enough sleep, as my daughter was just four months old and was waking up regularly during the night for feedings. Regardless, I wrote until midnight on many of those November nights.

Because I was constantly tired, naturally I became grouchy during the days and evenings, which, believe me, didn't go unnoticed by my wife.

Still, I managed to crank out roughly 26,000 words over those 30 days. I'd made an outline of my proposed novel ahead of time in order to make the process go more smoothly. I decided to turn the UFO/alien abduction concept album I'd been working on into a book, with the grand idea that at some point I'd release both works of art as an incredible multimedia extravaganza.

I was proud of myself for being so resourceful and for preparing in advance. In years past I'd tried two or three times to write novels, but after wading in quite a distance, I found myself over my head with no idea how to swim back to shore. So those novels died.

And so did my NaNoWriMo effort after that 30-day burst of activity. Sure, I looked at it a number of times in the ensuing months, and tweaked it a bit here and there. But even working from an outline didn't make the process much easier.

Because the object of NaNoWriMo is to crank through and produce as many words as you can and worry about what it all says later, I ended up going off on all sorts of tangents, and not sticking to my outline.

I forgot about the novel (well, not entirely; it's always in the back of my head) and spent time working on my short story collection. I self-published that in December 2010 (buy it here -- the holidays are coming!). After that, I kicked around some children's book ideas. I've developed a concept that I like, and am working with an illustrator, so with any luck I'll crack that market in the near future.

Also, in April of this year I started working on a memoir. I've made great progress on this book, and am nearly ready to send it out to some folks to gather opinions and critical feedback.

So it sounds like my literary plate is full, right? But last weekend at a PTO function I met a woman who's a published novelist, and she mentioned the idea of forming a writer's group with a few other people she'd met that night. One of these guys is somebody with whom I've already spent considerable time discussing our respective books.

These other writers are working on novels, but I think they'd be OK with discussing my memoir in a group. Still, I thought I'd like to at some point be able to bring fiction into the mix.

I thought about starting a new short story collection, but found that prospect too daunting. Then I did what I knew I had to do: I committed myself to returning to my novel, despite the fact that on this very blog I recently announced that my brain just doesn't work the way a novelist's brain should work (see October 2, 2012, "The Struggle.").

I returned to the manuscript this week and started making notes about what needs to change, what needs to get thrown out, who the characters are and how I'm going to move the story forward and not give up like I have in the past.

I may ditch the story again. I may take 10 years to finish, just as I did with my short story collection. But I'm determined, one way or the other, to write a novel.

I'll keep you updated, but don't hold your breath.

(C)rock Redux

Today I received a small advance from Plus One Press, which will be publishing one of my short stories in the soon-to-be-available Tales From the House Band, Volume 2. The anthology features stories from numerous genres, with wildly varying themes, but all of them focused on music in one way or another.

I forget how I found out about Plus One's first volume of the series. But as soon as I did, I zipped an email to the publisher asking if there was room for me in the next volume. She said yes, so I sent her one of the stories from my first book, (C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity, for her consideration. She agreed to publish it, which naturally made me very happy.

I didn't have to write a new story, which was a plus. There was some back-and-forth editing between the publisher, a third party and me. But in the end I think my story -- "Three Times a Lady Sniff," about following the Butthole Surfers -- is better.

Subsequently, I did a little research into the first volume. Plus One is a small publisher that issues books by the owner, Deborah Grabien, and other authors. The only reviews I could find online of the first volume were written either by authors who had stories in the anthology, or their relatives.

Still, the possibility of getting one of my stories published alongside those of other writers is a great opportunity. As with a compilation album (do they make those any more?), a short story anthology gives artists the chance to get themselves in front of people who might never have come across their work otherwise. So obviously I'm hoping those who buy the second volume might at some point buy my book as well.

Stay tuned for news about the publication date.

Sell! Sell! Sell!

I've been thinking for a while about trying to make some money off all the pictures I've taken over the last few years. I'm not fooling myself; I know I'm not a great photographer, but I think I've got a few images that would look cool on certain products.

So I've begun building up my product line at Zazzle. For the past two years I've been selling 30 different t-shirts associated with my first book, (C)rock Stories: Million Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity. I bought one and awarded one or two others as prizes while promoting the book, but until recently hadn't sold any.

Out of the blue two weeks ago Zazzle sent me an email letting me know that I'd sold three shirts. I have no idea who bought them, but it put the idea back into my head that I should sell other stuff.

I'd uploaded some images a while ago but let them linger without doing anything. So today I started matching images to products. The process is very easy, but finding the right picture to go with the right product takes a bit of time.

The first one I made was a note card featuring a picture I'd taken on Cape Cod two years ago:

You can see it here.

The next one I did was a coaster featuring a shot of my electric blue guitar and amplifier. Check it out.

I've got no shortage of images to select from, but I have to be careful not to upload pictures with potential copyright issues. I tried to post one of an MBTA subway station, but it got bounced.

For now I'm just testing things out, but in the near future I'll add more images to more products, and see what works and what doesn't.

Now, for your viewing pleasure, the Butthole Surfers.

The Struggle

Like all writers, I struggle. And of course I wage those battles alone. I can't blame my boss or coworkers if I don't like an idea. And if I forget what a character did or said 20 pages earlier, I can't digitize an intern and send him into my laptop to figure it out.

And when reading works that go back years, even decades, I have no one but myself to blame for shoddy workmanship and blatant stylistic rip-offs. I was reminded of this when I recently stumbled across a copy of Frog Spit, a 'zine I published back in the '80s.

I wrote two stream-of-consciousness stories that were such obvious efforts to emulate Hunter S. Thompson (R.I.P.) that I found it embarrassing. And I was the only one in the room.

I do a lot of writing these days, between this blog and my other one (The Backside of America), and various book projects that I'll describe below. While none of my writing is perfect, I think that I've honed my craft in recent years simply by doing more work.

I also managed to refine my writing during my time at the late, great Webnoize (R.I.P.), and while writing my first book, which I published nearly two years ago.

I spent 10 years writing, rewriting, editing and self-publishing that book, (C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity. Sure, there were long periods where I ignored the stories, but I put a lot of work into the book.

I have a hard time editing on a computer, so I printed out the stories and went through them with a red pen, deleting, copy editing, writing new chunks of plot or character development.

Because the stories were related, and featured recurring characters, I needed to keep straight in my head who had done what, in order to make sure there was continuity. I had a hard time with this, and realized near the end of the process that I should have used two or three pairs of eyes to review and edit the book.

But I was reluctant to ask friends or family, because I wasn't confident in the stories and my abilities, and thought that if these reviewers questioned things too much I'd crumble and never finish the book. So I kept all the responsibility to myself, which wasn't smart.

I was happy with the published version of the book, but know that it could have been better if I'd been willing to put myself out there and let people judge it and critique it.

I learned my lesson, and since trying over the past few years to enter the children's book market, I've allowed friends and family to see drafts of stories. I haven't published a book yet, but I'm working with an illustrator on my latest, and feel confident that the book will hit the market eventually.

I'm excited about children's books. If my illustrator and I can get the first one published, I have a series planned. The books are very basic, but would fill a niche that I believe is under-served: easy, fun-to-read stories about subways.

While children's books and short story collections are obviously not easy to write, I find them much easier to do than novels.

I've begun three or four novels, but haven't finished one. The first was about a group of college friends going away for a weekend together, and that's about all I remember. Another effort surrounded a college band, based very heavily on my own such group.

My latest effort, which I began during National Novel Writing Month nearly five years ago, was about UFO's, road trips, government conspiracies, anti-corporate action and, of course, love.

I had a grand vision to write the novel and sell it packaged with a concept album that had actually spurred the novel. I haven't gotten very far on either account, and have come to realize in recent years that I may just not be a novelist.

I'm not giving up, so much as realizing that my brain just doesn't operate the way it needs to in order to keep track of all that goes into a novel: great character development, plot twists, strong descriptive language, recurring themes that move the story forward, and so much more.

I write best with a strong framework. I thought I'd established such a thing with my last attempt at writing a novel. Unlike with previous attempts, I'd made an outline based on the concept album.

But once I started writing, I just took the story off in all sorts of unexpected directions, which is OK, but I had a hard time reeling it all back in and pounding it into shape.

For now, I don't need to trouble myself with thoughts about writing the Great American Novel.

I continue to plug away on my road trip memoir, which I've mentioned before (see May 25, 2012, "Inspiration"). The linear narrative of the book is done, and I've got a plan for filling in details by getting in touch with the guys with whom I traveled.

There are other elements I'm adding, however, that need work. I write a lot about my childhood, and my life since the trip, especially the more recent years since my kids were born.

But all that information exists, so I know I can coax it out of my brain and onto the page. And I realize that I'll need people to read the book ahead of time and guide me to making it the best possible book it can be.

I just hope that in 10 years I don't look back on my books and think that they're total crap.

Review: The Slap

The Slap is another paperback I picked up for free at Newtonville Books after buying a full-price hardcover (see July 24, 2012, "Review: That Old Ace In the Hole").

I'd never heard of the book or its author, Christos Tsiolkas, but I liked the premise: a man slaps somebody else's child at a backyard barbecue, and as a result, a group of friends, acquaintances and family members question their parenting abilities, their cultural differences, their ideals and their relationships to each other.

Plus, it's an Australian tale and who doesn't love the Aussies?

As with the last book I read, Annie Proulx's "That Old Ace In the Hole," I feel that this book could've used a heavier edit. What's wrong with a novel that's under, say, 400 pages?

As someone who self-published a book ((C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity) that needed better editorial oversight, I know of what I speak. I had spent so much time getting the book ready for publication (10 years, give or take) that I couldn't stomach the idea of someone telling me where to make changes, or questioning the ideas in my book.

But if you're working with an actual editor and publisher, your book should be tighter than Tsiolkas's book. Still, I enjoyed his story and his method for presenting the multitude of difficult and intricately woven issues.

There are eight chapters, each one told from the perspective of a different character. I was impressed at Tsiolkas's ability to see life from so many different angles, both male and female, young (18) and old (69), and make each one seem true to life.

I thought he did an especially good job with the internal monologues of each of the characters. As someone who does a lot of self-talking (what probably appears to the outside world as crazy talk), I can relate to the world of inner thoughts, and how different that realm is to the persona we put forward.

And the view into the various cultures of Australia -- many of the characters are Greek immigrants and their children and grandchildren -- was fascinating. How do the Greeks deal with each other, and the aboriginal natives, and those of English descent? And what are the conflicts among friends who are Christian, Muslim, Hindu or atheist? Good stuff all around.

I know this isn't the most thorough review, but I started this a while back and just want to finish it up, so in conclusion I'll just say that I recommend the book.

G'day!

Extra! Extra! Blog All About It!

Seven weeks after I sent an entry to the Indie Books Blog, today is the day they feature my book, "(C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity."

You can read my blurb here; if you haven't bought the book yet, there's a "buy" link at the bottom of the post.

Thank you.

As you were....

(C)rocktoberfest!

UPDATE: ALL THE PRIZES HAVE BEEN CLAIMED!

Welcome to the first-ever promotional quiz for my book, "(C)ROCK STORIES: MILLION-DOLLAR TALES OF MUSIC, MAYHEM AND IMMATURITY."

Below are 10 questions that relate to stories in the book. The first five people to answer all 10 correctly will receive their choice of (1) copy of the book OR (1) promotional t-shirt from Zazzle.

To see your t-shirt choices, visit my Zazzle store. There are 15 shirts (in both guys' and gals' styles), one for each story in the book. Select one, email me your choice, and I'll order it and have it shipped.

Send answers to me here.

Use any life line you need.

GOOD LUCK!


1) Name a band in which "Rock and Roll Hoochie Koo" writer/singer Rick Derringer played.

2) Name two original members of Foghat.

3) Name Stewart Copeland's pre-Police band.

4) Define "poser."

5) Who is "Echo" from Echo & the Bunnymen?

6) Which band formed first, New Order or Soundgarden?

7) List two names that Butthole Surfers performed under before selecting their official name?

8) Who's the most famous band to come out of Athens, GA?

9) What is Steven Tyler's birth name?

10) Other than "a post-punk band from Washington, D.C.," what does "fugazi" mean in?

Sell! Sell! Sell!

I had big dreams when I published my first book: I wanted to sell 500 copies over the course of the first year. After eight months, I've sold less than 1/5th that amount. Sure, I knew the first 50 or so copies would be the easiest ones to unload. I promoted the book via Facebook and word of mouth and during the first few months sales were relatively brisk, mainly to friends and family. My book was in the top 10 sellers for a short time on Booklocker, the print on-demand company I used to put out my book.

All along, I was concerned that I would run out of energy and motivation to continue marketing the book. And sure enough, I did. I never thought I'd get rich off the book, but I've always hoped to at least break even. But I wasn't willing to do what I needed to do to boost sales, i.e., contact all area independent bookstores; mail out review copies blindly; push myself on local media outlets; walk around Boston with a sandwich board sign (and nothing else!) featuring the front and back covers of the book.

Of late, however, I've been pushing the book a bit more, and sales have increased a little, which is nice. I've sold a few through the Newbury Comics chain of stores in Massachusetts, had two books places in my locally owned bookstore, Newtonville Books, and seen a few copies fly off the digital shelves as well.

With summer coming to an end, I'll have more free time to promote my book, and work on other things, such as my two children's books, my novel/concept album project, and an article about a mystery in my hometown of Simsbury, CT, that I wrote about here last week (see August 24, 2011, "My Nascent Archeology Career").

So, in case you haven't gotten the point, I'd like you to go out and buy my book. Or, if you've already bought it, please recommend it to your friends and family.

As they used to say on the Bartles & Jaymes commercials, thank you very much for your support.

What's In a Nom?

Last December, I published my first book, a collection of short stories called "(C)rock Stories: Million-Dollar Tales of Music, Mayhem and Immaturity." The fruit of 10 years of labor, the book was originally subtitled, "True Stories of Fake Things That May or May Not Have Happened." The 15 stories carry the unnamed narrator (AKA, me) from high school through his late 20's, as he discovers punk rock, goes to gritty clubs, fights off perverted street people, survives three Butthole Surfers gigs, fails with girls, fights with friends and learns that sometimes loving a band means hating who they are.

Click here to read a really nice review that one-time Billboard rock columnist Ed Ochs wrote of my book.

I have other books in the works. OK, when I say "works," I mean that I've worked on them, but not lately. One of the books is a novel about space aliens, government cover-ups, road trips, love and archeology. It has a companion soundtrack of original music. The whole project actually started out as a concept album, but I turned it into a novel nearly four years ago. And then figured I could handle both a book and an album. It's gonna be a while before it's done, but it will be done.

I also have two children's books "in the works."

When talking to a few parents at my daughter's preschool last month, including one who has a children's book in progress, I mentioned that I was writing a rhyming alphabet book for preschoolers. And the director of the school, who I've known for many years, said, "And you just published a book of short stories."

And one of the moms said, "Oh, cool. Is it for kids?"

No, I said, it's for grown-ups.

Herein lies my problem.

Do I write the children's books (I have a counting book "in the works" as well) under my own name? I would feel weird publishing under a pen name, but I don't want to confuse (or scare off) potential buyers of children's books who realize that I've written a collection of short stories filled with swears and adult situations.

I have no idea if a publisher would push me in that direction. "(C)rock Stories" is self-published, so it's not likely to sell many copies (under 100 to date after six months on the market), so maybe a publisher wouldn't care.

I've thought about using initials before my last name (D.J. Brigham), or using my mother's maiden name (David Bogert). Or something totally made up and unrelated to my name (Dagger McTavish). I know I'm putting the cart before the horse on this. I still have to finish the books and find somebody to publish them.

Any feedback from folks who've run into this problem, or know somebody who has, or who just want to toss out noms de plume just for fun, I'd love to hear from you.