Showdown at Sawgrass III

A rematch at TPC Sawgrass nine years in the making.

The Beatles Suite at The Edgewater Seattle

For a hotel and Beatles junkie, this was pretty much as good as it gets.

Nessie, Inverness, and the Left Side of the Road

Exploring The Highlands of Scotland.

London Calling

18 Hours with Her Majesty

Adventures with Uncle Deej - Old Sport Goes to Disney

Over the last several years, I've learned quite a bit about myself while navigating the uncharted waters of uncle-hood. Perhaps the most glaring piece of wisdom I've obtained is the unsettling realization that I make terrible deals with my niece & nephew. Read: Paid $50 to skip a 90-minute line for the Haunted Mansion. Worst of all, I think these two are wise to my awful bartering skills and exploit it anytime they can. But, as the President-Elect will surely attest, there's positive spin to almost every lousy deal. In this case, one of these slippery negotiations with Old Sport led to a weekend at Disney among the best in recent memory.

The scene was a late summer evening in the Magic Kingdom. After a day filled with tiki birds, corny jokes on the Amazon, and a magical magnetized train, it was time for Old Sport and his parents to head for home. Meanwhile, his Aunt MJ and I had a date with the new Abracadabar at The Boardwalk before collapsing in our room at The Dolphin. Naturally, this news brought an unbearable bout of sadness from Old Sport, and one of those infamous negotiations...

"I want to stay at the Dolphin with you, Uncle Deej." (Mumbled while rubbing eyes for full effect)

"Tell you what Old Sport, I'll make a deal with you.. Between now and Christmas, Aunt MJ and I will bring you to Disney, just the two of us, and we'll stay at The Dolphin. Deal?"

"Deal." (Still mumbled while rubbing eyes for full effect)

Given that this kid has never once forgotten anything, especially the specific terms of any transaction with him, I booked our room the following morning with both great anticipation and a dash of terror.

Why the terror? Well, I've said it countless times before... Parents with kids visit a Disney with which I'm completely unfamiliar. And yet, here we were diving headfirst into that alternative universe.

On the flipside of that coin... Taking Old Sport to Disney and spoiling him rotten is something we've looked forward to since the day he booked a ticket with the stork. Based on the fact that we arrived to find him sitting on his luggage in his driveway, I'd say he shared the sentiment.

After a journey consisting of 109 questions - 42 "Can we ___'s" and 67 "Are we there yet's" - we arrived at The Dolphin, setting Old Sport's dancing feet into overdrive.

Next stop... Epcot, where Rapunzel was waiting at the gate to give him a proper welcome.

One of the pearls of wisdom my brother gave me before departing was to establish early on how many gift shops Old Sport would get to visit. The consequence for not doing so would likely be "Uncle Deej, can we go in that store?" followed by disappointment when the idea is shot down. While waiting in line for my afternoon iced coffee, Old Sport found a gaping loophole in the 2 store limit I'd previously imposed. The pin kiosk...

Next the dancing feet took us to Figment, where Old Sport proceeded to tell me everything that would happen next on the ride. I told you.. The kid doesn't forget anything.

After a brief stop at the magical fountain thingy's outside of Figment - Ok, Ok.. Journey Into Imagination -  we were off to The Land for dinner at Garden Grill. The next hour or so for Old Sport went something like...

Bite of Food
Talk to Mickey
Bite of Food
Talk to Pluto... You get the picture.

This was only my 2nd time at Garden Grill and each was an unexpectedly good experience. I say unexpectedly because this place seems to fly under my radar, and given we had no issue getting a reservation with less than 30 days notice, perhaps I'm not alone. Good food, great characters, and a revolving restaurant which, as Old Sport put it, is also a ride.. A great combination.

Finally, it was time for the main event... Soarin'. As you can see, he was a little excited...

This has long been one of my favorite rides at Disney, but this time was different.. Seated in the far right section, with Old Sport to my left clutching my arm for support, I found myself watching his reactions for most of the ride as opposed to the movie. Then I did something I've never done before.. I looked around at all of the other people dangling from this giant Erector set. Wouldn't you know, their reactions were all the same as his. Whether they were young, old, or too-cool-for-school teenagers, their expressions were all the same: Sheer joy.

Yeah, I cried a bit.

So earlier when I mentioned that this trip brought a dash of fear, roughly 92.7% of that concern centered around one thing... The stroller. To put it mildly, crowds aren't exactly my thing. Toss in the need to push around a Mini-Cooper through World Showcase during Food & Wine and you've got the Deej-equivalent of a root canal. Thankfully, we all survived and made it to The Boardwalk at a perfect time...

The next morning, our itinerary consisted of just two events. The first is my own tradition unlike any other... The morning walk for coffee. I didn't think Old Sport would quite appreciate the majesty of these few minutes, but it seems he's got more of his uncle in him than I'd presumed.

Of the 42 "Can we____" questions we received on the way down, 29 of them were "Can we play putt-putt." I will be the first to admit that my brother and I have brainwashed Old Sport to love a few things that are dear to us. Anything related to the game of golf is, quite naturally, at the top of that list. And so, the final stop of our first solo adventure was the Winter Summerland putt putt...

As we made our way home, with Old Sport soundly asleep in the backseat, I found myself filled with both pride and a sobering realization. Four years have passed since I wrote the first Adventure with Uncle Deej on the day he was born. Time is absolutely zooming by, and I desperately want it to slow down. And yet, to paraphrase Hamilton, I know the only way to get to the next grand Adventure is for the world to keep on spinning.

Another of those terrible deals that I'll just have to accept.

Enjoy Your Stay

An Introduction to Links Golf at Castle Stuart

After spending less than 24-hours in Scotland, it was apparent that some things are done a little differently across the pond. They drive on the other side of the road, traffic lights are mostly replaced by roundabouts, and the average American golfer could squeeze in an early morning nine before most coffee shops turn the open sign. As I would quickly learn, those differences also extend to the game of golf, and in more ways than one.

Here in the former Colonies, golf has evolved into a giant game of lawn darts. We send the ball sailing through the air and, if we're lucky enough to find the green, we watch as it stops just a couple of feet from where it landed. There is certainly no denying the appeal to this type of golf.. The sight of a perfectly struck shot flying toward the flag against a backdrop of blue sky is never short on inspiration.

Across the Atlantic, that same shot wouldn't stand a chance.


To put it mildly, the seaside links variety of golf - the kind that we watch each year during The Open Championship - is an entirely different animal. The ground is firm, the turf is short, and the wind ranges anywhere from a mere nuisance to good luck standing up. But it's the degree of unpredictability that is sure to drive the uninitiated golfer bonkers. The wind and concrete-like turf make the lawn darts game impossible, so instead the ball must be flighted low and allowed to run along the ground. There's just one problem.. Most of these courses were built long before the invention of the bulldozer. Meaning the fairways are littered with humps and bumps and knobs that send the ball bouncing every which way. For the golfer accustomed to Shot A producing Outcome B, links golf at first seems a little unfair...

I hate to break it to you, but golf isn't fair.


My links golf education began at Castle Stuart, the host of this year's Scottish Open. In a land where many golf club charters predate the Constitution, Castle Stuart is the new kid on the block. Having opened in 2009, this is what you might call a "modern links;" one that was painstakingly shaped and molded into a course that has quickly landed among the best on the globe.

It was the perfect place to start my education.

But first, there was a not-so-small order of business to address... My golf clubs. Since the thought of handing them over to the airlines frightens me more than that giant spider in Harry Potter, I entrusted Luggage Forward - as I had once before - to get my only prized possession across the pond. Their service is as seamless as it comes, and while it cost more than what the airline bag fees would have, the convenience and reliability made it money well spent. After a few days of pacing my living room while they were in transit, my good friend Ru Macdonald - Scotland's tireless golf travel ambassador, who just happened to be at Castle Stuart - sent a pic of my clubs waiting in their storage room.

It was time.

In typical Deej fashion, I arrived to Castle Stuart a solid two hours before my 9:30am tee time. I expected to find a busy clubhouse and practice area, bustling with anxious and excited golfers like myself. As it turned out, I was all alone... It seemed that, like the coffee shops, even the golf courses get moving a little later than back home. I was the first name on the tee sheet, at a time when I might have been making the turn at Muni. Not that I minded.. It gave me plenty of time to enjoy the clubhouse view with a sausage and egg roll before teeing it up.
No pic of the sausage roll, but the trademark chili for lunch was awesome.

I was joined in my initiation to the links game by Castle Stuart's Director of Golf, Jeremy Matte. An American transplanted to Scotland, Jeremy spent much of the morning sharing with me the ethos behind all things at Castle Stuart, giving me an even higher appreciation for what they've accomplished here in The Highlands of Scotland. He also waxed the floor with me in our match, taking me down 4&3. More on that later...

Put simply, Castle Stuart doesn't fit the mold of your typical "championship" course. For many, the greatness of a course is proportional to it's degree of difficulty. By this logic, the higher the perceived difficulty, the better the course must be. Yet these are the same courses that usually leave the golfer battered and bruised and questioning why they ever took up the game. The one aspect that's usually overlooked by this flawed line of thinking... Enjoyability.

Not so at Castle Stuart.

Playability and recovery are the order of the day here. Wide fairways and enormous greens make for eye-pleasing targets. Where the errant drive or approach typically finds a wide range of punishment on that "championship" course, at Castle Stuart the golfer often finds they still have a shot and a chance for redemption. Granted, the next shot will be much more difficult than if they'd executed the first properly, but the opportunity to salvage something out of nothing sure beats a lost ball.
Where not to hit it on #1.

That's not to say that Castle Stuart is easy.. Far from it. Just ask the 15 guys who failed to break 80 in the first round of this year's Scottish Open. But imagine the satisfaction when your dreaded slice shows up at the tee, and instead of spending the bulk of your day searching hopelessly in the gorse, every now and then you find the ProV resting comfortably on the fairway. 
On the fairway, but contending with this...

Speaking of gorse.. The round at Castle Stuart marked my first meeting with this vile plant. Gorse blooms a vibrant yellow and orange each spring, which was still around when I visited in June. But don't let the pretty colors fool you.. This thorny weed is most definitely what the devil grows in his garden. If your ball finds a gorse plant, don't even bother.. Just drop another and play on. 
Vile weed.

In addition to its offering of redemption, perhaps the defining characteristic of Castle Stuart is its abundance of spectacular views. The landmarks along the Moray Firth are framed into shots like the work of a talented photographer. For example, the course's namesake stands backdrop behind the 4th hole, while the trademark infinity greens give way to the Kessock Bridge or Chanonry Point Lighthouse. All of this is by design, and all of it serves up vivid memories even on a grey and dreary day. 
Castle Stuart behind the par-3 4th green.

Of all the new things I was introduced to as part of my links golf initiation, the aspect I enjoyed the most had to do with my score... Specifically, the lack of one. This was my first real experience with match-play; where each hole is its own match, and the person who wins the most holes is the victor. It really is a shame this style of play is pretty much non-existent on this side of the pond. Instead we add up each gut-wrenching stroke at the end of the day, as a reminder of just how lousy we are at this cursed game. 
Where not to hit it on #18.

All I know is, Jeremy was 4 holes up on me with only 3 to play.. A rather stout beating, and one that was sealed when his drive on the 10th careened off a rock in the firth and back into the fairway. What may seem like an unlucky break for yours truly, however, was really just the opposite. The sight of that ball being thrown out of the bay is just one of countless images that I hope to carry with me forever. It also sums up my introduction to links golf rather well...

Sometimes the bounce goes your way, sometimes it doesn't, but at Castle Stuart.. It sure is great to play the game.

Enjoy Your Stay.

Nessie, Inverness, and the Left Side of the Road

In most circumstances, saying goodbye to your better half for over a month would be a rather somber occasion. Yet when I ditched MJ at London's Victoria Coach Station, I bolted out of there with more pep in my step than Gene Kelly during a thunderstorm. OK, sure, I was a little sad, but feeling sorry for myself would have to wait for another day. For now, I had a date with The Home of Golf.
No sign of Nessie.

While MJ rode the bus to Cambridge, I caught a different kind of bus - read: easyJet - to the Scottish Highlands and the city of Inverness. Golf was, of course, the main attraction, however my plans for the first day of this adventure didn't involve my clubs. Instead, my goal was to recover from the hectic last few days of travel with a nice leisurely afternoon establishing my bearings and exploring a few of the sights.
My chariot to Inverness.

In hindsight, "leisurely" may not have been the most appropriate adjective.

What can only be described as anxious exhilaration hit a fever pitch when my flight buzzed the art deco clubhouse at Castle Stuart Golf Links while on approach to the Inverness airport. That sense of "Holy crap, I'm really here" had officially set in, and in that moment I was both incredibly excited and absolutely terrified. Why was I terrified, you ask? Because I knew a man was holding a sign with my name on it in the terminal, and I'd have to face my biggest fear with this trip straight away...

Driving on the left-side of the road.

This would be the 2nd time I'd ever driven on the "wrong" side of the road; my only other experience being on the island of St. Thomas where I just followed my dad in a jeep right in front of me. As I checked-in at the car rental office, I tried recalling all of the tips I'd picked up from the 322 blogs I read before the trip. Just then, the agent said something that snapped my out of my nervous trance...


"We've upgraded you to a nice BMW."

After adding on every possible insurance available, I waited outside and watched as a glistening piece of German machinery was pulled around. I confirmed with the attendant the type of fuel and color coding of the gas pump handles - Black for Diesel, Green for Unleaded... Like the lanes, also the opposite of the U.S. - and just like that, I was off.

I quickly discovered that there was just one problem... This car, by U.K. standards, was enormous. Combine that with lanes that felt as narrow as the monorail track at Disney, plus the unnerving sight of cars passing on my right, and I felt like I was 15 with my learner's permit all over again.

And then came the roundabouts.
Wait... What??
Credit

About 2 minutes into my leisurely afternoon, I was completely stressed out. As I barreled my way through one roundabout after another, without the slightest clue if I was doing so correctly, one question kept coming to mind: How was I going to handle this for 6 days? It was now that I had a decision to make... I could toss in the towel on driving for the day and head straight to my hotel, or I could suck it up and continue with my plans.

I decided that the best way to overcome this fear was to rip the band-aid right off. At the next roundabout, I veered left and began my quest to find Nessie.

I'd love to tell you that the driving got easier that afternoon, but it didn't. Despite appearing on the map as a relatively main highway, the route which paralleled Loch Ness was nothing more than your average two-lane country road. I soon discovered that in Scotland there's no such thing as Interstates, and the four-lane divided highway was a luxury I encountered just once during the entire trip. The rest of the time was spent on these narrow, winding, shoulder-less roads.
I did this... A lot.

Along the way, I spotted an odd road-sign with the picture of a camera on it. Just a few yards ahead, there was a rather pretty pull-off area alongside the shore of the lake. Given this road was basically one long picturesque tourist trip, I assumed the sign notified folks like me that a nice photo opportunity was just ahead. I was wrong... Turns out that little camera sign warns of the possible position of speed cameras. I didn't learn this helpful little nugget of info until the very last day of my trip. Thankfully, the car rental agency hasn't forwarded me any speeding tickets... Yet. 
Not Scotland, but look... A Kodak moment ahead!

After 45-harrowing minutes, I finally arrived to my intended destination... Urquhart Castle. For the most part, Loch Ness is nothing more than a giant lake.. albeit, a rather gorgeous one. But.. toss in the ruins of a 13th century fortress and a little sunshine, and I had something that made the drive entirely worthwhile. Not eager to return to the car anytime soon, I made an iced coffee in the gift shop's coffee bar - they hadn't heard of such a thing - and soaked up what would prove to be the last sunshine I'd see for three days.

It was a good decision to soak up the rays while they lasted, because I was just a few miles up the road when it was time to learn how to turn on the Beamers windshield wipers. The rain was nothing serious, but enough to make my next destination a drive-by of sorts. The Culloden Battlefield was the site of the final stand of the Jacobite Rebellion which sought to restore the House of Stuart to the British throne. It also marked the final "pitched battle" - basically, two rows of troops facing each other and firing - on British soil. The rain seemed appropriate, given the lives lost and the 100 years of suppression, known as the Highland Clearances, which followed.
A stone honoring the members of one of the clans lost in the fighting.
The red flags mark the line of British troops.

By now it was going on 6pm and the hunger pains were coming on strong. I made my way into the heart of Inverness, pulled into the tiniest hotel parking lot imaginable, and checked-in to my digs for the next two nights: the Best Western Inverness Palace. Don't let the name fool you.. my general thought on the hotel is "Meh." The location is great, but it's clearly well past its prime and is a tour group turn-and-burn operation. That said, I slept like an absolute rock both nights. 

I'm sure part of that opinion stemmed from an unfair comparison to the Rocpool Reserve, which was my first stop on my tour of the food scene in Inverness. This place oozed class and reinforced what I knew before departing - that this was where I should have stayed - if only I could have stomached the rate. Both the smoked salmon and whisky cocktail I enjoyed here were among the best I've had anywhere. 

The next morning, I quickly learned one of Scotland's quirks... Everything opens later than on this side of the pond. Coffee shops were locked up tight until 8 or 9am, many restaurants didn't start serving until 7pm, and even the earliest tee times at the golf courses were often much later than "normal." For an "early to bed, early to rise" type, this took some getting used to, and I'm not sure that I ever did.
Don't tell the authorities... I imported a bag of Entenmann's. 

My time in Inverness was short, but in the end it provided exactly what I needed in advance of the busy week ahead. Here I found a welcome pause in the hectic travel, a few memorable sites, and the opportunity to adjust to things like 18 hours of daylight, wacky coffee shop hours, and the left-side of the road. That last one did get much easier with time, which allowed me to focus on the all-important task ahead...

7 golf courses... 5 days.

Enjoy Your Stay

London Calling - 18 Hours with The Queen

In the 10 years that we've been together, if there's one thing that MJ and I have mastered it's the art of the deal when it comes to traveling without one another. She plans a girls cruise, I go to Streamsong for a weekend of golf. I pay a visit to The King at Bay Hill, she goes to Jekyll Island for a 5k supporting her beloved sea turtles. This yin and yang has served us well, so when she pitched me the idea of going to Cambridge (England, not the wannabe in Massachusetts) for a month, I saw a prime opportunity to cash-in.

The terms of this deal were rather simple.. We would travel across the pond together and once there she'd jump on a bus to Cambridge, while I'd catch a flight to The Home of Golf. Everybody wins, with a small bonus tossed in as well: we'd have most of an afternoon to explore London together.


The long-awaited journey began in Orlando, where we took the relatively new non-stop to London Gatwick offered by Norwegian Air. Overall, the flight was a mixed bag.. We saved a boatload over the non-stops on Virgin and British Airways, the 787-Dreamliner was outstanding, as was the service throughout. On the other hand, the flight was nearly 3-hours late and MJ's entertainment console didn't work. That said, we'd certainly fly Norwegian again, but anyone considering the flight should bear in mind that an on-time departure is dependent on the same occurring on the inbound from Gatwick.. A long-shot, at best.

After breezing through customs, we hopped on the Gatwick Express train to Victoria station. Since MJ's bus would depart from Victoria the next morning, and I'd need a lift back to Gatwick, this was an uber-convenient way to get to the city. Sure, it's more expensive than the other train options to town, but worth every penny. Just be sure if you've booked a round-trip to not use the return ticket for your inbound leg, otherwise you'll be stuck at the kiosk scanning away like a moron. Not that I would know from experience or anything.


We checked-in to our room at the Z-Hotel, which proved to be the smallest I've ever experienced, even in Europe. Given the short stay, the location was far more important than spacious accommodations, and the Z-Hotel being across the street from Victoria Station delivered in spades. Plus it allowed us to brush up on our hopscotch skills getting from the door to the bed.


Since it was going on 3pm, and I was bordering on turning into Joe Pesci from the Snicker's commercial, we set off for our first destination which also held the promise of food. Naturally, a few blocks from the hotel we received the most appropriate welcome to London possible.. A downpour. Thankfully one of those cool black cabs spotted us cowering under an overhang and stopped to give us a lift.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that knows me that our first stop in London was the original Hard Rock Cafe. It was here that it all started in 1971, and I had a feeling that our server - who exceeded the average employee age by a few decades - may have been part of the opening team. But it was her response to my ordering the-entree-formerly-known-as The Pig Sandwich that sealed her place in my heart forever...

"Oh I'm so delighted to hear you call it by its proper name."


By the time the check came, the rain had stopped and we began our whirlwind tour of the city. Where else would we start but with a visit to Her Majesty?...


Then it was onward to another landmark which, due to its appearance in Peter Pan, has quickly become a favorite of our nephew, Old Sport. Thanks to my main man Steve Jobs, we were able to blow his mind in real time, even if it did require taking selfie video on a ridiculously crowded street.

Unfortunately we missed getting to pop inside Westminster Abbey by a matter of minutes, but the view outside provided enough inspiration to hold me over for a while.


As the sun was beginning to fade, along with our energy level from the long day of travel, we made our way back to the hotel via a stroll through St. James Park. This took us by Horse Guards Parade, where beach volleyball was played in the 2012 Olympics, and MJ got her first sighting of some of The Queen's Guard. 


St. James is the very definition of an urban oasis. It was bursting with color and it seemed every bird in the city called the park home. As did some of the largest swans I've ever seen. 




To have been in the UK for about five hours without having fish & chips seemed like a bit of a travesty, so our final stop for the night sought to rectify that. We found it at The Shakespeare, just across from Victoria Station. A tourist spot for sure, but it served its purpose well. 


After a restful night at the Z-hotel - which included some quality time at their complimentary wine & cheese reception - I awoke with the same feeling toward London that I carried away from my last overnight visit some 10 years ago. This is one of the world's great cities with history at every turn, however I'm not sure I'd go out of my way for a multi-day trip here. Perhaps if we had time to wander off the beaten path, I'd have come away feeling differently, yet my impression of London is it's a nice place to stop off on your way to somewhere else. 

And as it turned out, we both had somewhere else to be...

Enjoy Your Stay

What I Learned As A First-Time Author

So you want to write a book, or perhaps you’ve already written what’s destined to be the next great American novel. Either way, right about now the same question is probably bouncing around inside your brain… Now what? 

As a first time author, the path that leads from Once upon a time to Amazon.com can be a daunting one. I should know, because I just traveled down it myself. Throughout the entire process - from research and writing to publishing and promotion - there were many sleepless nights and lessons learned. And while I am no J.K. Rowling, what follows are a few tips from those teachable moments that other aspiring authors are sure to encounter along the way. 

Let me tell you what I’d wish I’d known, when I was young and dreamed of glory… ~Hamilton

It’s Probably Gonna Cost You 

Sorry to rain on your parade, but the fact is you’re probably more likely to replace Matthew Mcconaughey in the next round of Lincoln commercials than to have your masterpiece picked up by a publisher. This is especially true if you happen to be writing about a niche topic, such as the history of a municipal golf course in a small town in Central Florida. The self-publishing industry makes it possible for anyone to get their story to print, but they don’t do it out of the goodness of their heart. Do some research into the cost of self-publishing early on and decide just how much this dream is worth to you. 

Barnes & Nope 

We’ve all had that dream.. You know, the one where you walk into the local mega-bookstore and see your name alongside F. Scott Fitzgerald and H.A. Rey. Well, the odds of this one coming true are just as long as getting that publisher to pick up the tab. But that doesn’t mean the dream has to die.. It just means you have to take matters into your own hands. Buy a cup of coffee, and donate a couple copies to the man. 


Keep It To Yourself 

If every guy who said he was going to write a book actually did so, the Earth would be devoid of trees and paper its rarest commodity. Let’s be honest… Telling someone you’re writing a book sounds ridiculous and chances are quite high they won’t believe you. Skepticism that will sting if you’re already well into the writing. On the other hand, if your friends and family are the supportive type, the good-hearted questions of “How’s the book coming?” may add unnecessary pressure beyond what you’re already putting on yourself. Especially if they come during a nasty spell of writer’s block or a much needed break. My advice: keep the project a secret for as long as possible. 

Know When To Say The End 

There will likely come a time when your book is basically done, but you just won’t let it go. Rewording a sentence here, moving a paragraph there.. It is so easy to tweak the thing to death. It’s understandable, given the amount of time, blood, sweat, and tears you poured into it. When I reached this phase with my book, I got to a point where I just had to say “Enough.” I set a date when the work would officially end and stuck to it. If I hadn’t, chances are it would still just be a lousy Word document. 


Don’t Keep It To Yourself 

Remember what I said about not telling anyone about your book? Well, there’s one big exception… Once the book is complete, have a few of the people closest to you read it a couple of times, especially if they are knowledgeable on the topic at hand. A few sets of fresh eyes will help you spot things - be it typos, inconsistencies, etc. - that you might have otherwise missed. The urge will be to keep it under wraps until the hardcopy is in their hand, but they are sure to be just as honored with the chance to read it first. In the end, the feedback may prove more valuable than the satisfaction of handing them the finished product. 

Pay For The Proofread 

Seriously…. Few things are more annoying and detrimental to the flow of a book than typos. If you self-publish, don’t go cheap on the proofreading. You worked far too hard to have minor things like misspelled words and grammar put a damper on it. Which leads me to the next tip... 


Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff 

So there I was, minding my own business one night, when I saw it... A typo. Instantly, the walls felt like they were caving in around me; my mind raced for hours and there was little sleep to be had. In this case, it wasn’t an improper use of “their” or “there,” but a factual error.. Albeit a minor one that few, if any, readers would ever notice. But I noticed, and I beat myself up over it for days. 

Despite reading it 1217 times, and enlisting friends and a professional proofreader, you can pretty much rest assured that some sort of typo will make its way into your book. Try not to sweat it, because a) It’s not truly the end of the world and b) It’s an easy fix. Not to beat a dead horse, but you put too much personal capital into this book to let something so small detract from your achievement.  

Be Loud And Be Proud 

For many of us, self-promotion is a messy business. And yet, if anyone is going to read your book, that’s exactly what it will take. Sure, it may feel a bit uncomfortable, but let me take this opportunity to remind you…. You wrote a freaking book! Your friends, family, and perhaps even the community will be proud. You should be too. Post about it on social media, write the local newspaper, give copies away if you have to.. Enjoy the glory, because it will be very short lived, but most of all… 

You earned it.