Post-Production Notes

I started writing this book in my office at the Perillo Tours building, 577 Chestnut Ridge Road, Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey — once home to Richard Nixon’s former library.

Ironically, he wrote his own memoirs in those same surroundings.

Apparently, history enjoys the most luxurious real estate in town. 

I finished the book at a Turkish coffee shop in Paterson, New Jersey, during the blizzard of 2026.

That coffee shop — and its entire crew — kept me warm with the best Turkish tea and clean ashtrays after every Virginia Super Slim burn. I met wonderful people there: Kadir, Özcan, Hasan, Selim — the entire crew.

At some point, I stopped being a customer and became part of the furniture.

Even while I’m typing these lines on my phone right now they have no idea what I’m busy with on my phone. 

I shared one of the final manuscripts with Louis.

I told him his name kept popping up throughout the book.

I said readers would be very curious about who Louis was, and I promised I would include his photo — “The Louis.”

He said, “If you’re ever in New York, we’ll take new photos. I’ve got all new photo and video gear now. Armed to the teeth.”

This was slightly reassuring and slightly concerning.

I’m still not sure whether the final cover photo will come from his new studio or whether I’ll end up using one we already have.

Publishing, like life, is often decided at the very last minute.

I also wrote several chapters in the Wegmans parking lot while waiting to pick up Sofi.

I discovered a perfect spot facing the Chase branch — the morning sun rising behind it, creating just the right lighting inside the car.

It was cinematic.

If anyone had walked by with a camera, I would’ve assumed Netflix was calling.

Wegmans also has some of the best coffee around — certainly better than Starbucks.

For about three months, I even became friends with the coffee staff. At one point, they stopped asking my name and just nodded.

That’s when you know you’re there too often.

During the final stages of production, we moved from the Reedsy platform to Atticus while keeping the same overall look and feel of the book.

We tested a 6 × 9 trim size, but it felt too bulky for a pocket-style memoir — more “airport textbook” than “read this on a plane.”

So we settled on this 5.5 × 8.5 format instead.

I also ordered three copies of Victor Kiam’s memoir — two paperbacks and one hardcover — to study the layout, pacing, and overall structure.

This is what authors call “research,” and what spouses usually call “more books.”

The main reason for switching to Atticus was flexibility. We ran into a limitation with Reedsy: chapters were meant to open on odd-numbered pages, with chapter illustrations printed on the facing left page. Reedsy didn’t allow that level of control.

Atticus did.

Score one for layout nerds.

One of the final steps in post-production was securing our ISBN numbers. When we called Bowker — after nearly ten years — John Tabeling looked up our account and said, “You have 110 ISBNs. Let me check.”

They were all books and CDs. I didn’t realize they are here in New Jersey. 

I paused for a moment and thought, wow — I didn’t realize we had been that busy with publishing too.

Somehow, I had managed to forget an entire career while writing a memoir about my life.

After resetting a few long-forgotten passwords — which required more patience than writing several chapters — we assigned the ISBN for Dumb Luck.

It should be live and fully registered within a couple of weeks.

Dumb Luck is going out with four ISBNs, covering both Ingram and KDP distribution. KDP will use our official ISBN, cataloged worldwide — important for libraries, bookstores, and anyone who still believes books should exist physically.

Each language edition will be available in paperback and hardcover. This making the book four different products.

You’ll be able to order it on Amazon with next-day shipping, or find it in the Business / Self-Help section of Barnes & Noble.

I’ve already gotten into trouble more than once at Barnes & Noble — in Boca Raton and on Route 17 in Paramus, New Jersey — after reorganizing their periodicals section by moving all twelve of my magazine titles to the front row of Computers & Software.

Technically, I was “helping.”

No promises that I won’t do it again with my own book.

I will, however, arrange a proper book signing at Barnes & Noble Paramus.

After thirty years as one of their magazine publishers, I think I’ve earned that.

And yes — I fully intend to bring a mountain of hardcover copies and stack them right at the entrance.

Old habits die hard.