by Gabe Berman – the author of Live Like a Fruit Fly

Archive for the tag “self publishing”


I have superhero memory.

It’s totally fucking extraordinary.

And you know what, it’s also totally fucking useless.

It’s done nothing for me other then instantly informing my brain that the werewolf Remus Lupin in Harry Potter was also the video artist Knox Harrington in Lebowski.

It’s been totally useless, until today.

I was waking on the boardwalk earlier, inundated with thoughts I’d rather not be thinking, but this time, instead of attempting to quiet my mind, I defended myself from continually getting shivved by those unwanted thoughts by pointing my attention to memories of my dad.

And I’m not just talking about the typical “remember the time when he…” memories. I mean real specific ones.

Like what the steam burns on his forearm felt like to touch. Like what the microscopic upturn of his lips (that only I could spot) looked like when he did something bad and was trying to keep a straight face. Like the stance he stood in while cutting a bagel with the precision of a samurai. Right there in the boardwalk, I literally saw his feet lined up perfectly on the kitchen tile. I even saw his goddamn, big toe cuticles he picked at incessantly.

And just like that, I was smiling. Bittersweet smiles, but smiles nonetheless.

And then I was able to hear the ocean. And able to see the seagulls standing up gusty winds.

Because that’s why I went to the boardwalk to begin with.

To just abide. Abide as The Dude does.


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Today Is My Anniversary

I started writing Live Like A Fruit Fly on the ninth of February a few years back.

I called my friend Rob, who ended up making a few appearances in the book, and said, “Hey man. I know it’s your birthday, so, happy birthday. But you need to do me a favor. I’m starting to write a book today. A book that can change the world. If I’m not done in a year from today, I need you to come over and blow my head off with a shotgun.”

Gruesome, I know. But without hardcore incentive, I’d procrastinate my life away.

I wrote for a few days and then put it aside for a few weeks. I wrote for a few weeks and then put it aside for a few months.

Sometimes it flowed with ease. Other times it was like forcing water from a stone.

Finally, I typed, “The End.”

With my masterpiece manifested, I looked to the lower righthand corner of my computer screen to see the date. Without planning, it was a year later, the ninth of February.

Live Like A Fruit Fly hasn’t changed the world.


But I’m grateful to say that it is changing lives – one by one.

For example, I became close friends with a fan of my book and I introduced her to a close friend of mine from back home. They’re now living together and she took him today for a full day at the spa.

Why today?

Because it’s Rob. And today is his birthday.

“In Live Like a Fruit Fly, Gabe Berman shares his recipe for living a more joyful, worthwhile, and abundant life in every way. A witty, entertaining, and insightful read.” —Deepak Chopra, Author, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success


The Old Man And The Aide

I saw an old man with his aide in front of a beauty supply store.

She intended to open the door for him but he said, “I can get it.”

He was a gentleman in his blue jeans, plaid shirt, Members Only-ish jacket and pair of Hush Puppies.

The heavy door resisted his initial pull, but in the end, it was no match for his determination and it relented.

His aide smiled graciously and he followed her into the store.

With ease, I opened the door to the adjacent Starbucks.

But that old man is me. He is you. If we’re fortunate enough to avoid the slings and arrows of life, he’s our fate.

You’d think we’d be kinder to others now. You’d think we’d be kinder to ourselves.

But greed breeds fear and spreads the gospel of not-enoughness. It seems we have no choice but to run rampant like rats in an unwinable rat-race and squander our youthfulness in pursuit of the illusion of future security.

But we do have a choice. We can choose to choose kindness. We can choose to choose to be grateful for the little things. Because trust me, they turn out to be the only things that matter.

The future is now. It shapes itself through you.

With love and thanks,
gabe – the question that haunts us and the answer that helps us heal


Knock Knock Neo

It’s official – we’re in the goddamn Matrix.

I’m at Starbucks and the music is blasting. I can clearly hear it through my headphones and for the most part, it sucks.

So, I asked them if they can turn it don’t a notch. Without making eye contact, the girl behind the counter said, “Not during frappy hour.”

Frappy hour? Are you fucking kidding me man?

“Do not try to bend the spoon. For that is impossible. Only try to realize the truth: there is no spoon. Then you will see that it’s not the spoon that bends, but only yourself.”

(I swear, a woman wearing a red dress just walked in. Holy shit. A sign? Definitely.)


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Another Sneak Peek Inside The Sequel To – Live Like A Fruit Fly

9/11/11 – Ten Years Later – chapter 29

The majority of your worries are meaningless.

Yes, I’m talking to you. If I could grab you by the shirt, slam you against the wall and scream it in your face, I swear I would.

The majority…

of your worries…


Wait, did I just drop an F-bomb? You bet your ass I did.

How can I be so callous? How dare I be so insensitive?

I know what you’re thinking, “Gabe, you have no idea what I’m going through. Summer camp was so expensive and I my husband just sits on the couch and…”

And I hear someone else saying, “I’m pretty sure my boss is looking to replace me and my gym membership is expiring soon and…”

Shut up. Just shut up for a minute. I’m sorry to be so rude but since you and I go back a long way, I can’t allow you to lose so much perspective. To be honest, you sound pretty silly.

It’s only been ten years. Have you already forgotten?

Please step into my DeLorean. The flux-capacitor is fully charged and we just need to get this baby up to 88 mph.

(Lights flash, flaming tire marks)

It’s the morning of September 12th, 2001. You barely slept because you were watching the news all night. Your eyes burn from crying. The world is in chaos.

Maybe your daughter is dead. Or maybe it was a guy you went to high school with. Maybe you neighbor’s dad was on vacation but every member of his firehouse was crushed to death when Tower 2 collapsed.

You literally don’t have space in your brain to worry about what was plaguing you on September 9th. I know you’d trade this horror for the “problems” from a few days ago. You’d definitely be dealing with less regrets than you’re dealing with now. Maybe you just be a little bit nicer. A little bit more forgiving. A little bit more generous with your time.

And I have feeling the people who were murdered yesterday wouldn’t have taken their day-to-day so seriously if the knew how things were going to unfold.

(Lights flash, flaming tire marks)

Hey McFly, we’re back to the present. It’s September 11th, 2011. Hopefully this day will turn out to be just like it was yesterday and just like it will be tomorrow. Relatively uneventfully.

Did your new flat screen TV just break? Are you kids driving you nuts? Is your boyfriend a selfish idiot? Suck it up and go out there and live your life abundantly. Why? Because you have the opportunity to and Morty Frank, a good guy I went to high school with, doesn’t. He perished at the World Trade Center shortly after arriving to work that day.

Don’t be so selfish. Don’t be so greedy. Don’t be so angry. Don’t hold back your love. If you want to volunteer at an animal shelter and you actually have the time to, shut off the TV and make it happen.

Maybe your life has sucked up until this moment. Well, join the club. But there’s still time left to make your life extraordinary.

Did you ever think in a million years that 9/11 would happen? Then what the hell are you waiting for?

You don’t owe it to Morty Frank and you don’t owe it to the starving kids in Africa. You owe it to yourself.

Live like a fruit fly.


For All Artists, Musicians, Writers and Free Thinkers


A Letter To Phillip Phillips

I’m sorry I’ve only recently realized this, but “Home” is one of the sweetest, sunniest, most perfect tunes I’ve ever heard.

What caused the delay in my discovery? C’mon man, you’re from Idol. And, well, you know…

Anyway…I listen to this song over and over again while I drive back and forth from Starbucks. Because it’s rock music, and because of the way my head is screwed on, I always assumed you were singing to a specific girl.

But tonight as I was in the car, my soul perked its ears up and it heard something completely different.

Maybe you’re not singing to a girl. Maybe it’s not even you singing in the song. Maybe, just maybe, it’s someone singing to you. Who? You know who.


Listen to your lyrics:

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave (wave) is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m gonna make this place your home

Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m gonna make this place your home

Even if I’m wrong about this on the surface, I’m right.

Thank you for reminding us that we’re not alone,

My new book is out: The Complete Bullshit-Free and Totally Tested Writing Guide: How To Make Publishers, Agents, Editors & Readers Fall In Love With Your Work


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