I Am Tom Waits!

I almost met Tom Waits once, in the late-’90s. I was having dinner with a friend at Oliveto’s, a nice Italian restaurant in Oakland, California when I heard this raspy, gravelly voice that sounded like broken glass chatting with his dinner companions as they were being seated at the table behind us. I joked to my friend that the gentleman sounded a lot like Tom Waits. She raised her hand slightly, motioning that I should lower my voice, while she slowly nodded yes.

I Am Tom Waits! by Janice Margolis. It’s a jukebox full of ghosts, a back‑alley sermon, a carnival ride that rattles and hums. Readers will hear the clink of bottles, the howl of midnight trains, the laughter that comes with a tear.

I hope you will consider buying it, and let your bookshelf be the place where the smoke curls, the piano moans, and the stories walk in on crooked legs looking for a home.