A New American Classic

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More care packages hitting mailboxes! Thank you for sharing and I hope you enjoy it! In case you missed at, a-new-american-classic has a book out. Available at all book retailers. Or click here to buy it! For those of you who may or may not know, my friend Nick the good-looking genius behind a-new-american-classic wrote a book and it recently got published! If you want to find out what In-Between Days is all about, head on over to his blog again, a-new-american-classic and check out the trailer. And if you want to read it yourself, you can find it all over the place! Take a few minutes to at least give it a look. I hope you love it! Thank you so much! Alright guys, It took a little finagling but I managed to find a VCR and the right equipment to get what was on that tape onto a computer… I was shocked to find that it happens to be a trailer for the book! So hey, take two minutes out of your day and get yourself a little more interested in In-Between Days. And even more exciting than that, you can now pre-order the book at multiple fine establishments across the world. So please, take some time out of your day to pre-order. The more interest they see, the more likely they are to stock it on their shelves. E-book should be available for pre-order next week. Amazon US - http: Gonna keep plugging this because pre-orders are one of the big things physical stores use to determine what to stock on their shelves. Help a brother out. Take two minutes out of your time to check out the trailer, and another two to pre-order! Take the time to check the trailer. You can now pre-order the digital copy from Amazon the physical copy is still, but my publisher and I are actively working to smooth that out. But the good news is, you can literally pre-order the physical copy anywhere else. And feel free to reblog and share. Take two minutes out of your time and watch the trailer. Take another two to pre-order. Take two more to reblog this. I promise you, this book is worth more than six minutes of your time. Walk in and ask for it. All it takes is six minutes. Two minutes to watch the trailer, two minutes to click a pre-order link, and two minutes to reblog this. Take two to watch the trailer, two to pre-order the book, and two to reblog this post. Tell all your friends. It feels easy and familiar, yet can still seduce you with a sentence or a turn of phrase that is as exciting as fingertips stroking the back of your neck. Rowland, Author of Unspoken Messages. It takes six minutes. Six minutes of your time. Reblog and tell all your friends. These numbers are climbing, guys, and our pre-order numbers are looking great. So keep it up. Keep getting the word out. Have you pre-ordered the book? And then maybe share this around. This book is out tomorrow. Hey, you remember that great review I snagged the other day? Well, Christine enjoyed my book so much that she decided to ask me a few questions about it. Got a couple minutes? Click on over and read it. The Story Salve is dedicated to spreading the word about books from diverse authors, touching on marginalized topics. Christine came at my book looking at the mental health aspect of it, and really picked up on a lot of things… And she enjoyed it enough to throw four stars my way. Book comes out next Wednesday. Maybe click on through and pre-order a copy for yourself, or your friend, or your worst enemy. It was a seaside dive bar where I saw you, and I was certain some sailor must have have stolen a long forgotten treasure from deep in the depths. You were smiling into your drink, singing along with the Jersey shore sound, songs about Brandy, Sheena, and Rags. I never cared for bitter cocktails, gin was made for juice, not tonic, but all I wanted was one desperate attempt to taste that drink on your lips. Not long after that you were sitting on the couch across from me, legs tangled, foot dangling in comfort and contentment. The old apartment still smelled like sex and the oversized candles you always seemed to have lying around. We were talking idly, about the drive along the coast and the way the fairy lights lit the street corner cafes in the most inviting way. I laid my head in your lap and let you scratch that spot under my chin until I fell to sleep. Somewhere in between I found you crying in bed, those storms finally heavy enough to let loose. Like some bad carnival ride, I could feel the drop coming, every bump on the way down jarring and shaking me, the kind of turmoil you feel in the roots of your teeth as your jaw clenches tight enough to impress anything you might find in the Everglades. It was jarring enough to wake me from sleep, and instinctively I bolt up, worrying that I may have woken you. I tug at the blanket to keep us both from the cold, my arm ready to reach across your side of the bed. I expected to curl in close, nestling my nose into those fiery red tresses, to hear you sleepily humming something by the Jam or the Damned. Instead I found the empty space you left, cold and bereft of any consolation. My novel comes out in 19 days. They did an article in the local paper the other day, and that spread the word pretty hard locally. So fingers crossed for film rights, folks. I went to Punk Rock Prom with Dave Hause and Beach Slang on Wednesday night with a bunch of bleeding heart boys and we had the kind of revelry they only write about in really good pulp novels. Life is really difficult this time of the year. My grandfather is in a rough place. I gave him the first, hardcover copy of my book and he teared up, and then I was a big sobbing mess. Expect an old piece and another ad for the book later. And thanks to every single one of you for the kind words, encouraging messages, and clicking those like and reblog buttons. She was the kind to keep old hotel keys, a stack of hard plastic meant to serve as a shrine to her unsettled self. Running came natural to her, the dirt on her feet, the way her anklet jingled. Those gypsy skirts were meant to sway in the wind, and never standing still meant never having to deal with the crushing weight of it all. Dressed to the nines in neon lights, staying awake means keeping the nightmares out, but never seeing your dreams. The ergonomic black chair swivels sideways, and Sawyer slips in. The fingers on his left hand tap out a military cadence, punctuated by the snare-drum smack of a ring rattling the desk. Readying himself for the journey and sipping from his mug— all Irish, no coffee—he reaches toward the weathered set of headphones on the desk. Brushing thinning wisps of salt and pepper behind his ears, the cans take their rightful place atop his head. Sawyer is instantly transformed from a half-awake zombie with a stack of papers into the grand marshal of the late shift lonely hearts parade. Have you got anything to say to the one that got away? How about a declaration of love for the one sent from up above? The empty airspace is filled by another lonely-hearts tale, as The Great Depression goes into great detail about the love lost and left behind by his Asbury Park Mermaid. All Sawyer can hope is that maybe this caller will find a little temporary relief. Sawyer sits back in his chair, exhales heavily like he needs to make room and long sip from his mug. The Delta blues wash down with another gulp, the rye coating his chords in armor as he prepares to lead the lonely-hearted into the Promised Land. Tell me what it is troubling you tonight. He turns away from the microphone to let slip a sigh as a soft voice drifts out of the speaker. Sawyer slides the headphones down to his neck as elbow meets desk. A wandering thumb finds the bottom of the band on his finger and begins to rock it back and forth. Sawyer works it up to his knuckle and bends his finger just enough to feel the squeeze before he slips it back to its proper place. Eyes still closed, he brings the cans back to his ears and lets the auto-queue take DJ duty. He fades in and out with the sway of the music, eyes to the bootleg sky of the studio, great incandescent stars flickering in and out. The ring on his finger taps against the desk, the same meter of the engine block before it gave out eight miles east of Tishomingo. They never made it to Muscle Shoals, but she said yes over body shop coffee and vending machine sticky buns. It took the switchboard flicker and track fade out to snap him back into the present. He listens intently as the caller gives him the rundown. Sawyer slips into his role, the cupid of cool for the neon-dwelling downhearted, as he queues up a consolation song. The receiver clicks and the next track begins. Sawyer leans back, staring once again at the makeshift midnight sky on the ceiling. A post shared by Music City Notes musiccitynotes on Oct 13, at 8: Oh, hi there depression naps. Are we hanging out again? This showed up with the mail… Guess I better watch it and maybe put it on YouTube. Keep your eyes peeled. And guess what came in the mail today! Thank you so much for sharing this with everyone! Time to shut out the world. Rowland, Author of Unspoken Messages This guy. Now with added testimonials. Go give it a look. Author Interview Nick Desjardins storysalve: If you missed my review of In-Between Days, check it out! November 22 My Rating: Owen has spent the last twelve years somewhere between Heaven and Hell learning that lesson the hard way. Life is weird lately. Short Stories for Short Attentions Spans a-new-american-classic: Left of the Dial a-new-american-classic: About Nick Desjardins grew up an army brat, bouncing around the south until settling in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Leaving behind a mostly finished degree, he took to traveling and menial labor jobs, typing away on a beat-up laptop any chance he could get. He currently resides in Kentucky, where he spends far too much time trying to figure out the musical preferences of his two dogs and hanging around dive bars. He has a serious problem not comically exaggerating his own biography and may or may not be part of a crack commando unit, wanted by the government, surviving as a soldier of fortune. I Dig These Posts Post via goggles-and-goldens. Audio post via cryalittleriverdown. Submit a post Mobile. Effector Theme — Tumblr themes by Pixel Union.

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