We are now just seven weeks away from the release of my new book, “Beyond What We Know” and I’m so excited to share with you the brand new trailer for the 232-page story. I hope you enjoy it. Please be sure to like, comment and share.
Beyond What We Know is available now for pre-order on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
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Book SigningEvent on Saturday, September 6th from 1-4 p.m. at Barnes & Noble Southmont Center 4445 Southmont Way – Easton, PA 18045
It’s official! The first book signing event for “Beyond What We Know” has been confirmed – so save the date!!
On Saturday, September 6th I’ll be at the Barnes & Noble in the Southmont Center 4445 Southmont Way in Easton, PA from 1 – 4 p.m. to celebrate the release of the new book, sign copies, answer questions and more! More details to come in the days ahead but if you’re in the area, hope to see you there. The book officially releases on Sunday, August 31st.
Pre-order Beyond What We Know from Barnes & Noble by clicking here.
I’m so excited to share the news that the paperback version of my new 232-page novel, “Beyond What We Know,” is now available for pre-order on Amazon.
Click here to be taken to the pre-order page where you can find out all the details. The book officially arrives on August 31st.
Synopsis:
Riddled with guilt over the death of his father, high school graduate Mike Collins spends his last summer at home disquieted by thoughts of leaving behind his mother and first love as he prepares to depart for college. Unbeknownst to him, Mike will soon meet his musical hero, Chris Steele, whose perspective of life will teach him to believe in the possibility of second chances.
Filled with rich imagery from the 1980s, “Beyond What We Know” is a coming-of-age story exploring life’s obstacles, the music and the machinery, while illuminating the power of friendship with the metaphysical transcendence of the unknown.
Official Trailer:
Early reviews:
“Beyond What We Know” is the kind of story that hits both heart and memory. It’s grief, growth, and a second chance wrapped in 80s nostalgia and music. For fans of coming-of-age stories with soul, this one’s calling.”
“A tender, nostalgic journey through grief, growth, and the unexpected ways we heal. Set against a vivid 1980s backdrop, this coming-of-age tale reminds us that even in our darkest moments, music, friendship, and second chances can light the way. A must read!”
I am excited to announce that my new 232-page novel, “Beyond What We Know” is coming Summer 2025. It’s my first novel since 2018’s “Neapolitan Sky.” Check out the first cover reveal photo on the right.
The book has been a work in progress for nearly 7 years but some challenges, including a global pandemic, put things on the back burner, until now!
Here’s a synopsis for “Beyond What We Know”:
“Riddled with guilt over the death of his father, high school graduate Mike Collins spends his last summer at home disquieted by thoughts of leaving behind his mother and first love as he prepares to depart for college. Unbeknownst to him, Mike will soon meet his musical hero, Chris Steele, whose perspective of life will teach him to believe in the possibility of second chances.
Filled with rich imagery from the 1980s, “Beyond What We Know” is a coming-of-age story exploring life’s obstacles, the music and the machinery, while illuminating the power of friendship with the metaphysical transcendence of the unknown.”
Here is the official trailer for “Beyond What We Know”:
In the weeks ahead watch this space for more info about the new book, including the full cover reveal, behind the scenes stories about the book’s origin, giveaways and more. I’m also in the process of arranging book signing events, so hopefully I’ll see you out there.
I’m so excited about this book and can’t wait for you to check it out.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been 7 years since the release of my last book, “Neapolitan Sky,” but I’m happy to announce that my brand new novella, “Beyond What We Know,” is set for release this summer. I’ll be using my site to share updates along the way, including the cover reveal, a chapter or two, some behind the scenes stories, giveaways and more. I hope you’ll be along for the ride.
In the meantime, I’d like to share the trailer for the book and a synopsis of “Beyond What We Know.”
Beyond What We Know – Synopsis:
“Riddled with guilt over the death of his father, high school graduate Mike Collins spends his last summer at home disquieted by thoughts of leaving behind his mother and first love as he prepares to depart for college. Unbeknownst to him, Mike will soon meet his musical hero, Chris Steele, whose perspective of life will teach him to believe in the possibility of second chances.
Filled with rich imagery from the 1980s, “Beyond What We Know” is a coming-of-age story exploring life’s obstacles, the music and the machinery, while illuminating the power of friendship with the metaphysical transcendence of the unknown.”
Politics aside, you want to know why this country is going down the tubes? It’s because of things like this news story. It’s only a matter of time before it’s eliminated completely. No outlet for kids to have creativity of any kind. No chance to express themselves as individuals or work together as one ensemble to create something magical that brings joy to people each Christmas and spring season.
I’m sure I’m not alone when I say this as a 55 year old man: being part of the music and choir program at school was the only thing that saved me. It’s why when my favorite teacher, the late Ed Milisits, retired after three decades at Easton Area High School and tried starting a community choir that nearly ALL of it was comprised of now middle-aged former alumni who felt so strongly about what they experienced years ago that they blocked off time in their busy adult schedules to come back and sing. A vast majority of them hadn’t sang like that since they graduated decades ago. What does that tell you?
To quote from Whitman (and Robin Williams’ performance in Dead Poet’s Society): “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?”
Answer: That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.
I’d love to hear your thoughts about this. Please feel free to leave a note in the comments section.
This is the fourteenth entry in my series of annual birthday reflections. Something I started doing shortly after I began my writing journey in the fall of 2011. As I sit here now, drinking coffee on this beautiful fall Saturday morning, it’s hard to believe that I’m exactly half-way through my fifties.
It seems like it was only yesterday I was the youthful teenager driving my pals around in a beat-up 1973 Toyota station wagon, hauling my guitar to lesson every week, going to the Palmer Park Mall on Friday nights after school, pouring millions of dollars worth of quarters from summer lawn mowing money into video game cabinets, having my fill of Orange Julius and wishing I could somehow muster up the courage to go over and talk to the cute girl who was standing with her friends outside of the Listening Booth record store.
Wasn’t I the one who was able to go to rock concerts and stay up until the wee hours of the morning? Sitting in some dingy downtown diner deep into the night; chain smoking cigarettes, eating french fries smothered in imitation cheese sauce and drinking gallons of coffee. Talking with my friends about our plans to take on the world and make all of our dreams come true. And who could possibly forget singing ̶h̶o̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ beautiful three-part acapella versions of Eagles songs in the parking lot until 2 a.m. until we finally called it a night. Then to get home and lay there alone in the dark, listening to the whirring sound of a portable fan and feeling excited about the possibility of everything we’d just talked about coming true, before finally drifting off to sleep. These days, I’m lucky if I can stay up past 10 p.m.
There’s an odd sense of immortality you have when you’re young that makes you believe time will always stand still. One that pulls you close and then whispers in your ear, telling you that you’ll never be as old as your parents. But then one day you take a nap and unknowingly wake up in their role and realize your parents are gone and time waits for no one.
To give you some perspective, my father died twenty-seven years ago this month at the age of 51. As of today, my birthday, I’ve outlived him by four years. My mother died in March of 2020, almost five years ago. This year, one of the friends who made those many coffee and cheese fry runs with me has been gone for ten years, and I recently heard the news about another classmate I knew quite well who had passed away unexpectedly.
A few years ago I stumbled upon my Easton Area Middle School student ID card. It was hiding beneath a pile of old knick knacks and memories in the crawl space of my basement. Why I decided to keep it all these years I’ll never know, but seeing it reminded me of the day the teacher handed them out in the fall of 1980. It was the first time I ever received a photo identification card of any kind, and although I didn’t much care for my fresh-faced goofy grin photo on the front, there was something printed on the back of the now worn, laminated card that had immediately caught my attention.
There among my bus route and home room numbers were the words, “YR GRAD-87.” It was the first time I saw the year of my future high school graduation (1987) and the first time I believed it was so very far away. To this shy eleven-year-old boy, seven years seemed like an eternity. The very idea of a youthful me not only seeing the year 1987 but eventually living in the year 2000 and beyond was the equivalent of having a starring role in The Jetsons or a Star Wars movie. It was inconceivable for me to even comprehend living in the space age. My parents were both very much alive at the time as well as both sets of grandparents and all of my classmates and friends. I didn’t have a job, or any roles and responsibilities for that matter, and the only things I looked forward to back in 1980 was Pizza Friday at school, my birthday, Christmas and summer vacation. As far as I was concerned, seven years away could’ve been seven hundred.
Fast forward and here I am now, sitting on a couch with a scruffy gray beard and a bit thick in the middle, celebrating the double nickel birthday thirty-seven years post high school and twenty-four years beyond the year 2000. It’s mind boggling to think that we’re almost 25% of the way through another century. Back in 1980, I thought I had all the time I’d ever need, and now I often find myself feeling the urge to make the most of the time I have left.
As many of you know, I suffered a bimalleolar ankle fracture back in February. It was the first time I had ever broken a bone in my life and had to have surgery. One of the worst and scariest things to ever happen to me. I was laid up for what felt like an eternity, so when the doctor finally looked at the x-ray of my healed bones weeks later and told me to get up and walk, the emotion I felt was almost Biblical. I’m so grateful to be back walking, although my ankle does make a point of reminding me nearly every day about what happened. The doctor said it will probably take up to a year before things get back to “normal,” whatever that is. I’m thankful for everyone who took the time to wish me well, bring me over a coffee or mow the lawn while I was laid up in the cast and boot. As a side note I will say that, in addition to the wheel and central air conditioning, the knee scooter is one of the greatest things ever invented by man.
Now that I’m back on two feet let’s finish this birthday post by talking about what’s going on now, in the present day. In addition to continuing to do interviews—hopefully, you’ve read a few of them over the years, I’m still writing and doing watercolor painting. Both of which have been great forms of stress relief.
I think I may celebrate this day by spending some time at an old-school arcade in Allentown. One targeted to Generation X that still has all of the retro game cabinets. There’s no need to drop quarters into the machines anymore – it’s pay one price for unlimited play, which is a good thing considering I’ve been out of practice for the last forty years. And while I’m being annihilated by the invaders of Galaga and Zaxxon, I’ll reminisce about my friends who’ve moved on as well as the coffee and cheese fries—especially now that I’m eligible for the 55+ discount menu! I’ll also think about the plans and dreams we made that came true, and the ones still left to find.
In the meantime, I hope this day and my next trip around the sun brings all of us a newfound sense of hope, peace and most of all, love.
Author Virginia Lee Burton died in 1969, the same year I was born. I think I was in second grade when the librarian at my elementary school first read us her Caldecott Medal-winning book, “The Little House.” A story the author said was based on her family’s own little house which they moved from the street into a field of daises with apple trees growing around.
The story centers on a house that was built at the top of a small hill, far out in the country. Her builder decrees that she “may never be sold for gold or silver”, but is built sturdy enough to one day see generations of his heirs living in her. The house watches the seasons pass, and wonders about the lights of the city, which grow ever closer. The years slowly pass.
Then one day a road is built in front of the house. This is soon followed by gas stations and more houses, which are eventually replaced by apartment buildings, an elevated railroad and skyscrapers. Now rundown and finding herself standing in a large city, the house is sad because she misses being on the small hill in the countryside
One day one of the heirs of the builder sees the house and remembers stories that her grandmother told about living in it. She arranges to have the house moved out of the city and back to a hill in the country where she can live happily ever after.
I remembered being enthralled with the story. How roads, food stands, cool cars and trains would be right outside your front door! How naive I was.
Burton denied “The Little House” was a critique of urban sprawl and instead wished to convey the passage of time to younger readers. Personally, I think, perhaps prophetically, it was both. Hear me out:
About a mile from my Pennsylvania home there once stood an eighteenth century farmhouse. A home with a deed dating back to William Penn. A home which stood on the exact same spot of land for more than 300 years where it overlooked acres upon acres of rich farmland.
One day a developer decided he wanted to build a massive industrial warehouse on the exact same land where the little house stood. But rather than demolish it, the developer decided to uproot the house and move her hundreds of yards away in order to build a warehouse next to it. A warehouse that is surrounded by other warehouses, including an Amazon fulfillment center. A warehouse that will most likely remain half occupied. This is what you call progress?
I recently saw a post on a Vintage Mustang forum where someone had posted a photo of his 1966 Ford Mustang Fastback and mentioned how driving it helped him with his PTSD. He didn’t go into detail as to why he was suffering from PTSD and it didn’t really matter, but I nevertheless thought about this when I took my own 1965 Mustang coupe out for a quick spin on this dreary late October morning here in the Northeast.
I imagined that this guy, like me, grew up around these cars. Maybe he worked on them with his father and uncles in a garage with no heat in the dead of winter. Maybe his father had also passed away a long time ago and the car conjures up images of him and living in a simpler time.
I always tell people that my Mustang isn’t really a car at all, it’s actually a time machine. Not like some contraption from a post-apocalyptic H.G. Wells novel or something Marty McFly would need to get it up to 88 miles per hour. Those aren’t real. This time machine, however, does everything those fictional ones do but keeps you, physically, at least, grounded in the present.
Mentally is a whole different story.
When you sit down inside of a Mustang the first thing you obviously smell is “old car.” It’s kind of hard to explain exactly what that is. Perhaps the best way to describe it is a combination of 50+ year old metal, wiring and vinyl mixed with the aroma of an old attic. I know to most people that sounds horrible, but studies have shown that combinations of smells we’ve experienced in our past trigger something in our mind. We often look at photographs to remember the events of the past, but odors are actually better at helping us remember things. Brain scans have shown that odors bring on stronger memories because of the brain regions that process them.
Here in the northeast we’re in the midst of autumn; and the reds, oranges and yellows on the trees are at their peak of color. The gray, overcast sky this morning was certainly the perfect contrast to their profound brilliance. As I pulled out of my driveway and started down the road, a strange thing happened. I found myself going backwards in time.
I drove past sidewalks that were riddled with fallen leaves and could picture myself as a young boy on his way to the school bus stop. I could actually see the red jacket I was wearing, hear the whisper of the chilly late October air tickling my cheek, and feel the weight of my green Trapper Keeper filled with half finished homework assignments.
I then found myself thinking about my father working on old Mustangs in my uncle’s garage up the street. The rainy day drives our family took to the camp ground in summer. Spending late afternoons surrounded by family, playing rounds of Uno, smelling the smoke from the burning kindling and roasted marshmallows, and then looking up at a night sky filled with an endless amount of stars. Dozens of other specific images and events began to appear, like picnics at my Aunt’s house and playing tackle football with the neighborhood kids on Sunday evenings before dinner. The world seemed so pure and so simple. I thought how all of this felt like it was yesterday and yet it had been more that forty five years.
During the whole time I was lost in the moment the car idled and shifted quietly beneath my feet. Physically and peripherally I was in 2023, but mentally I was back in 1978. It wasn’t until I had made the final turn for home that I found myself returning to the present day.
As I pulled the car into the garage, engaged the manual parking brake and turned off the engine I could smell the unique gas and oil aroma an old car emits, bringing back one final salute and memory of turning a wrench with my father. As I disconnected the battery and re-connected the battery tender to keep it slow charging until the next drive, I couldn’t help but smile.
Some people look at photographs to remember the good times. I’m fortunate to be one one of the lucky ones who has a Time Machine.
This is my thirteenth entry in the series of annual birthday posts. Something I started shortly after I began my writing journey in the fall of 2011. As I sit here now, drinking coffee on this beautiful fall morning, it’s hard to believe that I’m nearly half-way through my fifties.
For me, it feels like it was only yesterday that I was the youthful teenager; driving me and my high school pals around in a beat-up 1973 Toyota, going to the Palmer Mall on Friday nights after school, pouring what seemed like millions of quarters from hard-earned, summer lawn mowing into video game cabinets, drinking gallons of Orange Julius and wishing I could somehow muster the courage to go over and talk to the cute girl who was standing with her friends outside of the Listening Booth record store.
Wasn’t I the one who was able to go to rock concerts and stay up til the wee hours of the morning? Sitting in some dingy diner; smoking cigarettes, eating French fries smothered in imitation cheese sauce and drinking gallons of coffee. Talking to friends about what would it would be like when we took on the world and made all of our dreams came true, or singing ̶h̶o̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ perfect three-part acapella versions of Eagles songs in the parking lot when we finally called it a night. These days, I’m lucky if I can stay up til 10 p.m.
There’s an odd sense of immortality you have when you’re young that makes you believe time will always stand still. One that whispers in your ear and tells you that you’ll never be as old as your parents. But then one day, you take a nap and wake up in their role and realize that time waits for no one. To give you some perspective, my father died twenty-six years ago this month. As of today, I’ve outlived him by three years. My mother died in March of 2020, already more than three years ago. Next year one of the friends who made those coffee and cheese fries runs with me, will have been gone for ten years.
I recently stumbled upon my Easton Area Middle School ID Badge under a pile of knick knacks and memories and immediately recalled the day I first received it back in the fall of 1980. Although I didn’t much care for the fresh-faced, goofy grinning picture of myself on the front, something printed on the back of the now worn, laminated card had really caught my attention.
It was the first time I saw the words “YR GRAD-87” and believed the year of my high school graduation (1987) was so very far away. To this shy, cheesy-grinned eleven-year old boy, seven years seemed like an eternity, and the idea of me one day living in the year 2000 was equivalent to being in a Star Wars movie. It was impossible for me to even comprehend it ever happening.
Fast forward and here I am now, sitting on a couch with a big old beard celebrating a birthday thirty-six years post high school graduation and twenty-three years beyond the year 2000. Back in 1980, it seemed like all I had was time and now I often feel the urge to make the most of what’s left.
I promised myself I’d try to keep things upbeat for this birthday post so let’s talk about the future. In addition to continuing to do interviews (hopefully, you’ve read a few) I’m still doing watercolor painting. Not only has it been a great stress reliever but it’s something you can do that doesn’t cost a lot of money and where you can literally see your progress every day. In a few weeks I’ll be showcasing my very first exhibition of framed pieces at a local winery. If you’re in the area, I hope you can make it out. More on that in the days and weeks ahead.
In the meantime, I hope my next trip around the sun brings all of us a sense of hope, peace and most of all, love.
go.Jimmy.go 