Category: Life

1980's, A Conversation With, Art, Beyond What We Know, Books, comedy, Entertainment, Fashion, Horror, Interview, Life, Morning Call, Movies and TV, Music, News, The Seventh Echo, Theater, Top Headlines, Women Who Rock

One Hundred Conversations Later: Celebrating My 100th Morning Call Interview

When I sat down to interview Mike Score of A Flock of Seagulls recently, I knew I was talking with one of the defining voices of the MTV generation. What I didn’t realize until afterward was that our conversation marked a personal writing milestone: my 100th interview for The Morning Call.

It’s a number I’m incredibly proud of—not because of the total itself, but because of everything those one hundred conversations represent.

As someone who grew up obsessed with music, I never imagined I’d someday have the opportunity to speak directly with the artists whose songs helped shape different chapters of my life. What began as an occasional assignment gradually became one of the most rewarding parts of my career as a journalist.

Over the years, those interviews have taken me across nearly every musical landscape imaginable. I’ve spoken with Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, Grammy Award winners, legendary singer-songwriters, virtuoso musicians, comedians, rising stars, and artists performing in intimate clubs as well as sold-out arenas. Every conversation has offered a different perspective—not just on music, but on creativity, perseverance, and the lives lived behind the spotlight.

One of the greatest surprises has been discovering how remarkably generous musicians are with their time and stories. Behind every platinum record or iconic hit song is a person who still remembers the uncertainty of getting started, the excitement of writing that breakthrough song, or the challenges of staying creative decades into a career.

Those are the stories I’ve always tried to tell.

Rather than simply asking about tour dates or new albums, I’ve enjoyed exploring the experiences that shaped the artists themselves. Sometimes that means discussing songwriting. Other times it leads to conversations about family, loss, inspiration, mental health, aging, or the changing music industry. Those unscripted moments often become the most memorable parts of an interview.

Reaching interview #100 with Mike Score feels especially fitting. A Flock of Seagulls helped define an era of music that still resonates with fans today, and speaking with Score reminded me why these conversations continue to matter. Music connects generations. Long after the charts have changed, the songs remain part of people’s lives.

Looking back, I’m grateful to The Morning Call for trusting me with these stories and allowing me the opportunity to meet so many fascinating people along the way. I’m equally thankful to the publicists, managers, record labels, venues, and artists who made each interview possible.

Most importantly, I’m grateful to the readers.

Whether you’ve read one interview or all one hundred, your enthusiasm for live music and the artists behind it has made this journey worthwhile. Every time someone tells me they discovered a new performer because of one of my stories, or attended a concert after reading an interview, I’m reminded why I continue doing this.

One hundred interviews may sound like a finish line, but it doesn’t feel that way.

It feels like another milestone in an ongoing conversation.
There are still countless artists with stories waiting to be told, albums waiting to be discussed, and concerts waiting to be experienced. If these first one hundred interviews have taught me anything, it’s that every musician has a unique journey worth sharing.

Here’s to interview #101 —and whatever comes after that.


Thanks for reading, and thanks for coming along for the ride.

Art, Books, Dreams, Entertainment, Life, The Seventh Echo

The Seventh Echo – Release Date & Pre-Order

BREAKING NEWS!!: My new 360-page novel, “The Seventh Echo” officially arrives on August 18th, 2026. Pre-orders of the paperback are available NOW!

Click here to pre-order

“Some secrets are buried for a reason”

Dan Mercer has spent thirty years rebuilding broken places. As Director of Acquisitions and Development for a major logistics firm, he’s transformed abandoned factories, empty lots, and forgotten industrial sites into thriving developments. With retirement finally within reach, the redevelopment of the long-abandoned Iron Forge property should be one last routine project before he walks away for good.

Instead, it becomes a nightmare.

When Dan returns to the town he left behind decades ago, he finds himself drawn into a mystery surrounding the abandoned industrial site that once defined the community. Strange events begin to follow him. Official explanations stop making sense. And a seven-year-old boy starts appearing wherever the project takes him.

Watching. Waiting. Issuing warnings no one else can hear. The child bears an impossible resemblance to Dan himself.

At first, Dan dismisses the boy as a stress-induced hallucination brought on by work pressures, pending retirement, and the lingering scars of a painful divorce. But when the child begins revealing details no stranger could possibly know, Dan is forced to confront questions about the past he has spent a lifetime avoiding.

As construction plans move forward and long-buried truths begin to surface, Dan finds himself caught between powerful interests determined to keep the past hidden and a growing sense that something beneath Iron Forge refuses to stay buried. With time running out, he must uncover the truth before it disappears forever.

Part environmental thriller, part supernatural mystery, and part exploration of memory, guilt, and redemption, The Seventh Echo is a haunting suspense novel about the secrets we bury-and the echoes they leave behind.

Check out the official book trailer:

Book Signing Event!

Philadelphia area: I’ll be at the Doylestown Bookshop in Doylestown, PA on Saturday August 29th from 1-3 p.m. as part of a Local Author Expo. I’ll have copies of both “The Seventh Echo” and “Beyond What We Know” available. Each book comes with a custom bookmark and stickers. Plus, you’ll also have an opportunity to sign a huge poster of “The Seventh Echo.”

More information on events coming soon as well as the release of the E-book version of “The Seventh Echo.”

1980's, Childhood Memories, Fun And Games, Life, Short Stories

Lightning Bugs

It was on the evening of June 5, 2026.

I’m writing the date down because it’s one of those moments I don’t want to forget.

I’d spent the entire day working in the yard, doing everything possible to make it look respectable for another week. The truth is, no matter how much you mow, edge, trim, or pull weeds, nature always wins. At best, you earn yourself three or four days before the battle begins again.

As twilight settled over the neighborhood, I pushed my green John Deere mower back into its usual spot in the garage. Grass clippings that had clung stubbornly to the underside all afternoon now dropped onto the concrete floor in soft green clumps.

Normally, I would have swept them up, but not tonight. I was tired, sore, and in no mood for one more chore. The clippings could wait until morning.

Despite the exhaustion, there was a deep satisfaction that came from the day’s labor. The scent of cut grass, gasoline, and sweat lingered in the warm air—a mixture that always smelled like accomplishment.

I went inside, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and stepped onto the patio to admire my handiwork.

The first swallow washed away some of the day’s fatigue. Tomorrow would bring sore muscles and a touch too much sun, but that was tomorrow’s problem. For now, all I wanted was a quiet evening, a warm breeze, and the simple pleasure of sitting still.

That’s when I saw them.

The first lightning bugs of the year.

Some people call them fireflies. Entomologists might know them by their scientific names. Around here, though, they’ve always been lightning bugs.

And in my opinion, they’re the most magical insect on Earth.

There are certain things that announce the changing of the seasons. Falling leaves tell us autumn has arrived. The first snowfall whispers that winter is coming. Crocuses pushing through the soil remind us that spring has returned.

But lightning bugs are different.

The first one of the year feels less like a sign and more like a reunion.

Like seeing an old childhood friend after months of being apart. 

A friend arriving with the wonderful news: Summer is finally here.

Long before I became familiar with lawn mowers and property taxes, my summer evenings were spent chasing these tiny lanterns through the dark.

Nothing compared to those summer nights as a child.

We’d spend all day swimming, riding bikes, and running through the neighborhood with our friends. Then, as dusk settled in and the air cooled, we’d race across our backyards to see who could catch the most lightning bugs.

Even now, I can still picture it. Me running barefoot through the grass in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Chlorine drying on my skin after a day at the pool. Honeysuckle drifting through the evening air.

School was still months away, and the first yellow bus of autumn existed somewhere in a distant future that didn’t matter yet.

The world felt endless. The possibilities felt endless. It was freedom in its purest form.

There was always a sense of wonder after catching one.

You’d slowly open your cupped hands and watch the tiny creature blink inside the darkness. Then it would crawl up the tip of your finger, pause for a moment as if gathering itself, and suddenly spread its wings and disappear back into the night.

Sometimes my friends and I would poke air holes into an empty mayonnaise jar and fill the bottom with fresh grass. One by one, we’d place our glowing treasures inside until the jar shimmered like a tiny lantern.

We’d carry it proudly through the yard as if we were explorers setting out on some great adventure.

Of course, we never kept them long. Once they grew sluggish from captivity, we’d unscrew the lid and release them back into the summer darkness, where they belonged.

But the best part of all came during what I called the magic hour. Usually around nine o’clock.

The sky would be nearly black by then, and the yard would erupt into a dazzling storm of flashing lights. Hundreds of tiny beacons drifted through the darkness, blinking in silent rhythm.

And then you’d spot him.

Granddaddy.

At least that’s what I called him.

He always seemed brighter than the others. Bigger, too.

Granddaddy was the undisputed king of lightning bugs, and catching him was nearly impossible.

Every time you got close, he’d rise just out of reach.

If you stretched your arm higher, he’d drift a little farther upward.

If you crept toward him quietly, he’d somehow know.

Looking back, I’m convinced he understood exactly how tall his pursuers were.

“This kid is four-foot-eight,” he seemed to say. “I’d better hover at six-foot-five.”

But on those rare occasions when someone actually managed to catch Granddaddy, there was no question who had won the evening.

For a few glorious minutes, they were the champion of summer.

Back in 2026, I finished my beer and looked across the yard. The flashes were multiplying now.

Dozens. Then hundreds. The same living constellation I remembered from childhood.

For a moment, fifty years disappeared.

I wasn’t thinking about work. I wasn’t thinking about mowing the lawn. I wasn’t thinking about responsibilities, bills, deadlines, or anything else adulthood had placed on my shoulders.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.

Granddaddy.

Hovering just above my head.

Without thinking, I stood and reached for him. He responded exactly as I remembered.

The moment my hand moved, he rose higher into the air, stopping just beyond my grasp.

Some things, apparently, never change.

I sat back down and laughed.

The lightning bugs continued their dance across the yard while memories of those carefree summer nights drifted through my mind.

And I found myself wondering how anyone could choose to spend an evening staring at a television or a phone screen during a time like this.

Especially when there is so much magic waiting in our own backyards.

© 2026 James E. Wood

Books, Entertainment, Life, Short Stories

Not Ready

What follows is a new short story. Would love to hear your comments.

Not Ready

It was a dark, overcast afternoon in mid-July when I pulled into the small parking lot.

Much like my mood, the sky had been sulking all morning. Heavy gray clouds hung low overhead, threatening rain for hours before finally giving in with scattered showers and distant rolls of thunder.

Another burst had just passed as I shifted into park and killed the engine.

For a moment, I sat there in silence, watching the last thin streams of water slide down the windshield. Tiny rivulets merged together, slipping past the resting wiper blades.

I watched them disappear into the growing puddles below and wondered what it might be like to simply let go.

I glanced up at the sign mounted on the building’s façade.

Yes. This was the place.

The structure sat on the far side of town, an anonymous block of concrete that looked like it might once have been a small warehouse. Most people would drive right past it without giving it a second thought. But I knew what it was. 

Or more accurately, I knew what waited inside.

That knowledge settled over me like a weight.

I had already promised myself I wasn’t buying anything today. I was only here to browse. Maybe ask a few questions. Maybe take a brochure home and leave it unopened on the kitchen counter for six months.

The truth is, I could have learned everything online in less than ten minutes, but that wasn’t the point. I needed to stand here. I needed to see it for myself.

Mostly, I needed proof that I could.

A large man stood outside the entrance smoking a cigarette. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with weathered features and salt-and-pepper hair. A bright yellow construction vest hung loosely from his shoulders.

The rain didn’t seem to bother him.

He drew deeply from the cigarette and exhaled toward the sky, the smoke joining the dark clouds above.

Those things will kill you, I thought. 

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

A few moments later, a delivery driver approached carrying a long cardboard box. He handled it carefully, as though dropping it wasn’t an option.

The older man dropped his cigarette, crushed it beneath his boot, and held the door open for him.

The driver smiled.

The older man smiled back.

Then both disappeared inside.

Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of wooden stocks hanging on a wall before the door swung shut again.

I sat there for several minutes after that, replaying the simple exchange. 

It felt like I was stalling. Maybe I was.

My thoughts drifted to the cemetery a few blocks away.

My grandfather is buried there. It struck me that nearly forty years had passed since they lowered him into the ground.

I remembered the old .22 rifle he kept locked in the hall closet. He’d taught me how to handle it when I was twelve.

“Always respect what it can do,” he’d told me.

Back then, I thought he was talking about the rifle.

“Where does the time go?” I whispered aloud.

Rain tapped softly against the roof.

I thought about my grandfather resting nearby in a place where pain no longer touched him. A place where he could no longer speak, yet somehow always seemed capable of listening.

I remembered something I’d read years ago in high school—a story, maybe a poem. I couldn’t recall the details. Only the image of a smile slowly leaving someone’s eyes. 

The memory brushed against me like a cold hand. My heart skipped.

Outside, the rain began falling harder. 

I looked up at the sign again through the distorted curtain of water. 

The answer came immediately. Not today.

My hand moved almost on its own, turning the key in the ignition. Smooth jazz filled the cabin.

The windshield wipers sprang to life, sweeping away the rain with steady determination. They were doing exactly what they had been designed to do.

Me? I wasn’t so sure.

I shifted into drive and pulled out of the lot.

I didn’t look back. Instead, I took the long way home, following the road that passed the cemetery.

I didn’t stop. I simply glanced toward the section where my grandfather’s headstone stood.

The weather wasn’t right for a visit, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t about saying hello. It was about hearing one last piece of advice.

And somehow, from a place beyond words, I felt like he understood.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and continued driving. 

I’d make a few phone calls once I got home.

I’m not ready.

(c) 2026 James Wood

Cars, Childhood Memories, comedy, Life, Movies and TV, Summer

Pierogie Phobia – 15th Anniversary Edition

I only have two real fears in life. Sure, like everyone else, I dislike the usual suspects—heights, creepy bugs, drowning, the DMV. But my true fears are far less reasonable. One of them is Coke Zero. Don’t ask.

The other—and the one I want to talk about today—is pierogies. Laugh if you want, but I have my reasons.

Thirty five ago, I was a pierogie connoisseur. A professional. A craftsman. My routine was sacred: pan-fry each little doughy pocket of cheese-and-potato perfection in roughly half a gallon of vegetable oil, bury them under a snowstorm of salt, then make a direct sprint to the couch. No detours. No witnesses. I usually consumed six to eight in a sitting. Solo. Focused. Invincible.

I was immortal.

Until one Sunday afternoon, when everything changed.

It was a hot summer day at my mom’s house. I was home from college, living the proud tradition of deadbeat sons everywhere. Mom had gone to the NASCAR race at Pocono with my brother and a few others. I chose to stay behind, watch the race on TV, and host what can only be described as Pierogie-Palooza.

I followed my usual process: eight pierogies, fried to golden perfection, aggressively salted. I filled a large glass with Diet Coke (this was before I discovered Coke Zero, but that’s a separate tragedy), plopped onto the couch, and turned on the race.

I couldn’t tell you a single thing about that race. All I remember is the blissful union of carbs, fat, and salt hitting my tongue. The smell of fried glory. The taste of empty calories and future regret. I ate every last one and slipped into a pierogie coma. It was Zen. Pure, greasy enlightenment.

Then I smelled something else.

At first, I tried to ignore it. Maybe it would go away. It did not. A cold wave of dread washed over me as I realized my life was about to take a sharp turn. That’s when I saw the smoke drifting in from the kitchen.

In my haste to reach the ninth plane of starch heaven, I had forgotten to turn off the pan. The pan containing—let me remind you—a shit ton of vegetable oil.

I rushed into the kitchen and managed to put out the fire just in time. Disaster averted, I told myself. Close call. No harm done.

Then I looked around.

Oh shit.

The smoke had lovingly redecorated the kitchen, painting a thick black film across the once-white walls and cabinets.

Oh shit… she’ll be home soon.

My brain briefly tried humor. *Well, at least you’re not a little kid anymore or you’d be getting the beating of your life.* Ha. Thanks, brain. Super helpful.

But this was serious. For one terrifying moment, I genuinely wondered if my mother might still beat the hell out of her 21-year-old son. (Looking back, I think I could’ve taken her—but at the time, I didn’t want to test that theory.)

I had to clean it. Quickly. She’d walk in and it would be like nothing ever happened.

I grabbed a bucket, filled it with water and some cleaner, and got to work. By the second or third swipe on the wall, reality hit me hard: this shit was NOT coming off.

My heart started racing. Was this karma? Payback for the time I “accidentally” put my car in neutral and rolled it into our house on the South Side? Everyone was just happy I survived that one—no punishment. Maybe this was the universe settling the score.

I saw my future flash before my eyes.

This would be my legacy.

“Jimmy almost burned the house down cooking pierogies.”

Family gatherings would never be the same. Job interviews would somehow bring it up. At my wedding, people would throw pierogies instead of rice. And worst of all, I was certain my mom would have the Mrs. T pierogie logo etched into my tombstone.

So what did I do?

I dumped the bucket in the sink. Opened the windows. Went back to the couch. Finished the race.

I haven’t touched a pierogie since. I can’t even look at one without being transported back to that helpless moment. Yes—I am afraid.

To this day, I’m still the butt of the joke at family get-togethers. But I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when she walked in and saw the aftermath.

There was so much I wanted to say.

All I managed was:

“So… how was the race?”

1980's, Beyond What We Know, Books, Entertainment, Life, Neapolitan Sky

Want to Read My Books For Free?

Happy Sunday, everyone. This week, I’m offering an opportunity for everyone to read both of my books, “Beyond What We Know,” and “Neapolitan Sky” for free in exchange for an honest review on Amazon and/or GoodReads!

That’s right. Both books are available to download free of charge. All I ask is that, after reading, you leave me a review of what you think.

Here are the details:

Beyond What We Know

Haunted by guilt and ghostly echoes of the past, Mike Collins faces a summer that will change everything. Fresh out of high school and on the verge of leaving his small town behind, Mike can’t shake the weight of his father’s death—or the fear of losing the two people he loves most: his mother and his first love. But when a mysterious musician named Chris Steele drifts into town, Mike’s world tilts into the surreal. There’s something eerily familiar about Chris—something that makes Mike question whether the past ever truly dies.

Set against the pulse of 1980s music, classic cars, and restless summer nights, Beyond What We Know is a haunting coming-of-age story about love, loss, and the thin veil between the living and the dead. And its ending will stay with you long after the last page.

To download “Beyond What We Know,” click here

Neapolitan Sky

College student Nica Mitchell’s dreams of becoming a writer died with her mother. When her father’s illness spirals and a near-death experience lands him in the hospital, Nica has no choice but to return home—to the house that holds more ghosts than memories. But now something about her father has changed. He speaks in riddles, dreams with his eyes open, and seems to know things he shouldn’t—things no living person could.

As Nica unravels the truth, she’ll uncover a secret that blurs the line between the living and the dead. And once it’s revealed, she’ll wish she’d never come home.

To download “Neapolitan Sky,” click here

Hope you enjoy!

1980's, Childhood Memories, Life

Birthday Reflections at 56

October 5th, 2025 – My 56th birthday.

This is the fifteenth 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 Sunday morning, it’s hard to believe that I’m officially closer to 60 than I am to 50.

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 what seemed like 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 and still be able to get up for school the next day? I was the one who could sit 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 ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶o̶l̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶r̶i̶v̶e̶d̶ we finally called it a night? Then to get home and lay there alone in the dark, listening to the whirring hum 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 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-eight years ago this month at the age of 51. As of today, my birthday, I’ve outlived him by five years. My mother died in March of 2020, already five years ago. A few months ago, one of the friends who made those many coffee and cheese fry runs with me and talked about taking on the world with our music passed away at the young age of 55.

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 my homeroom teacher (Mrs. Katz) 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 information 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 beard and a bit thick in the middle, celebrating my 56th birthday thirty-eight years post high school and twenty-five years beyond the year 2000. It’s mind boggling to think that we’re already 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. 

So 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— and watercoloring, this year I finally released a brand new book, “Beyond What We Know.” To say that it’s been a long time coming is an understatement. My last one, “Neapolitan Sky” came out in April of 2018.

The new book has been an absolute joy. Not only for getting to share a soft launch at a retro arcade, but also from seeing so many friendly faces at the book signing I did in September. I dedicated the book to my dad and my friend, Scott, who passed away in April. If you read the story, you’ll understand why.

I think I may celebrate this day by driving my 1965 Mustang (which inspired the new book) to breakfast at the local diner. While there, I’ll drink coffee and reminisce about my life and the friends who’ve moved on. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get a double order of cheese fries now that I’m eligible for the 55+ discount menu! I’ll also think about the plans and dreams we all made that came true, and the ones still left to find.

Or as Walt Whitman once said: “Keep your face always toward the sunshine ~ and shadows will fall behind you”

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. 

Jim

1980's, Beyond What We Know, Books, Childhood Memories, Entertainment, Life, Music

GoodReads Giveaway: “Beyond What We Know”

With most major outlets sold out of the print edition of my new book, “Beyond What We Know” it makes sense to give everyone a chance to win one of the paperback copies for free!

Enter now to win one of 5 signed copies of James Wood’s 80’s-themed new adult thriller, “Beyond What We Know.” With an ending you’ll never see coming! The five random winners will also receive a BWWK bookmark, cover card and stickers.

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, and an ending you’ll never see coming!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Beyond What We Know by James Wood

Beyond What We Know

by James Wood

Giveaway ends October 13, 2025.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

1980's, Beyond What We Know, Books, Cars, Childhood Memories, Dreams, Entertainment, Life, Music

Book Signing Wrap-Up: Beyond What We Know

Just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who came out to the first book signing for “Beyond What We Know” at Barnes & Noble Southmont Plaza in Easton, PA on Saturday, September 6th. It was an amazing and surreal event.

I met so many wonderful people, signed dozens of copies of the book, handed out bookmarks, cover cards and stickers, and also had anyone and everyone sign my 11×17 poster of the book cover to commemorate the occasion. There was even one person who had purchased my first novel “Neapolitan Sky,” and brought it to the event for me to sign as well.

If you missed the signing and want to learn more about “Beyond What We Know,” check it out on Barnes & Noble and Amazon. You can even read a few sample chapters of the story. There’s also an in-depth interview I recently did about the book for Medium which answers a lot of behind the scenes questions, including inspiration, dedications and the writing process itself.

Please be sure to leave a review on your favorite sites and add “Beyond What We Know” to your GoodReads “Want to Read” list! Looking forward to sharing more events soon!

I hope you all enjoy reading the story of Mike Collins and Chris Steele as much as I did writing it!