I have reached the point where I know that my novel “Mantler’s Shack” will be published. I have offers from publishers and will shortly select one as my partner in this publishing process. Now I need you readers more than ever.
The reviews of the novel, from 5 independent readers, have been essential in this project. Happily, the feedback has been very favorable:
1. “I guess you could say that I liked it a lot - and it has got me reading again. Just bought two more books in fact.” SG
2. “Even though most of the book was in draft form, you are a brilliant writer! It kept me interested throughout to see the main character’s development” KG
3. “you sure capture the roots of what trauma can do....from abigail to roxanne....it's pretty accurate…”. GS
4. “the overall feel of this book is INTENSITY combined with capturing HUMANITY....a person would have to be dead inside if their soul isn't stirred in a big way…." GS
Their words not mine!
Publishing is not what it use to be. There is no money to front costs without giving your life away, so marketing programs and distribution networks are imperative to create. The work required is immense and it costs money.
In my case I am looking for a goodwill commitment and a “dedication to the real”, from my readers. The book launch should happen at the end of the year. In the meantime I am asking for your pledge to order now:
Here are 3 Ways to register your order, be sure to give send me your name and address so that I can send the book to as soon as it is released:
1. Pre Sale Order of Mantler’s Shack - Euro 20.00, Paypal.me/rodger7
or if that is not unaffordable right now
2. Pre Order commitment to be paid on release date delivery.
If you want to help with the upcoming novel publication costs, you can simply switch to a paid subscription. A paid poetic expanse subscription - between now and the end of the year - will also give you a pre purchase of Mantler’s Shack. subscribe by clicking below;
As further commitment from my side here are two poems from the works. This is my 76th free post to subscribers on this medium. Special thanks to the paid subscribers to date, your support has helped to keep me publishing Poetic Expanse.
Two poems of hope this episode. This stack was started 3 years to present poetry, so let’s get back to that. Both been strongly reviewed by readers.
First, Summer, “So I peel the skin from the apple, I cut through the noose with my knife. Pummel the tin with an anvil,” - this is a favorite
Then, I Think About Drinking, “If you try to derail a feeling, It's a stronger feeling you'll get.”
SUMMER
109.01
I really wasn't much of a swimmer when I met you that first time.
Your long damp hair made you insuperable to resist.
Nonetheless, you were certain,
and you could glide in and out among the waves,
While I used up all I had just to keep my head up.
Saturdays were always the worst.
We would spend every hour of the day in that water together.
Hard headed insistence, was the best way,
I know that is what I said then, I feel less that way today.
Or maybe it was really bare paranoia,
that blocked my kick from coming together.
It was heady and gentle to an art,
to let me paddle and patter and for you to perfect your part.
During those years as I drifted in and out of your life.
I never understood why you let me float there,
Not until today, when I see you naked again,
On the bottom, and on the shore.
Willingly, shifting the control through the brain.
- - - - - -
So I peel the skin from the apple,
I cut through the noose with my knife.
Pummel the tin with an anvil,
As the the water washes away at my life.
I wanted to swim with the sea lions
impelling them from shore to shore.
I want to be a lover of ages
and of rivers that have come before.
I want for my time to be noted
as if there were something much more.
- - - - - -
Clearly, I am still not much of a swimmer,
and you don't help me keep my head up anymore.
The normal inside all this scares me to a shiver,
Even my good friends call me Richard now.
I THINK ABOUT DRINKING
116.01
I think about drinking whisky,
and I think about popping pills.
I talk about buying a Jaguar,
though, I know that won't cure my ills.
I take a long look at strangers,
I hate to stand that still.
I've been destined to be moving,
And I guess I always will.
There's solitary silent dreaming,
and taking a walk along the tracks.
And when I wake up one of these mornings,
there won't be no train coming back.
Home life doesn't mean nothing,
though I suppose some day it might.
I'm tired of being called a loser,
though I guess that might be right.
My old friends all got children,
My brother owns fourteen cars.
They are all in bed by midnight,
While I'm out counting stars.
There's a careless boy a drifting,
a little too close to the sun.
When you see him flying out there,
which way are you going to run?
I don't want to be thinking about dieing,
but I guess sometime I will.
I'd rather not do it in a suitcase,
and be planted on a hill.
Seems there is no way to stop the rumbling,
Once the engines have been set.
If you try to derail a feeling,
It's a stronger feeling you'll get.
There is a stronger ball a rolling
down another lonely broken track.
And when I wake up one of these mornings,
I won't be coming back.
I think about drinking.