Tomorrow is Pub Day for Down with The Underdogs

Tomorrow is Pub Day for Down with the Underdogs.

I ain’t one to beg for you to buy my book. I will say this is my best work so far. Straight up noir, true working class.

DWTU Latest version

Links are on Down and Out’s website (or get it direct from your indie publisher)

https://downandoutbooks.com/bookstore/truman-down-underdogs/

Take care,

 

Ian

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My new book ending ritual. (Thanks and praises to Montreal)

I take my spot at the edge of the belvedere.

Hallelujah in the ipod, live at london, of course.

I pop open a can of perrier and look at the distance as the music takes over me.

There is no end to the love I feel for this city.

I simply stand in awe of it. The canyon of Peel ahead of me, the flags of McGill and then at Leonard himself , standing tall on that building.

I salute him, one Montreal writer to another, then praise yhwh for such a moment worth living for.

I look at Concordia next to the mural, hall bulding right in front of me and I feel it: The underdog frenchie from the east end just penned his 10th book in seven years.

I watch to the west, where the green of trees mark the beggining of the south-west.

Beyond downtown, down from the hill. Two books about that place.

I look at the river below it.

Sip of perrier.

I look to the east. Theres a tall new building there with an edge of the colour red.

It stands at the corner of Saint-Laurent and Maisonneuve.

My playground for almost 20 years. Too many pages to keep count.

I look the the river beyond it, those islands in front of hochelaga and I think of every place I love that I can’t see from here.

“It’s a very lonely hallelujah!” leonard sings. It hits me to the heart..

I take a sip and give a moment of thought for someone in particular then look at the city again. The wind is good and the sun began its descent on the other side of Mont-Royal.

Can is near empty. Song goes to its final stretch.

I look at Leonard again and thank him.

The city, the trees, the people. I look at dorm rooms and write the life of a student there. I look at the south west and see Sean Cullens’ next move.

I look at centre-sud and see Balkon fucking around the way he does.

I am this city, I live this city, I write this city tenth book about it and I am only getting started.

The song ends to applause.

I tank the perrier.

Tourists left and right, smiling and taking selfies and I stand alone in a crowd living my seven minutes of bliss.

Time for your final thanks, so thank you Montreal.

Grab my bag and one last glance. Then simply walk away.

Leonard will still be there for the next one.

I Just Finished Writing Book no. 10

I just finished writing book no.10

The Factory Line

Lowdown

Northern Gothic

A Teenage Suicide

Crass

Grand Trunk and Shearer

Dancing with a Switchblade

Down with the Underdogs

Montréal (the novel, not the short story)

Fatherhood – 100 moments.

I’m at the climbing gym having coffee and I would describe the emotion as quiet equanimity.

Book 11 is already well under way (D’Arcy Kennedy vol.3 – Year of the Scabs)

It’s all love!

Ian.

Why I Started Listening to Pop Music.

Let me say it straight.

I was pissed for a good fifteen years. I was straight pissed. Not just angry. I was as pissed off as could get. More than a few people, even in the hardcore scene, would say they had never seen rage like mine.

I was pissed. I was the guy who’d tell you Slipknot was for pussies. I listened to bands like Death Threat, One Life Crew, Blood for Blood and worse…shit I can’t even remember it was so obscure. (Pitboss 2000?!? 25 ta Life?!?!?!)

The kind of shows people got injured and others went to jail.

And I’m serious.

Im fucking glad I ain’t that guy anymore. Even Rollins and Iggy Pop ain’t that pissed.

There are still a million valid reasons to be angry at the world (Trump and the 1,2 trillion he shoveld into 2019 we’ll all pay for soon!).

Daily anger is not going to change any of that.

So I discovered pop. It’s cheezy, it’s easy, I think it’s hilarious and it makes me feel good.

I don’t give a shit. Give me Timbetlake, give me Ariana or Calvin Harris.

I don’t care. There is as much terrible punk out there as there is terrible pop. I just looking for love these days. I can’t do pissed anymore.

I mean, let’s get real…I’m no fool. I know theres still anger in me. It comes up sometimes and I still get surprised at the amount of pain I carry. But those of you who’ve known me for years will vouch for how far I’ve come.

Day to day…I wouldn’t trade my 30s for my 20s…never.

It’s all love, people.

Ian.

BOOK UPDATE – Down with the Underdogs

DWTU Latest version

Title: DOWN WITH THE UNDERDOGS

Author: Ian Truman

Format: Trade Paperback ($17.95) and eBook ($7.99)

Print ISBN-13: 978-1-948235-12-9

Publication date: August 6, 2018

An unflinching portrait of working-class noir in the second installment of the D’Arcy Kennedy series.


Synopsis: Gentrification is moving in hard and fast in Montreal’s South-Western districts. D’Arcy Kennedy finds himself out of breath, out of a job and raising a kid in a small home meant for another era.

As the bulldozers take away entire chapters of his life, he turns to old acquaintances for work, leaning in on his hard-earned reputation as a good PI to find employment with the Irish mafia.

But even organized crime is struggling to keep up with the changing landscape of the City. Weed is going legal, trust funds are pushing realtors and people who would have not dared cross the Irish not so long ago now defy them carelessly.

Navigating his past and staking his future on this new life, D’Arcy Kennedy will have to thread a razor thin line between the law, loyalty and his own family if he wants a place for him and his own at the end of it all.


Advance Praise for DOWN WITH THE UNDERDOGS:

“A working class family man strikes a deal with the devil in Ian Truman’s fast-paced, volatile Down with the Underdogs. The result is class warfare on the streets of Montreal. Truman offers an unflinching portrait of a city caught in the throes of gentrification, and one person’s struggle to fight back. An excellent read.” —Sam Wiebe, author of the Wakeland novels.

“Truman captures life on the edges—of culture, of language, of the legal and illegal, of the sane and the mad. And he tells a great story in the process.” —Warren Moore, author of Broken Glass Waltzes


Meet the Author: Ian Truman is a novelist, poet, and visual artist from the East-End of Montreal. He is a fan of dirty realism, noir, satire, punk, hardcore and hopes to mix these genres in all of his works.

A graduate of Concordia University’s creative writing program, he won the 2013 Expozine Awards for best book in English (A Teenage Suicide). His latest works include Grand Trunk and Shearer (Down & Out Books) and a story in the Montreal Noir anthology (Akashic Press).


In its eighth year as an independent publisher of award-winning literary and crime fiction, Down & Out Books is based in Tampa, FL. To obtain an eARC (PDF, mobi, epub) for review, to coordinate an interview with the author, or to find out more information about this book, contact lance@downandoutbooks.com. Learn more about Down & Out Books at DownAndOutBooks.com.

Don’t be a Writer (Poem)

Don’t be a Writer

 

Don’t do it.

Don’t put yourself through this

You deserve better than this

Hear me now

Or you’ll find yourself

Up at five in the morning

Digging into yourself

Into your guts

In impossible ways

While the world

Is still asleep

 

Don’t be a writer

Don’t do this to yourself

Bukowski told you

Roth had warned you

Everyone warned you

Experience doesn’t add up

No two books are the same

It never gets easier

So save yourself the hurt

 

Be something else

Be an accountant

Be a gardener

Be a carpenter

Be something else

Anything else

Except a writer

 

And if you found yourself

laughing at this

Smiling at this,

Shaking your head lightly

Then you weren’t meant for it.

It’s fine

It’s good.

Get out now

Leave the room

This wasn’t meant for you

 

But if my words sparked an anger in you

A fire in you

A daring need to prove me wrong

That unnerving urge

To get on the page

To scream at me

Laugh at me

Lurch towards me

In defiance

Of all the gods

And men

Or simple me

Standing here

With such apparent vitriol

 

Then congratulations

 

You are it

You’ve done it

You are there for it

You will live

And die by it

You will lose your mind

And find your soul

One way or another

Until you know

The full meaning

Of the warning

 

“Don’t do it.”

 

Yet

When the years have come

Gone

And passed by

You and I

May know a moment

Of peace together

Over coffee

In a city somewhere

Lost in time

As the world

Has gone somewhere else

 

And

We will stand there

Alone

In the universe

 

Laughing.

Fatherhood Moment

Family picnic at Lafontaine Parc.

Kids abound, around, all over the park. Couples are pushing strollers with two dogs on a leash next to them. Someone you don’t know is prepping the tables, two of them side by side. Friends of friends are unpacking the kids and some toys for everyone.

Kao’s in charge somewhere. Dee found herself a stick so she’s good for a good half hour. You sit and chill, talking with the other dads about work and beer and other things you don’t really care or know about but its all good.

Then you get to watch over the children on their way to the playground, stand at the entrance, the five of them following the leader around the monkey bars and slides, moving as a herd.

You hear the disant sound of cars over at Rachel street. Birds and leafs are moving in the wind, breeze is fresh and hoodies are on. Air is filled with the scent from someones coffee somewhere.

Life is good.

The Equation of Life

Work
And art
And lattés
Cafés
Street side poetry
And back alley
Gardening
Get in the jeep
Lets go north
For a weekend
Away from the everyday
Then back to it
In the city
I can’t live without it
Yoga
Climb
And
Eat
Sleep
Fuck
Then do it
All over again
You and me
Texting
And
Flirting
A few good selfies
With some skin
In the evening
Netflix on the front porch
And a drink at the corner
The salty taste of sweat
On your skin out
In the summer
Winter campfires
And snowboarding
Till the warmth comes back
Family life in the alley
Girls playing and laughing
Me cooking in the kitchen
The smell of tofu
And spices
And coffee is nice
And then some free time
every other week.
For you and me
Time enough
For the
Slouching
And the couching
Sex
Love
Pankakes
The occasional spaking
And going down
on you
in the morning.
And then sex in the shower
On the counter
Doesn’t matter
Grab a bite
And sip a quick sip
Make it just in time
To work
With the smell of you still all over.
Thats the equation life.
My life.
I look outside.
And 10 weeks
Feels like a lifetime
But it’s right there in the sky.

Saturday Morning on Masson Street.

Saturday Morning on Masson Street.

The sun is out and it’s spring again. You sit yourself at the corner table of a café, catch a conversation through the open window, busy street life everywhere.

You get a taste of bagel and coffee, shirt’s slightly open and you catch yourself smiling at your reflection in the computer screen.

Life is good here, life was good here, life will be good here again.

I had forgotten how many families were around, the booming energy of the place, well groomed dads and gorgeous moms crossing the street to catch up with some friends. A young girl jumps in the arms of a friend or an aunt and smiles are everywhere.

Heartfelt hug and “Oh my god. Look at you!”

A few words and then, “Where do you want to go?”

With so many options around it’s hard to say.

You put on your speakers and start to write. Not a second passes by before there’s someone to look at, styles and hairs and tattoos, you share a look, you give a smile and receive it back and feel good about it.

A tired man in track pants, 30 something, walks by, tired like no one else but looking smug and satisfied, tiny baby in a baby carrier snuggling close to him as a one track by flies on a red light in front of two cops that decided it best not to chase.

Not today! Weather’s too good.

You see kids and families and artists, hobos,dogs, punks, hipsters, bobos… everything. Life is beautiful here. Like a balance of everything this city has to offer.

Try to end this thing and you look up from the screen. Catch the glimpse of a smile in an old lady’s face as she’s dragging her red cart.

I think this is it, you think to yourself. There’s no end to what this place has to offer