2026, LiL Book Review

Literally indie Literary Podcast Updates: Episodes 3 and 4 Drop Soon!

Hey out there in indie lit land! This is Mick, the host of the Literally indie Literary podcast. I’m on the 2nd week of recovering from a total hip replacement, so I’ve been a little quiet. But I DO have some exciting news about upcoming episodes:

Episode 3, featuring Portsmouth, Ohio poet WJ Allard and Episode 4, featuring the literary rolling stone Westley Heine, whose new book, THE BOYS IN BLACK, fresh out by Roadside Press, will drop SUNDAY NOVEMBER 15th.

Westley Heine Headshot WJ Allard

 

Episode 5, featuring Kentucky poet, storyteller, and artist Chad M. Horn and Episode 6, featuring New Orleans poet and one of the brains behind Six Ft. Swells Press, Todd Cirillo, will drop in December.

The first episode of 2027 will feature Lexington Kentucky poet and graphic artist Meredith, with more cool interviews to come with Dan Staten and Jennifer Browne, poet and Director of the Frostburg State University Center for Literary Arts.

Please listen, share, and subscribe to the podcast. Let’s spread the word about small press and DIY publishing.

The podcast is available on Spotify and a few other podcast providers.

And if you haven’t, Check out Episode 1 with Dan Denton and Episode 2 with Lynn Alexander.

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2026, LiL Book Review, Ohio River Valley Literature, Working Class Literature

It Ain’t Broke? Dan Denton’s The Seven Stages of Middle-Class Life: An American Fable. Roadside Press. 2026

 

Order / Buy Dan’s Book Here

 

“You know they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” one of his union car worker coworker buddies said, and he said that he had heard that and they talked about women some more, and drank more beer and lost the third game but probably won in the fun column still.” (86)

 

Dan Denton’s new book is the sort of manual new hires at any factory job should get on the first day of their first shift, except that HR would never let it happen because they worry no one would stay on the line. If you’ve not had the blue collar work experience, reading Dan Denton is a good way to start beginning to understand what your parents’ and grandparents’ generations went through to make sure you had a life involving the brand name Kraft macaroni and cheese. 

Our protagonist is unnamed. We see him get a job because his father had a job in the same car factory. There’s this story going around, a story that’s mostly true, about the mobility of the modern American workforce and about how most people change careers something like eight times in their lives. There’s an actual statistic about that. The problem with statistics is that they hardly ever tell the whole story. And another part of the story is that if you grow up in a factory town, if in fact there is a factory town to still grow up in, chances are good that multiple generations of your family have worked there.  It’s not nepotism, per say. Well, it is. But the term “nepo baby” only applies to the children of the rich and famous, not to the kids of blue collar fathers and mothers who work long shifts six days a week to get two weeks vacation a year and Sundays off because factory towns are also sometimes church towns. 

Dan Denton’s new book is the sort of manual new hires at any factory job should get on the first day of their first shift, except that HR would never let it happen because they worry no one would stay on the line

As the novel unfolds and our protagonist moves through the years, we find that a lot happens even when it looks like nothing at all is happening. Like the fish he goes to the lake to catch and release, most of his life is under the surface. That’s not to say we get any didactic meditations, grand social theories not-so-cleverly masked as fiction. Denton’s style here is bare-boned and descriptive. Conversations are punctuations on thoughts and feelings the other characters understand but don’t express. 

The true beauty of Denton’s novel is that it doesn’t try. It doesn’t have to try. Through our nameless protagonist, we read about the changes in work culture, in generational diaspora, and in relationships. He’s just moving through the world, working his way to retirement, and finding his way to something like happy that looks very different from the happy that was sold to him when he first got his union card. This book is neither an indictment nor is an anthem of the blue collar backbone that still holds this broken economy together. This book is an unapologetic exploration of what happens everyday to people who aren’t counted, aren’t considered, and aren’t respected enough to even be included in the statistical data set.

 

– Mick Parsons

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2026, LiL Book Review, poetry

What the body means: Unkillable Angel Goes to the Cinema, Barton Smock. 2026

 

Buy his books and read him here.

I’ve been a fan of Barton Smock’s for a long time. I don’t remember how I stumbled across his work, but I feel like I’ve been reading him for years. He’s been self-publishing his books for as long as I’ve read him, though I know he had at least one collection, Ghost Arson (2018) published by Kung Fu Treachery Press. His Goodreads profile lists 30 separate titles, which makes him one of the most, if not the most, prolific and maybe one of the most talented poets above the dirt to come out of the United States in the 21st Century. 

Many poets — too many — get bogged down in the need to say something specific, to proclaim or to decry the age. Some of them do this very well; but the majority of them do so at the expense of ignoring those moments which demonstrate the operation of the cardiac combustion and bioelectric systems moving our collective consciousness forward. Smock takes each moment, each nerve ending, and dissects around it and through it, down to the root. 

To call his work surreal dismisses some of the pure language poetry in his latest book. To label it simply language poetry would be to ignore the thread of sinew and bone and the fundamental tangibility of the work: “I break my nose in front of a deer beneath a star made of ticks.” (“Our Mothers Poke Holes in Things that Don’t Breathe”).  Each poem is a dream within a dream within an anesthetic-free exploratory surgery of the human experience. The poems on these blissfully unnumbered pages unfold with a precision that in cinema would occupy the space left for high art body horror. And because the pages are unnumbered, the reader can dig in anywhere without any obligation to read in a specific order, and find themselves in a different middle of a well planned and detailed poetic journey. 

 

– Mick Parsons

Literally indie Literary

 

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