Friday, 27 October 2017
Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups by Andrew Joyce
Release Date: 24th September 2017
Genres: Short Stories
Bedtime Stories
for Grown-Ups is a jumble of genres—seven hundred pages
of fiction and nonfiction … some stories included against the author’s better
judgment. If he had known that one day they’d be published, he might not have
been as honest when describing his past. Here is a tome of true stories about
the author’s criminal and misspent youth, historical accounts of the United
States when She was young, and tales of imagination encompassing every
conceivable variety—all presented as though the author is sitting next to you
at a bar and you’re buying the drinks as long as he keeps coming up with
captivating stories to hold your interest.
Comprised
of 218,000 words, you’ll have plenty to read for the foreseeable future. This
is a book to have on your night table, to sample a story each night before
extinguishing the lights and drifting off to a restful sleep.
Mr.
Joyce sincerely hopes that you will enjoy his stories because, as he has
stated, “It took a lot of living to come up with the material for some of
them.”
GUEST POST
What you are about to read is a true
story. It’s from my book, Bedtime Stories
for Grown-Ups. It came about because my editor hounded
me for two years to put all my short stories into one collection. Actually, it
was supposed to be a two-volume set because there was so much material. I
fended her off for as long as possible. I didn’t want to do the work of editing
all the stories. There were a lot of them. But she finally wore me down.
Instead of two volumes, I put all the stories into a single book because I
wanted to get the whole thing over with. I had other books to write.
Bedtime
Stories is made up of fiction and nonfiction
stories and some of ’em are about my criminal youth. I must tell you, I never
thought any of these stories would see the light of day. I wrote them for
myself and then forgot about them. By the way, there are all sort of genres
within its pages, from westerns to detective stories to love stories and just
about anything else that you can imagine.
There are a whole lotta stories in the
book—700 pages worth. Enough to keep you reading for the foreseeable future.
Here’s one of my hitching adventures. By
the way, in the hitching tales, I use my real name, Billy Doyle—Andrew Joyce
being my pen name.
John, Kris, and Me
It was 1968; I was eighteen-years-old, and
I was hitchhiking from Miami to New York. I had gotten off the beaten track, so
to speak. I should have stayed on US 301 (this was before the Interstate
Highway System), but instead found myself just south of Memphis, hoping to
catch a ride into Nashville by noon and then catch a long haul out of that
city.
It was early morning. The traffic was
light, and I wasn’t having much luck when, suddenly, a black Mustang screeched
to a halt, and the guy driving leaned over and said through the open
passenger-side window, “I’m headin’ to Nashville, that do you any good?”
Of course I said, “Yes,” and jumped in.
As he’s accelerating, he’s looking
straight ahead, not saying anything, which is kinda strange but not unusual
when you’re hitching. So I said nothing and stared out the windshield at the
fast approaching skyline of Memphis. Then it hit me. I know this guy; I should have tumbled from the voice.
At that time in my life, I was not into different
types of music; I liked rock n’ roll. Since then my taste in music has matured
to encompass all types. But even though this guy wasn’t a rocker, I knew him
and his music. A couple of his songs had crossed over and were played on the
top forty stations.
The driver was intent on what he was
doing, but I think he caught me looking at him out of the corner of his eye. I noticed
he had a firm grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles were white. After a few
minutes, he turned to me, saying, “Howdy, my name’s John.” At the same time, he
raised his right hand from the wheel and stuck it out in my direction.
We shook hands, and I said, “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cash. My name is Billy.”
Once John and I shook hands, he became
more talkative. Hell, he became downright verbose. He told me about his
hitchhiking adventures and asked me about mine. We were three hours out of Nashville
and I don’t think there was another quiet moment for the whole three hours. We
talked about life, women, and we even got into a metaphysical discussion. He
told me about his army days and the time he was arrested in Texas. Just to keep
even, I told him stuff that had happened to me while on the road. We didn’t
talk about his music or anything like that. I’d been around enough to know that
coming off as a gushing fan would have been a major turn-off for him. And
besides, at the time, I was not a fan, gushing or otherwise. But by the time we
hit Nashville, I was becoming a fan … of the man if not his music.
As we neared Nashville, he told me he’d
just gotten married a few months back and was dying to see his wife. “I’ve been
gone two days and it feels like two years,” he informed me. Then he said, “It’s
about dinner time; why not stop in and get something to eat and then hit the
road. June’s a great cook.”
Dinner is what country folk call lunch.
I accepted his kind offer, and we got off
the highway and headed for his home, which was only a few blocks away. When we
got to his house and as we were pulling into the driveway, he said, “Looks like
June is out somewhere, but don’t worry, we’ll rustle somethin’ up.”
I told him not to bother, that I could
cadge a meal down the line. He looked at me, shook his head, and in that deep
voice, he asked me if I had any money. Of course, I didn’t and I told him so. He
told me that he’d been on the road and hungry, and that if I didn’t get my butt
in the house pronto, he’d drag me inside.
So in we went, and we walked right back to
the kitchen. John told me to sit at the table as he opened the refrigerator and
looked around for a moment before saying, “Ah ha! It’s still here.” And he
pulled out a platter with a ham on it. I mean a real ham, bone and all! He also
came up with a jar of mustard and a hunk of cheese. As he started to slice the
ham, he told me where the bread and plates were kept and asked me to get them.
When the sandwiches were made—two of them—he
asked me if I’d like a beer.
“Yes, please.”
So there I am, sitting in the kitchen of a
man I’d met only a few hours before, and I’ve got two thick ham and cheese
sandwiches and a can of beer in front of me. Not a bad score and the day was
still young!
I asked him if he was going to eat, and he
said beer would do him fine.
We’re sittin’ at the kitchen table,
shooting the shit, when the doorbell rings. John gets up, but before he leaves,
he takes a long swig of beer. “Be right back,” he says. A few minutes later, he
comes back into the kitchen with this guy.
“Billy, I want you to meet a friend of
mine. This here is Kris.”
I had my mouth filled with ham sandwich,
so I mumbled a hello. He waved and smiled, “Glad to meet ya, Billy.”
John asked Kris, “How about a sandwich and
a beer?”
“Just a beer, please. It’s my lunch hour,
and I’ve got to get back to work. But I have a new song I’d like you to hear
and see what you think of it.”
By now, I’d eaten my two sandwiches, and I
had nothing to add to the conversation, so I figured I’d just finish my beer
and get the hell out of there. But before I could say my thanks and hit the
road, John leaves the room and returns a moment later with a guitar.
Prior to my going any further, I’ve got to
lay the scene out for you. We’re sitting at a round kitchen table. To my left
is John and directly opposite me is this guy, Kris Kristofferson (before he was
famous). John and I were hitting our beers and watching Kris tune the guitar.
Then he picked at the strings and started to sing. I don’t remember what the
song was. I wasn’t really paying attention. In my mind, I was rehearsing my
good-bye speech to John.
When Kris was done, we all three sat there
looking at one another. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my opinion Kris
sought. Kris didn’t say anything because he was waiting for John to say
something, which he finally did.
“It’s not bad. But I don’t know if it’s
for me.”
I’ve got to hand it to Kris; he smiled
broadly and said, “That’s okay. I just wanted you to hear it and get your
thoughts.” Then he lifted his beer and said, “Prosit.” That was my cue to
leave. I stood and told John I had to hit the road. He said he’d drive me back
to the highway, but I told him not to bother, he had company, and besides, it
was only a few blocks away. Kris said if I could wait a few minutes, he’d drop
me off at the highway on his way back to work. I declined his offer. I didn’t
want to wait around. I had a full stomach and New York City was calling to me.
I said my good-byes and walked out the front door, retrieved my case from the
Mustang and headed off for further adventures.
Just one last thing: When I got to New
York and opened my case, there was Benjamin Franklin staring up at me from on
top of my clothes. John must have put the C-note in there when he went to let
Kris in.
ABOUT ANDREW JOYCE
Andrew Joyce left high school at seventeen
to hitchhike throughout the US, Canada, and Mexico. He wouldn't return from his
journey until years later when he decided to become a writer. Joyce has written
five books. His first novel, Redemption: The Further Adventures of Huck Finn
and Tom Sawyer, was awarded the Editors' Choice Award for Best Western of
2013. A subsequent novel, Yellow Hair, received the Book of the Year
award from Just Reviews and Best Historical Fiction of 2016 from Colleen's Book
Reviews.
Joyce now lives aboard a boat in Fort
Lauderdale, Florida, with his dog, Danny, where he is busy working on his next
book, tentatively entitled, Mahoney: An American Story.
Wow, what a fantastic experience--lucky Mr. Joyce!! I love Kris Kristofferson and Johnny Cash, so this was a blast to read. I felt like I was right there in John Cash's kitchen, eating a ham and cheese sandwich! And since that's as close as I'll ever get to such an experience, I thank Andrew Joyce for sharing his serendipitous meeting with two legends.
I recently read another one of Mr. Joyce's short (fictional) stories. It was so well written and entertaining, and it's also in the book. Without a doubt, Bedtime Stories has grabbed my interest. Thank you for this interesting post!