June 2026: The Book I Didn't Mean to Write

For the better part of the last year, I've spent a lot of early mornings, late nights and stolen moments working on something I never really set out to do.

I wrote a book.

Even now, that feels strange to type. People have been telling me to do it for years and years. I finally listened.

I've spent most of my life writing in one form or another. School assignments. Newspaper stories. Magazine features. Blog posts. Social media captions. Thousands and thousands of words scattered across decades. But writing a book is different. A blog post is a sprint. A book is a marathon.

What started as a simple idea quickly turned into something much bigger.

At first, I thought I was writing about Texas Music. Then I thought I was writing about Galleywinter. Somewhere along the way I realized I was really writing about all of us. The artists. The songwriters. The fans. The venues. The radio folks. The volunteers. The friends I've met along the way. The people who showed up, helped build something, and left a mark on my life.

The funny thing is that the book became as much about community as it did music.

As I worked through the chapters, I found myself revisiting memories I hadn't thought about in years. Some made me laugh. Some made me cringe. A few were difficult to write. More than once I found myself staring at the screen wondering if anyone would actually care about a particular story.

But every time I stepped back, I came to the same conclusion: these stories matter because the people matter. I've heard some of my favorite songwriters explain that their most personal songs have ended up connecting with the wide audiences. Something they felt was deeply unique and personal to them only, reached others hearts and minds. That's sort of where I ended up here.

The Texas Music scene has always been about more than songs. It's about relationships. It's about shared experiences. It's about finding your people somewhere between a dancehall, a songwriter round, a festival stage, or a dive bar on a random Thursday night.

Those are the moments I've tried to capture.

The editing process has taught me a lot about myself too. I've learned that I overuse words. I start too many sentences with "and." I tell stories that are way longer than they need to be. And apparently I have a hard time letting go of a chapter once I start tinkering with it.

At some point, though, you have to stop editing and let the thing live.

That's where we are now.

The book is finished and will be available at River Jam and then online after. Seeing the cover come together and holding the final manuscript has been both exciting and a little terrifying. Once it's out there, it's out there.

I have no idea how many copies it will sell. I don't really care at this point. I wrote it for myself and if others connect with it that's a bonus.

I don't know if it'll end up on a shelf, a coffee table, or in a box in someone's garage.

What I do know is that I'm proud of it.

It's honest. It's a snapshot of particular places and times in my life. And if you've followed Galleywinter over the years, attended a River Jam, discovered an artist through something we've written, or simply shared a love for Texas Music, I think and hope you'll find pieces of yourself in the pages too.

The preorder link will launch soon. And if you're coming to River Jam like I hope you are, you can grab yours first!

Thank you for reading. Thank you for supporting independent music. Thank you for supporting Galleywinter. And thank you for giving me enough stories to fill a book.

We'll see you down the road.

— Brad