Why We’re Still Here

There is an entire ecosystem out there dedicated to making everything frictionless and weightless. Endless scrolling, algorithms deciding what might hold your attention for another few seconds, stories becoming content becoming something else to swipe past.

We miss paper. We miss ink. We miss the counterexample to disposability—something somebody made and somebody chose to keep, carrying the physical weight of months of isolated, agonizing work dragged out of the dark.

Newfangle Press didn't start because we thought the world needed another content mill. It started because we wanted to publish stories that feel like they were written by someone sitting across a table from you in a room with bad lighting and a cold cup of coffee. Stories that don't apologize for being strange, dark, or quietly devastating.

If you’ve noticed us being quiet for the last couple of years, congratulations: you’re paying closer attention than most of the internet. But we aren't going to offer up a tired list of excuses about "busy seasons" or "behind-the-scenes pivots."

We’re just going to start talking again.

Our catalog spans haunted Cincinnati machinery, small-town 1992 dropouts, reckless pool halls, and ghosts refusing to let go. They live here because they share a pulse.

If you’re still looking for books that smell like glue, accumulate bent corners, and stay with you long after you’ve put them down, pull up a chair. We’re glad you’re here.