Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Tag: story

  • Eric John – Part VI

    This story begins here: Eric John

    A light knock on the door as it opened followed by a soft “Good morning dear” and Eric John thought it had all been a nightmare. But he looked up to see Kathy, not his mother, in the doorway. She had changed into an orange ensemble for the day so she was a blob of orange in the door – she was still smiling and urged him to come down for breakfast as she left.

    The horrors of the previous night flooded his mind as he felt an ache in his bottom. He rushed to the little bathroom and found blood and feces in his pajama bottoms. He had a sudden urge to vomit and just made it to the toilet before it came up. He cried again and tried to hold back the sobbing but it just wouldn’t so he let it all out. He took a shower, got dressed and headed to the dining room. (more…)

  • Eric John – Part V

    You can read earlier chapters here – IV here: Part I, Part II, Part III, and Part IV

    This multi-part story a rather new thing for me to try to do – it started with a Parts I and II keeping me up at night running around in my brain being crazy. So I had to write it down. As I was writing it down other parts of the story came and they seemed to make sense so I put them in as well. There have been parts where I was intending to write something and then a thought struck me and I had to change or delay something – that was pretty cool but a little frightening.

    This chapter (V) I have been debating whether to write what is in my head or not… it seems to not be a very nice thing and so many bad things have already happened. It was part of the original thought process that was keeping me up though so I feel obligated kind of – as I get started here it may change like it has before. I’m up for the adventure and to see where it all goes.  (more…)

  • Eric John – Part IV

    Part I can be found here: Eric John

    Part II can be found here: Eric John II

    Part III can be found here: Eric John III

    Eric John spent the day with the folks from children’s services. They kept asking him the same questions over and over a million different ways. He wanted to scream at them that he wasn’t a little kid but every time the scream would come he’d pat it down deep, take a deep breath and answer their question again.

    He didn’t know. He wasn’t aware of his father’s whereabouts or even his name. His mother never mentioned her parents nor his fathers parents and he had never actually been curious to meet them – he figured if they were worth meeting his mother surely would have introduced them. Logic and sense were what guided him – what did these things have to do with where his mother was anyway? (more…)

  • Eric John Part III

    Part I can be found here: Eric John

    Part II can be found here: Eric John II

    After Eric John’s mother dropped him off for school that morning from the bus stop, she headed for her own job like any other day.

    Her walk to work each day was about a mile – it was good exercise and she enjoyed the morning solitude before the chaos of her day job. This particular morning the light breeze ruffled her dress and carried with it some fresh bakery scents. Some mornings she would stop to grab a pastry before heading to the office but this day she was more disciplined.

    She thought fondly of her young son, he was such a gift to her and their life together filled her heart with joy. She enjoyed every moment they spent together and though their life was simple, she never wanted to change a thing.  (more…)

  • Eric John – Part II

    Part I can be found here: Eric John

    Wednesday morning Eric John woke up late. His mother had not knocked on the door with her regular greeting, his door was still shut, his room quiet. With trepidation he rose from his bed and headed for his mother’s room to check on her.

    Her bedroom door was still open from the night prior, her bed untouched.

    Now he was really worried, the whole situation was so alien to him and a monkey wrench into his life. He wasn’t sure what to do now, this was such an extraordinary circumstance he had never imagined his mother wouldn’t be here. (more…)

  • Eric John

    I haven’t gotten much sleep the last few nights, I’ve had this story brewing inside my head and more and more of it keeps coming out. I’d be just about ready to fall asleep and another part would creep into my thoughts and I’d have to see how it played out. So here we are the first part, I know the second part and third part already and there might be more but I’m not sure.

    As I wrote this all out I keep thinking it’s incredibly corny and naive of a story to write but it’s there and if I didn’t put it down on paper it wouldn’t leave me alone. There are some terrible things coming things that just seemed to play out well in my head that I hope I’ll be able to write as well as I visualize them.

    I used names of my best friends as I couldn’t think of other names to use – Eric is my best friend, May 21 is his birthday and Suzanne my other best friend, used to be a Wirsing… so there you have it.  (more…)

  • Untitled Story

    The water gushed into the streets of the town. Cobblestone streets and large block buildings with oval spires  began to fill with dirty liquid as the flow overwhelmed. Sloshing of waves hitting walls and belongings being swept away could be heard throughout. The force of the rapids took out doors and low windows, small vehicles were lifted into the wash to crash into buildings moments later spinning down the new river as it took it’s toll.

    Bodies floated like jetsam among the deluge – all ages. The coming didn’t discriminate. Occasional screams of those trying to hold on were heard above the roar of the waves. Tears on their faces indistinguishable from the water that surrounded them. Panic stricken they found no hope, shelter or solace.

    The sky was alit with a purple fire, with bright cascading comets entering the atmosphere in a dizzying array of fireworks. Sonic booms followed by more screams erupted amongst the other sounds.

    In the center of the town stood a beautiful white church upon a impeccable lawn – alit with flames consuming it entirely. The wood hissed and cracked as the flames licked slowly up the outside. A bright orange stain on the dying world alive with flames. The water that gushed into town seemed to part before – unwilling to quench the flames that ate away at it.

    They came then – sloshing through the streets knee deep with water. Pulling rafts behind them littered with bodies. Each creatures’ face had traces of bloodstains, their sharp teeth smiling an evil grin as they waded through. Guttural laughs from the oppressors as they’d pull another lifeless body into their collection. They’d be fed for days after this harvest – but they would miss the fear that generated after this assault – a fear that fed them as much as the humans flesh, feeding them a crazed energy they so deeply craved.

    As night approached and the seeming comets littering the horizon faded the screams of the humans came to a stop. Creatures feasted now, before purple bonfires – a ravenous feats where flesh and bone were stripped with razor sharp teeth and soon consumed.

    This was just a small town, other parties had feasted on larger takes and were off to the next already. One small planet would feed them for a brief while but soon they’d be off to find the next.

  • Pandora's Box

    The story goes the ancient gods gave Pandora a box to protect and never open. But curiosity got the better of her and she opened the box which kept safe all the evils of the world. Pandora panicked and closed the box, leaving inside one thing – hope.

    I always thought that story was a little odd – is hope an evil that didn’t get to escape? and if it’s not an evil but didn’t get to escape how is there still hope? that Zeus was a crafty bugger.

    I was recently presented … well, more accurately, I presented myself with a Pandora’s box. I crafted it myself and filled it with expectation, hope, anticipation, pride, justifications and right. It was a beautiful box and I loved to polish it and make it shine – the beauty of it called to me and beckoned me to open it. I fought the temptation for a good long while, I thought better of my desires to see what was in the box – I set it aside and thought it would keep… but it kept glinting in the sunlight of the spirit, happiness would make the box more tempting.

    I took steps to open it, I jimmied the lock open and let it sit – it was almost like I could hear it calling to me each day “just open the lid, come see the wonders we have to offer you”

    I had a moment of clarity – slam it shut, change your mind, you don’t want to know what’s in there… but the moment was fleeting.

    I threw open the box and found what appeared to be treasures and gifts – but what turned out to be hurt pride, doubts, and anger. Now those gifts are festering spoiled fruits that have lost their taste.

    I’m not sure hope is still in there and I think the spoiled fruit may have caused me to lose my appetite for what I found so promising.

    I’m not sure if I’ll ever learn to be happy with what I have and just live the life that I have… ugh.

  • Writing

    The earliest things I remember writing for pleasure were stories of Pegasus II and Cygnus with my friend Ted, I think we started talking about them in Spanish class (as we weren’t big on paying attention). We had characters that were partially named after Spanish verbs like “Jorge Dar” was a character. It was our comic book based on ourselves and my practicing religion of the ancient Greek gods. It was interesting to try to write in a way that I found readable – I’m not very good with dialogue still to this day, but I keep trying. I kept writing those stories until I was about 21 or 22.

    Once in a while I’d write a different story – a house fire and all the neighbors come and gawk, the little girls charred doll clutched in her hands and the father drives off in their Buick regal,  I liked that one, don’t know what happened to it; a student struggling to learn something new in class and the teacher who just wouldn’t change the way he taught – it was very rough; the rock and roll band playing in local bars, drinking and causing trouble… stories that kind of reflected what was going on with me and how I lived.

    Then I didn’t write for a good long time.

    In drug and alcohol treatment they suggested I keep a journal and write down my thoughts and actions for the day – I wasn’t a big fan of that idea, it reflected on when my Ma found my diary on my bed and was mad at what I wrote. It was shortly after xmas and I had received underwear, socks and t-shirts (among many other things I’m sure) and I whined a bit… ok, maybe a lot, in my diary about receiving socks and underwear. Her thinking at the time was that I left it our purposefully so she’d see it, but I doubt I was that clever – sometimes I was just a whiny teenager who enjoyed complaining. So keeping my thoughts on paper where someone else could see them didn’t seem like a good idea – I’m often misunderstood. 🙂

    In 1998 I was published in The Grapevine. I had read in the magazine that they needed stories to print from members. So I thought for a good long time and then wrote my piece they put in their wet drunk section. I have that framed as it was the first thing that made it out of my paper and into something else.

    It was 1999 when I started working at Children’s Hospital in Washington DC. I made some fast friends in my department and connected departments – one of those was Staci. Staci is a psychologist, that means she asks lots of questions, and many lunches were spent with her, Christy and others just talking. When I would share stories Staci would listen intently and sometimes she would say “You should write a book.” I never really took her seriously, this was just my life we were talking about nothing that would capture anyone’s attention.

    But that suggestion stayed with me and I started to jot down notes here and there and eventually decided to write where I could keep it always (I remembered not being able to find my old stories) so with the internet being new and blogs not that popular yet, I launched “Jamez in the life” on Blogger in 2005, and I started to write about whatever was on my mind.

    So of course the first story had to be about comic books. I wrote about death in comic books and how one time it mattered and then it didn’t. Then I wrote about a visit to my friend Julie’s (she also always wanted me to write a book) and smoking (as I had recently quit).

    Shortly after that I went to school for a year (just to prove I could do it) and then I began to write for grades and wrote about learning, that was pretty exciting… and I even wrote about the dreaded math… During school I posted 15 to 20 stories a month, usually pretty short.

    I try to get 4 posts a month now and sometimes that’s a struggle. It’s not that I don’t want to write, things get in the way or there are things that I can’t write about for confidentiality reasons and some porn that shouldn’t go here (I did submit it to a magazine though).

    I often have many different stories in my head all rambling around trying to find a place to go and when they coalesce I obsess about them and on occasion can’t sleep until I get them out on paper (or the electronic equivalent as the case usually is – though I did write about a savage beating I stopped, on paper as I didn’t own a laptop at the time.)

    My friend Staci came to Scottsdale this week to talk about some new therapy that she’s really excited about – it includes mindfulness meditation, of which I’m a big fan. So she and her husband had dinner with me and I let her know about my blog, she might even stop in and read a story or two. I hope she likes it – it was her idea after all 🙂 We even talked a bit about her research and meditation being good for you and how it seems so hard to find the time to do it.

    I’m glad I have this outlet – sometimes just writing something out can change my attitude on a situation – seeing it play out across the scenes and help me to see other points of view and become a better person.

  • Making Room for New Ideas

    I haven’t been writing because there are things I want to write about that I can’t post here… and I find that frustrating.

    • I want to write about work, but can’t really, there are people that I work with that read this and we can’t have that. People sometimes take me too seriously and other times not seriously enough. Complaints, ideas, things I like or don’t like
    • I want to write about a volunteer thing I do, but again that’s a confidential thing and I can’t write about it here without violating certain trusts.
    • And one other thing I wanted to write about – a little fiction, but really porn. Can’t really share that here, people are easily offended…

    But the problem is no other stories or ideas were popping into my head, just these three items over and over again. Sadly I can’t get something new to write until I get these out of my head – that’s how it seems to work for me.

    So today I started writing the porn story and it’s much longer than I anticipated, and I’m really enjoying it… lol… well yes, the sexual nature of it, but I’m also really enjoying the story telling part.  It’s an old fantasy of mine involving a barber, but it’s also much more detailed than I think I usually tell of stories… not the sexual parts but the feelings and emotions, scents and textures of the shop. Honestly there were three pages before anyone got naked.

    Usually when I’m telling a story I think – “they’re going to get bored, this has been going on too long” but not with this story, it just seems to be flowing well and kept me wanting to write more.

    But I reached a point tonight where I can’t quite figure out how to get what I want out of it. It’s like the classic cheesy porn – what’s a good reason for the pizza boy to need to take off his shirt, thats kind of where I”m at, trying to figure out a reason and a smooth transition. It’s an interesting conundrum and giving me lots to think about.

    Mostly the writing has freed up my mind and a new story has popped in, that makes me happy as it’s been a few weeks since something new had been rattling around up there. So over this week I’ll maybe make the time to write about the other two things as well and just keep them to myself – that’s a new thing for me and I don’t really like to do it, but they need to go so I can make room for new ideas.

    A day of writing is just what the doctor ordered.