Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
The Written Girl – A Poem
I stare at
a blank page
and wait for
it to speak
to me. It
remains quiet for
a moment, waiting
for me to
put my fingers
on the keys.
When I do,
the white cloud
in front of
me begins to
ripple. I watch
as words form
on the page
and those words
begin to make
a shape, that
of a young
girl. She gazes
out at me,
her skin made
from words that
I have yet
to write. Her
eyes look at
me pleadingly and
she opens her
mouth. I do
not expect to
hear her voice.
“Why haven’t you written my story yet?”
She says. Her
voice is a
soft lilt, like
music or the
song of birds
in flight.
“I don’t know who you are.”
I tell her.
None of my
current works in
progress feature a
young girl. I
have a few
on the go
and there isn’t
a girl in
any of them.
“That’s because you haven’t written my story yet. You have to give me a voice if I’m to live.”
I shake my
head, trying to
find the words.
“You aren’t real. You’ll just be something I made up.”
She laughs and
I hear the
sound of bells
ringing. She looks
at me sternly.
“Doesn’t every writer put some of themselves into the characters they create? Don’t they say that to know a writer, you have to read what they’ve written?”
I’m nodding at
my computer screen.
I don’t expect
her to react,
thinking that this
is all in
my head. She
puts her hands
on her hips
and tosses her
hair. I look
closely and read
the words that
make up her
hair. I see
the words Queen,
magic, betrayed, lightning,
Lavender Man, familiar,
the last Witch.
I wonder if
her hair reflects
her story. Her
dark eyes look
into mine, beseechingly.
“Can you please tell my story? I’ve been waiting ever so long.”
I nod and
then say one word:
“Soon.”
She sighs with
contentment and I
watch as the
words and letters
that make up
her body begin
to drift across
the page, unwriting
her. She looked
at me again.
“Don’t forget. Don’t forget me, okay?”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I tell her.
She gives me
one final smile
and then the
final letters that
make up her
mouth and eyes
slip away across
the page until
it is blank
once more.
The Path to Self – A Poem
My life is marked
by a series of memories.
If I look behind me,
I can see them forming
the path that I am on.
The memories are shaped
like paving stones or
Tarot cards, each of them
a doorway or window
into that moment,
into that memory.
As I walk along my path,
I can look back and
see where I was last year,
two years ago or three.
When I stop to touch
the memory, it rises up
in front of me, as if
it was a small television
when in reality
it is my memory I am
viewing. This one is from
three years ago, when I
was at the darkest point
in my life. I was sitting
outside on a bench and
the sun was warm on
my face. Inside of me,
however, there was only
torment. I sat on the bench
with a bottle of pills and a
bottle of water beside me.
The urge to take all of
the pills was overwhelming.
It had been a long few weeks.
May had been my dark month.
After my diagnosis, I thought
I had been doing well, that I
was fine. I wasn’t. What was
a disease on top of a disability?
I could handle this, I could do this.
I couldn’t. Not on my own.
I had cut everyone out of
my life. I thought it was
better that way. Even though
I knew it was foolishness, I
didn’t want to infect anyone
else with my sadness. I wore it
like a shroud of cloak.
The darkness was in every
word I spoke, every action
I did. I had started wearing it
like an armor, now it would
be my downfall. I called
my boyfriend at the time
and told him what I wanted
to do. I was looking for some
kind of comfort, some kind of
caring. What he said was:
“So do it.”
I hung up on him and grabbed
the bottle of pills, twisted
off the cap, poured the white
tablets into the palm of my hand,
as if someone else was guiding
my actions. I remember letting
out an anguished sound,
not a yell, more like something
primal that no classification.
I forced my hand to put
the pills back in the bottle,
put them down and picked
up my phone again.
I called my mom.
I told her what I wanted
to do, what urges I was
feeling. She said the words
that saved me:
“I didn’t raise a quitter. Don’t you quit on me.”
I remember sitting outside
on that bench, the sun still
warm upon my face,
letting my sadness leak
out of me in a flood of tears.
There was a moment that
I could barely speak but
my mom spoke to me,
told me how strong I was,
how brave I was, how I
was better than this, that
I could do anything I
put my mind to.
Slowly, I calmed my breathing,
I calmed my heart.
I told my mother:
I love you.
She told me the same.
I put the bottle of pills
back into my pocket
and told myself that
I would live, despite how much
it hurt me to do so,
that I would thrive,
despite the fact that
I didn’t think that I
had that much to live for.
Back on my path of self,
I stop watching. I don’t
need to see anymore,
I know what came after.
I place the memory back
into the path, in the exact same spot.
I often think of throwing
that stone into the water
that runs along side the path,
its shallow waves a constant
music. I think of burying it
within the grass, never to be
seen again. But I don’t.
This stone is a reminder
of what it was like at my lowest
point and it is a reminder
of how far I’ve come.
I pat the stone so that it
settles into the grass,
remembering who I was
and give it one last glance
before moving forward
into who I am.
Man in the Mirror – A Poem
Three year ago,
I met the
person that lived
inside of me.
For months, he
had been plaguing
me with falls
down stairs, with
the loss of
eyesight and speech
and a host
of other problems.
It was when
I lost the
ability to speak
that I was
made to go
to the doctors.
All throughout the
testing, he had
remained quiet. For
months, he had
remained quiet, but
I could sense
him growing stronger
within me. An
unnameable beast that
resided within my
skin. I sat
in a room
with the doctor
and he had
looked at me,
not with pity
but with apology.
I knew what
was coming would
not be easy.
The invisible beast
grew restless inside
of me. The
doctor sighed and
then he spoke:
“There’s no easy way to say this. I’m afraid it’s M. S.”
My mother hung
her head as
if she had
been shot, but
I sat there,
numb and afraid
to move. The doctor
went on to
talk about treatments,
all the while,
the twin inside
of me was
laughing. For a
moment, I thought
my life was
over, that life
as I knew
it had stopped.
We stood and
thanked the doctor
for his help
and I went
to the washroom
to through some
cold water on
my face. I
looked at myself
in the mirror.
I didn’t look
different, but I
felt different. It
was as if
something had changed
within me. I
could hear him
laughing inside of
me. I gave
him a stern
look, knowing that
I was looking
right inside myself.
“I know your name now, Max Shadow. I know what you are.”
I heard more
laughter and a
voice said quietly:
“So? What are you going to do about it?”
I let steel
run through my
spine and looked
even harder at
myself, knowing that
he could hear
my every word.
“I’m going to fight you and I’m going to win.”
He laughed again.
“You sure about that?”
I gave my
reflection a little
smile and felt
him shudder slightly.
“Yes. I am.”
“You don’t have the guts to take me on.”
My smile widened.
“Watch me.”
I turned out
the lights and
left him in
the darkness.
Mom – A Poem
When I was
afraid, you taught
me about
courage.
When I thought
I was too
weak to go
on, you taught
me about
strength.
When I didn’t
think that I
could do something,
you taught me
wisdom.
When I was
ready to give
up, to turn
towards the darkness,
you showed me
how much I
still had to
live for.
And when I
had given up
and sworn that
I would never
love again, you
taught me about
what Love really
is. For all
of this and
more, I am
thankful. You gave
me the foundations
that I needed
as a child,
gave me what
I needed to
build upon those
foundations as a
teenager and as
an adult, you
have given me
the courage, strength,
wisdom and love
to reach for
the stars. I
an thankful for
you and have
no words to
describe my thanks.
I am the
man that I
am today because
of you and
hope that I
make you proud.
I love you
Mom.
A Walk in the Sun by Michelle Zink – A Book Review
Rose Darrow is lost.
After her mother passes away, the running of the family farm falls to her. Her father, John Darrow, is just too grief stricken to do much of anything except exist in a cloud of depression. So the running of the farm falls on her shoulders. She spends every waking moment tending the cattle, working the crops and what little time is left over is devoted to school. Her graduation is coming up.
Normally a source for excitement, Rose doesn’t feel any joy at all. Her life had been filled with plans, places she wanted to go to, things she wanted to see. Now it’s filled with the endless hours of taking care of the farm, the livestock and her father. There is no room for anything else.
She puts her dreams aside, never to be seen again.
Bodhi Lowell is trying to escape his past.
Growing up as the son of an abusive and alcoholic father has left him with a few scars, most of them invisible to the world. After his mother passes away, he leaves home and fends for himself, mostly working on farms to get what experience he needs. He even changed his name to leave his past behind.
When Rose’s aunt Marty hires Body for the summer to help out on the farm, he thinks this will be just what he needs. Make a little money before his dream of flying off to Europe comes to life. What he doesn’t plan on is Rose.
There is something about her that calls so him, that’s like Bodhi already knows her. He senses her pain and sorrow and knows that something has happened to her, but Bodhi doesn’t push. If she wants to tell him, she will.
When the two meet, there are sparks and those sparks turn into fireworks. However, will those fireworks be snuffed out when Rose learns of Bodhi’s plans to leave? Or will they prosper? When love is involved, it’s anybody’s guess.
Some dreams have a way of coming true…
I love this book. Nope, I heart it. It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book that touched me so deeply and on so many different levels.
Michelle Zink delivers a powerhouse of a novel, that touches on a lot of subjects that aren’t in your typical young adult novel: death, abandonment, abuse, alcoholism, isolation. At the same time, she’s written a novel that shows the healing powers of time and, most importantly, of love.
Rose isn’t your typical heroine and Bodhi isn’t your typical hero. The two have their own issues, their own pasts, and together they find a way to move on from those pasts and form a bond with each other. The secondary characters of Lexi, Will, John Darrow and Marty add spark and life to the novel, but make no mistake, this is Rose and Bodhi’s book.
The journey they go on together is so believable and so all consuming that I found myself cheering at this book, laughing out loud and, quite a few times, crying both out of sadness and out of joy. In the end, it didn’t feel like I was holding a book. It felt as if I were holding life itself.
I really connected with Bodhi. His struggle mirrors my own and the emotional depth that she brought to him is so real, so powerful, that I couldn’t help but be moved by him. And which one of us hasn’t lost a family member they love? The emotion encased within A Walk in the Sun is so real.
I implore you to read A Walk in the Sun. Discover how one summer of love can change a whole life and that love really can make miracles happen
Buy Little Yellow Magnet from Amazon and Kobo!
Jamieson Wolf has written a compelling story about navigating multiple sclerosis and cerebral palsy. His story will touch your heart, make you cry, then laugh, and inspire you. A touching memoir with a bit of magic…and tarot! ~ Theresa Reed, author of The Tarot Coloring Book
Jamieson Wolf 