Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
A Language Upon the Leaves – A Sonnet
I thought I’d try something different. 
I don’t normally write poems with any rhyming scheme or iambic pentameter. However, I thought I’d try my hand at writing a sonnet. I made a comment on Facebook the other night that I felt like writing love sonnets. Someone said I should try, so I did!
I hope you enjoy my first effort.
*
You helped me relearn a language unknown
something primal and unspoken.
Our love has bloomed and has grown,
a seed beginning to spring open.
The language you taught me once again
was one that I’d forgotten.
Every touch, caress and every when,
is but a new leaf begotten.
Inside my heart, the language you speak
is written upon the leaves.
The bird takes them in his beak
and brings them to the breeze.
The tree we planted and nurtured still grows
and whispers the words every time the wind blows.
Disraeli Avenue by Caroline Smailes – A Review
Behind closed doors, there are many secrets.
We all have secrets. We hold on to them tightly, even if they burn our hands, knowing that they must never see the light of day.
Released into the light, these secrets could heal one life and shatter another. We will take our secrets to the grave, taking comfort in the fact that no one will hear them, that no one will know them. That no one will know who we really and truly are. This is how things have always been.
On Disraeli Avenue, there are lots of secrets; lots of hidden truths buried like treasure. Some are like soft golden coins, shining in the light and begging to be heard. Some are like rubies with sharp edged teeth, waiting to bite the hand that dips into them and draw blood.
In her new novella, Caroline Smailes returns to Disraeli Avenue, the setting for her amazing debut novel In Search of Adam.During In Search of Adam, we got to know the inhabitants of Disraeli Avenue through the eyes of Jude Williams.
Now, Smailes is giving those inhabitants their own voice. Disraeli Avenue consists of thirty-four vignettes, thirty-four insights into the lives of the people who make up Disraeli Avenue.
I’ve actually read this novella seven times now. I read it three times a piece when it was released in it’s previous incarnations and I’ve read it through again. Each and every time, I’m blown away by how incredible Smailes is. It’s a hard task to give thirty-four individual people their own distinctive voice. Most seasoned authors struggle with this for years and never manage to create distinctive voices.
Thankfully, Smailes achieves this with aplomb. Told in diary entries, text messages, letters, receipts, invoices and more, Disraeli Avenue is an intimate and revealing look at the people that make up a neighbourhood; the people that live close to one another never really knowing who their neighbours are.
For those of you who have not read In Search of Adam, you can breathe easy: it’s not necessary to have read In Search of Adam to read Disraeli Avenue. But I can guarantee after reading Disraeli Avenue that you’ll want to read In Search of Adam to see where it all began. Though the subject matter may be grim, covering topics such as death, suicide, sexual abuse, theft, love, friendship, family and more, the novella is incredibly well written and will pull you in.
You will need to keep reading to find out whom you will meet next, whose voice you will hear. Whose life you will get to see into, just for a moment. You will not be able to put this book down. Each chapter brings a new voice, just begging to be heard.
I found this to be one of the novella’s strengths. Smailes has created a tapestry of people, a real live neighbourhood that must surely be around the corner. You start to recognize the different people that populate Disraeli Avenue as they appear in other stories, other vignettes. What’s more, you come to know them. To care for them, even though we only know them for an instant.
Once again, Smailes offers us a study in human nature, a study in what really makes people tick and comes out on top. She isn’t afraid to pull any punches either. There is a vibrancy to her words that leaps off the page and that makes Disraeli Avenue all the more amazing.
I was incredibly moved by Disraeli Avenue and it touched so many different emotions. It has been a long time since a book has done that, has reached down into me and pulled at my heart. I feel I know the people of Disraeli Avenue and I know that they will haunt me for a long time to come. The entire novella was a journey.
Smailes herself has been on quite a journey with Disraeli Avenue and you can read about that here: http://www.carolinesmailes.co.uk/wrote-disraeli-avenue-charity Every cent of her royalties will go to the charity One in Four. You can get your copy of Disraeli Avenue HERE.
Read and be amazed.
Searching for Amber by David Smith – A Review
Jade does not see the world like everyone else.
A photographer by trade, she sees it more clearly through the lens of her camera. She is tough but takes photographs that show people as they really are, stripping the walls down and laying what she sees bare.
Abandoned by her mother and raised by her adoptive parents, Jade has always felt that a piece of her was missing. Only truly happy when she is creating, Jade trudges through the world, looking for that lost piece of herself. She feels alone in her village, unaware that the answers she seeks to her past are closer than she thought possible.
When she is brutally attacked, she is saved by a Martin, a boatyard worker of very few words. Jade is captivated by him and what secrets he may hold in his past. He walks with an air of sadness and Jade means to find out what is behind it.
Jade is drawn in by Martin and becomes obsessed with him. She yearns to dig underneath his skin and find out what is there. As they get closer, Martin finally tells her what happened to create the air of sadness that surrounds him.
Years ago, his sister Amber, left home. He has never seen her again. Also, his father had a tragedy while at sea. He lost both is father and his sister in on fell swoop and has never been the same. The sea took both of them from him. Though he is afraid of what the water can bring, he works at the boatyard; in that way, he is close to both of them.
Wanting to delve further into the mystery, Jade offers to help Martin find his missing sister. What they learn will change both of their lives forever…
I was blown away and left breathless by Searching for Jade.
First, because the writing is so incredible. It’s very literary in style but draws the reader in with the beauty of it’s words. I was expecting a novel I could rush though but the language slows you down as you want to make sure to read every gorgeous word. There is very little dialogue in the book, but that’s one of the novels strong points.
David Smith brings Jade and Martin’s world to life on the page until you feel as if you are inside the book, with the characters in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, London and Essex. Never before have I read such incredible writing. Smith puts more power in one sentence than many writers are able to capture in one page.
It also has pieces of poetry, dialogue and conversation sprinkled through out to serve as scene breaks or internal thoughts of the characters that help bring the reader further into the story. As the story moves from the present to the past, we are pulled even deeper as more of the story is revealed.
The characters are also engaging. Jade is a tough and life-hardened protagonist that is at once likeable and compelling. Martin is almost broodish, tortured and yet kind. You yearn for these characters and connect with them so completely. I felt I knew them, all of them, when the novel was over. Their lives were bared for us on the page as the story moved to it’s incredible conclusion.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been so entranced by a novel. I took my time reading this as I didn’t want it to end. When I finished it, I was actually left with an ache in my stomach. David Smith doesn’t just tell you a story. In Searching for Amber, he has given the reader a journey.
An absolutely incredible book beautifully told. Begin the search for Amber yourself and fall under the books spell.
Holding the Chalice Tightly – A Poem
Everyone has a
chalice inside of
them. That glass
barrier that lies
between body and
spirit. Over time,
the chalice can
break and crack.
I was forever
picking up pieces
of mine. I
would be walking
along and hear
the soft clink
of glass behind
me. I would
pick up the
shard of glass
and let it
sit in my
hand for a
moment as it
caught the light.
Then, slowly, it
would sink back
into my flesh.
It never found
it’s proper place
though, so when
I walked, it
sounded like bells
were singing as
I moved. I
healed my body,
mind and spirit
but the chalice
still remained in
pieces. Though I
was whole on
the outside, I
was still in
pieces. I didn’t
think the chalice
would be whole
again. Until I
met him. As
our feelings grew,
I could feel
the pieces of
the chalice moving
inside of me,
finding their rightful
place, forming the
chalice one more.
They were in
place, waiting for
the moment. When
he told me
that he loved
me for the
very first time,
and I told him
the same, he
pulled me into
a tight embrace.
Rather than break
the chalice, I
could feel the
pieces melding back
together, fusing and
forming. A new music
began to play
from inside of
me. It was
the sound of
bells, made from
a whole chalice
rather than a
broken one. It
began filling me
with light and
love for him.
He looked at
me and said
“I love you.”
The music of
the bells grew
until the world
around us was
filled with light
“I love you, too.”
I said. Light
poured from both
of us and
danced to the
sound of music
and I was
complete once more.
The Masks We Wear – A Poem
I used to
know someone who
insisted we wore
many masks in
our lives. We
wore one mask
at work, a
different one with
friends, another with
lovers, one more
with parents. I
imagined a closet
filled with all
sorts of different
masks instead of
shoes or clothes.
“I don’t wear masks.”
I told him.
“It’s easier that way.”
He became belligerent.
“Everyone wears masks! How else would we survive?”
I looked at
him with the
strange feeling that
I didn’t really
know him. I
wondered what kind
of mask he
wore with me.
“Would you behave the same way at work as you do at home?”
He asked me.
I nodded yes.
“I am always myself.”
He scoffed at
me, his tone
full of derision.
“Please. At work, you wear a professional mask. At home, you wear another.”
We agreed to
disagree. I thought
he had the
wrong of it,
that you didn’t
have to wear
masks to get
through life. I
pointed out that
you could be
yourself, but just
another fraction of
who you were.
“So it’s a partial mask. That’s all it is. I’m wearing a mask with you.”
He said. I
was shocked as
I hadn’t known
he needed a
mask to be
around me. I
asked him quietly:
“What mask do you wear around me?”
He scoffed again.
“You don’t want to know.”
He was right.
I didn’t want
to know. Later,
I searched my
face for a
mask, a crack
that ran along
my skin. I
saw a thin
line that ran
along the edge
of my face,
down along my
jaw. It was
a thin mask,
almost like glass
made supple and
bendable. It was
almost me, but
I was still
hiding. Still locking
my true self
behind another face.
I dug my
fingers under the
edge and gently
pulled. The mask
came away easily,
the glue holding
it on turned
dry. I wondered
if I had left
it on whether
it would have
just melted away
on its own.
When the mask
was free, I
looked at myself.
There was a
light that shone
from my skin,
bright like the
morning sun. I
thought that this
was why I
had worn the
mask, so as
not to make
him uncomfortable with
my light, as
he didn’t have
one. He didn’t
shine. I resolved
to find someone
else who shone,
who burned brightly.
I went out
into the world,
without a mask,
to see what
I could see.
Other men wore
blue masks, grey
masks, red masks.
They carried the
marks of their
souls on the
surface. They
were hiding behind
themselves. They were
locked behind their
fears, their worries,
their perceived weaknesses.
They didn’t just
wear them as
masks, but as
shrouds, mantles and
cloaks. The only
difference between them
and myself was
that I no
longer wanted to
wear a mantle
of needles. I
wanted to live
as myself, not
behind my pain.
They weren’t ready
to shine as
themselves. I despaired
about ever finding
someone who wore
no masks and
had given up.
It was when
I had given
up that he
found me. I
walked into the
coffee shop, not
thinking anything would
happen but when
he turned towards
me, I was
struck by the
light that poured
from him. I
stood there for
a moment, searching
his face for
a mask, for that
tell-tale sheen of
glass that ran
along his skin.
There wasn’t one.
“Hi.”
He said. I
was almost speechless,
unable to find
words accurate enough
for an introduction.
“Hi.”
I said, thinking
that the word
was lacking. I
had finally found
someone who didn’t
wear a mask,
or he had
found me. That
didn’t matter. What
did was that
we had found
each other. There
were no coloured
masks on his
face, no blues
or reds or
black glass or
or green. There
was only him,
shining brightly like
a star or sun.
There was only
him. He smiled
and the light
from inside him
grew only brighter.
My light glowed
in response and
the air hummed
with possibilities.
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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 