Jamieson Wolf
Number-one bestselling author
The Minotaur – First Draft DONE!!!
Oh, my goodness. I wrote 2,565 words today and the first draft of my novel The Minotaur is finished. The novel took me eight months to write.
It all started with the first line that popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone: “We were friendly with the dark.” As the story took shape in my head, I knew that the novel would be set in a labyrinth and that it would be an allegory on Covid in some way, in that everyone in the labyrinth was together but isolated, under constant threat from the minotaur. I knew that my protagonist was a young girl but other than that, I knew nothing.
I thought the novel would be a novella, that it would be a short little story that would be quick to write so that I could move on to the next story; there is always another story waiting to be written. Yet, somehow, my mind stayed with this story and with Roanne’s journey. I actually took time to plot out this book which is something I don’t normally do. I had to create and visualize the world of the labyrinth. I had to think of the secrets that this labyrinth held and what I wanted to do.
And yet, the ending of the novel came to me early on. As I continued to write, I wondered if I would be able to get there, if I could make the ending work. I’m thrilled to say that after 81,763 words, I arrived at the ending I envisioned so many months ago.
Time to take a breather, step away from the computer and read something wonderful. I will be having a glass of wine in celebration tonight.
Miracle – A Poem
A memory:
She is surrounded
by all the kids in my class.
She looks like some kind of
prophet, her dark hair and
pale skin like a beacon
to all of us.
“I can tell you if you are fat or thin,”
she says, her eyes seeming
to contain wisdom.
“All I need to do is put a hand on your stomach.”
That she has such powers
is amazing and all of us
queue up to her,
desperate to have her lay
her hand upon us as if
she is performing some kind
of miraculous miracle.
As I approach her,
she looks not at my stomach,
but at the way
that I walk towards her.
It is not a look of wisdom
that I see in her eyes,
but one of revulsion.
I want to turn away,
but the crowd of children
pushes me forwards.
She lays a hand on my stomach,
gives me a smile
that lacks any kind of warmth.
“You’re fat,”
She says.
“So incredibly fat.”
I back away from her as if
struck, falling into other children
in my haste to get away.
That evening,
I look at myself in the mirror
at home and I wonder why I
never saw how disgusting I was.
Was that thought waiting
for someone to rip off
the blinders so that
I could see myself as I really was?
Now,
As I look back at that memory,
at the moment which shaped
much of how I view myself,
I can finally let it go
which is a miracle
all its own.
Sharing Scars – A Poem
We sat together comparing our scars.
Some of them had been caused
by others and some we had made ourselves.
Many of them were the same
except for several of mine.
He had no scars along his skin to match them.
“It’s because you’ve lived longer,”
he told me, a look of wisdom
so out of place in his young face.
He lay in a bed, surrounded by the dark.
I could hear the rustle of leaves
that surrounded us but I did not
see any trees. I did not feel the wind
that made them rustle but he seemed
to take comfort from the sound
that the invisible trees made around us.
“You have come so far,”
he said to me.
“Farther than I thought I would go.”
He paused then and looked around
at the trees which I could no longer see.
“I thought I would die here. I’m glad we didn’t.”
It’s then that I notice something about his face.
There are two scars that run underneath his nose.
I reach up and touch the same scars on my face.
I really look at him for the first time
and I can see my face looking back at me,
albeit a younger face than I carry now.
He nods, pleased that I have finally realized
the truth and I know that those leaves
are within me still, though I no longer
feel fear when I hear the whisper of the leaves,
not like I did then. I have grown
beyond the fear of that time.
He stands and I stand with him.
I wonder how long I have been
carrying him within me and the fear
that filled me during this time.
“You don’t need me anymore,”
he says to me. He offers me a smile
and I can see light within it,
as if he can finally be free.
When he leaves the room,
I look around at what had held my fear,
this space where I lost myself
but planted a seed so that I could grow
beyond what I thought possible.
When I leave the room,
it is with the knowledge that I will not return.
I am not afraid anymore.
The Fifth Stage – A Poem
I was in denial for weeks.
I kept trying to pretend
everything was okay,
that I was all right
but I was lying to myself
and to those around me
who could see through
my façade because
they knew me so well.
Never very far under
the surface of my skin,
I could feel the anger
burning through all of me.
I was furious with the world
and at the way my story
was unfolding, the lack
of control that I had
over my own body.
I would look up
at the ceiling at night
and imagined that
I could see the stars.
Thoughts kept running
around in my head
and I would make
bargains with myself,
with a higher power.
I would promise to be kinder
because I had not been kind enough.
I would promise to give more
of myself to others
because I had not given enough.
I would promise to be more.
just more if it would bring
and ending to my plight.
Nothing happened. I remained
on the same path,
the same plight within my skin.
I would look at myself
in the mirror
and I swore that I could see
the disease that resided
within me, and that filled me
with a flood of water
that seemed never to end.
The dark forest called to me,
its leaves whispering
during the night.
It was only when I began
to burst into tears at random moments
that I realized I was depressed.
The dark forest was growing
stronger, the leaves more visible
with each passing day.
I looked at those leaves,
the trees that I knew so well
and I knew that I wanted
something different,
that I wanted to tell
a different kind of story.
I needed to take control
of how the pages were turned.
I felt a soft breeze
ripple over my skin
when I had that thought.
I decided that I would not fight,
that whatever happened
would happen anyways.
I had a choice and I chose
to accept the way my path
was full of rocks and cliff edges.
I had gotten past those roadblocks.
before and each time I was able
to move past one,
I learned something about myself.
This time, I knew that
the journey would be
full of light of darkness,
the choice was mine
to make. I would have to
take things one step
at a time and I wondered
what this journey
would teach me.
Artificial Divide – AVAILABLE NOW!
I’m thrilled that Artificial Divide is out now!
It’s an anthology of short stories written by blind and visually impaired authors and each story is told with blind or visually impaired people as the protagonist. It’s a very powerful own voices anthology and I’m so honoured to have a short story included within it.
My short story in the anthology is called The Blood Trees. My multiple sclerosis sometimes causes temporary blindness where things are blurry or unclear. It happens a lot in the evenings when my body is tired or I am suffering from fatigue. I wanted to write about that and also about the depression that I went through when I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The Blood Trees was the result.
Here’s a bit about the anthology:
Step into a world of rogue screen readers, Braille in fantasy worlds, a friend meeting an acquaintance after several years, and more.
This #OwnVoices anthology features fiction by Blind and visually impaired authors showing readers how they thrive, hurt, get revenge, outsmart bullies, or go on epic adventures. Artificial Divide is an own-voices story collection that captures the many layers of Blindness and, for once, puts visually impaired protagonists in the driver’s seat, letting us glimpse their lives.
When we think about it, we’re not really divided.
You can get your copy at all book sellers or find it online at the following places:
I hope you enjoy the book and all the wonderful stories contained within.
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 