Archive for the General Category

Upon A Vessel Soon Capsized

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , , on February 20, 2018 by jezzywolfe


“…and the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started,
And know the place for the first time.”

~ T.S. Eliot


Afloat without enough words to weave a safety net.

That’s how most discourse feels, as of late. The stagnant attempts to find some respite in light platitudes and commentary. One wrong word is one unraveling knot–spoken hastily–undoing all progress made. The catch is spilled into the ink black waters, confused and flailing, pathetically fierce.

I am failed at fishing. I did not cast my net far enough. It battered the boat helm and eventually jammed the rudder. So now, I can’t steer, much less fish.

But I continue to float.

We all come to the same place, eventually. That purgatory in the calm open. Many dive in and tread water together, but I can only look over the side of my vessel and question how cold the waters feel. My hesitation might be construed as prudence. Or stiff discipline. I’d rather see it as a survival instinct. Hypothermia is a motherfucker. Better safe than soggy.

But the problems with empty boats and frayed netting are the same as lack of courage. And safe now does not guarantee safe later. A rogue wave could capsize the boat. A gang of floating marauders could seize the vessel. The waters could shallow and tear rents in the bow. Or I could finally succumb to the madness of empty and dive overboard. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, nothing lost that wasn’t found in the first place.

It’s fruitless to be so scared. It’s directionless to float without a working sextant. Whatever shore I’m meant to discover won’t come to me. It’s out there, across miles of glass and diamond. That missing block in my sternum that calls me out into the ocean.

Without a map.
Or a compass.
Or my sustenance.
Or my true north.

Afloat in the obsidian deep of Wherenever.


JW ©2018



Slouching Towards

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on February 5, 2018 by jezzywolfe

“And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”  – W.B. Yeats

It hasn’t been easy.

I’ve sat countless times, looking to create. Stiffled by too much to say all at once, which bottlenecks into blocks I can’t chisel through. I told myself, if nothing else, I’d at least knock out a poem. And I have.

But no one looks for poetry.

I DO have deadlines to make. This year ahead is not completely uneventful. I will be a featured author in the 2018 anthology, Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror. I was requested to read again at this year’s Fright Flight in Portsmouth. It won’t be the year to conveniently slip into oblivion, even though it often feels like I should. I have opportunities to grab.

But I’m waffling in uncertainty. All writers second guess their voices. I fear mine has succumbed to incurable laryngitis. What happens if all I can do is scratch out a poem here or there? The world waits for new stories… but I worry those stories are not the ones I have to tell.

It’s Women in Horror month. A yearly reminder that I’ve contributed little of note thus far. I’ve been proud, and excited, for the opportunities I’ve been given. I don’t think I’ve botched them. But I look at the projects I want to see grow wings and fly, and I’m not sure how to make it happen. As long as they are cocooned safely away, no one can reject them.

Have I mentioned that the most important characteristic of a true writer is astounding bravery? Because this shit is scary.

I haven’t completely given up. I’m not trying to be some incredible force of literary dynamics. I don’ think that’s what I can best offer anyone. That doesn’t mean I want to be dismissed, or brushed aside. It simply means I want to give my readers a somewhat different experience. Whether or not I make them really think… I want to know they’ve been grateful. I want them to be happy they spent that time with me. I cannot refund minutes. Hopefully they won’t wish that I could.

We all stumble. I’m not completely without footing. I just hope to regain it before I completely disappear.

Last year, I neglected to keep my blog updated. The year wound down this way for me…

Last October, I participated in my third Fright Flight reading. I read War Dance, my ferrets-beats-jackalope horror short that appeared in the Western Legends anthology, Unnatural Tales of the Jackalope back in 2012.


Around Halloween last year, my story, ALL WILL TURN TO GRAY appeared in Smart Rhino Publications most recent anthology, Zippered Flesh 3. You might remember that I have stories in the first two, as well. I also appeared in Smart Rhinos Insidious Assassins. (Not all last year, of course, but in the process of neglecting my blog updated, I’m also behind on my publications page.)

The new Zippered Flesh includes incredible contributions from greats such as William F. Nolan,  Graham Masterton, and the late Jack Ketchum, as well as many others. I am honored to be in such amazing company. You can pick up a copy of it HERE. Trust me, it’s worth it, and I’m not saying that just because I’m in there.

Another wonderful surprise was the return of the first publisher to give me a shot. THE WORLD OF MYTH relaunched on Christmas Eve, 2017. Not just with a brand new issue, but the complete archives of all their past issues. This includes everything I’ve contributed as well. I encourage you to check out the ezine at length. If you’d like to read my latest contribution, LOVE ME, LOVE MY ALPACA, you can find the link to it on my contributors page.

So, that’s where I’m at. I still have a rough first draft of a novel in the wings, a growing collection of poetry, and my Beelzebacon novella that need my attention. I so badly want them all to find homes. They’re my children. I love them.

I want you to love them, too.

Until next time,



The Tragedy of Counting Stars

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on January 25, 2018 by jezzywolfe

Road into the rift

It should never be this hard.

To need such great tools for seeing stars
Ephemeral polka dots across the canvas
Always hovering there when you need it
The faintest glimmer of transcendent fire
Ready to be scattered by a finger’s brush.

Like I could harness a few and ride them
Across the black in a chariot of diamonds
And every question burning me would go
Spastic and special and suddenly solvent
Leaving me at peace with all the answers.

Every star meets that impasse, eventually
They say their farewells in a brief glimpse
A slight, imperceptible, shimmering dance
The faintest streak of magic and electricity
That promises forever before it disappears.

I’m on a cobalt highway, eyes on the skies
It should never be this hard to say goodbye
To stars, or to dreams, or to once-upon-a-time.
Into a starless night I follow the road to Dallas
And I hope all those wishes were worth it.

JW ©2018

Where What Never Was

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , on January 8, 2018 by jezzywolfe



For all the lavish indulgence,

The emptied places where the air was scored by laughter,

Silence extinguishing the flames that shivered beautiful reflections across bare walls,

Everything behind in a shroud of gray.

I wish I thought to record it all,

The smiles loud enough to be heard in the dark,

Before the temperatures dropped and the ice fell,

Before they all took their coats, and their leave.

I’ve packed it away now, wrapped in gentle cocoons,

Every ear marked note and scrambled reminder of how alive living can be

Of how we all fill each space with our own unique precision

And leave rents in the tapestry as our mementos, not repairable.

…Never replaceable.

This glorious mourning, the cold baptism after the fire,

Erases every trace of gold that was left behind,

And slows the blood when we stop to remember,

How beautiful it once was.


JW ©2018


A Sober Look at a Sobering Horizon. 

Posted in Freeze Tag, General, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 1, 2017 by jezzywolfe

I didn’t drunk blog for the new year. I could have. Maybe I should have. There was a bounty of beverages, after all. img_3735-1

But, after year upon year of suck, turmoil, and heartbreak, just maybe I need a different routine.

Am I saying it’s my fault we’ve had such a bad year? I don’t know. Depends on how superstitious you are. No, I’ve never eaten the correct foods, or made resolutions, or toasted at the stroke of midnight, or tickled a wallaby’s left armpit. So maybe the bad is on me.

Or maybe that’s just how the cards fell.

It was a hard political season. We are many who are apprehensive at the future of our society. Frustrated by what we perceive as a breakdown of ethics and morality…largely under the very false flag of returning to some kind of ‘God fearing’ nation. A nation that is greedy and tight-fisted and polluted with hate and ignorance. And people seem to think that’s godly? Um, no. Hell no. Fuck off with that noise. Please, oh please call me a liberal. Because if that’s what conservative means, I want to be NOTHING like you.

So, in light of this new chance at another orbit, I’ve decided to start it right. I ate a proper meal. I decided not to blog buzzed…heck, I’m a dork anyway, the alcohol doesn’t change that. And I am making resolutions. Not ‘actual’ resolutions, because we all know the flop that follows those. These are choices. Choices are not lofty goals we hope we can reach, but the shift of mindset that allows them to be realities.

My first choice is to be strong. We are all here together. I throw the word ‘love’ around loosely, but I am sincere. I love the people in my life. And I choose to be stronger for them, in the hope that my strength will give them encouragement. With that strength needs to be courage. We have a fight ahead of us, and we can no longer cower or bury our heads. You are all sisters and brothers to me, regardless of your race or ethnicity or religion, and it is my responsibility to stand by you when they try to tear us down. This is not a safety pin. This is my arms. This is my heart. And every one of you are safe with me.

My second choice is to be industrious. This year will likely bring about career changes, and I’m scared about what that means. But I have to move forward, for the sake of my family, my fuzzy babies, and my peace of mind. This applies to my aspirations as a writer, as well. I’ve accomplished some milestones recently. It’s time to follow them through.

My third choice is to be disciplined. I’ve fallen off track with my self care. It’s time to rectify that. I’m happier and clear headed when I’m physically active. I need to find that part of me again, and dig in. It will also allow me to remove clutter. There is so much clutter around me. So much useless material I don’t need. It overwhelmed and paralyzed me. And it’s time to make it history.

My fourth choice is to be present. Life comes and goes rather abruptly, as we have all witnessed this past year. You get one life, and one chance to carve it out. Daydreams are fun, but they’re fruitless. They keep me back from all that I could accomplish. It’s time to appreciate what’s in front of me now, as I have it. My family, my adoring ferrets, my irreplaceable friends. I don’t want to waste the moments we have here.

My fifth choice is to be optimistic. Because I’m not. I’m terrified of the unknown, and apprehensive to the point that I sabotage myself. No longer do I want to miss opportunities. No longer do I want to start my days worried about what can go wrong. When you live that way, the things that go right are barely a glimmer mired in your dustbin. I will not live in trepidation or nihilism any longer.

Who cares what is on the horizon? Lesser people interfered, and now we all face the dubious consequences.  But I am here. You are here. We are standing side by side on the same cliff. We face the same outstretch of sea. You know what’s beautiful about that?

Every. Single. Sunrise.

I am spending this year looking forward to every one that I get to spend with you.

Be kind. Be safe. Be brave. I got you.


The Face I’m Stuck With, Unapologetically.

Posted in General with tags , , , , , on May 18, 2016 by jezzywolfe

I’ve become one of those women who posts a LOT of selfies on my Facebook. Sure, I refrain from ‘ducking it up’, but still, I cringe when I think of the impression I’m making on my audience. I’d like to think I have sound rationale behind my blatant social media narcissism. Doesn’t everybody?

Up until a couple years ago, I did not post current pictures of myself. If anyone tried to take a picture of me…friends, family, you name it…I protested. Loudly. Usually with threats of bodily harm. I was absolutely terrified. I was afraid I’d have to see me as they saw me. And that what they saw no longer resembled who I used to be. Who I still see in my mind when I study my reflection. 

My weight changed. I’d gotten older. The features I used to think might be considered attractive, disappeared behind the face of a middle-aged, heavy set, completely unimpressive woman. When I went anywhere, I realized I’d become fairly invisible amidst the crowds. No one sought me out. No one noticed anymore. 

I disappeared.

Focusing on writing allowed me to forget that, sooner or later, I’d emerge from my cocoon, only to discover that I stopped paying attention to my appearance. And while that sounds perfectly acceptable, (and for most, it IS perfectly acceptable), for me, it was a heartbreaking disappointment. But before you brand me completely superficial, hear me out.

My experience in middle school was a continuous nightmare lived out over the course of two years. Pure torture. Puberty didn’t just hit- it beat me to a pulp. Imagine an entire school ripping into you day after day. Calling you cruel names. Whispering behind your back. Thrusting you into the center of all their jokes. You were THE school reject. It sounds so petty now. But after so much time spent humiliated and betrayed time and again, I entered high school completely terrified. I was crippled by insecurity. 

All I wanted was to be liked. To have friends. To not be ‘Pizza Face’ for the next four years of my education. I wanted as much distance from the girl that everyone hated as I could get. So I hid. I hid behind a curtain of heavy hair. I hid behind a desperately applied mask of makeup ANYTIME I left my house. That meant at least an hour every morning just piling that shit on. It wasn’t that I was trying to look “pretty”. It wasn’t that I enjoyed the feel of all that gunk seeping into my pores. Or the expense of carefully budgeting my money so I wouldn’t run out of makeup. As you can imagine, that would’ve been a true crisis for me.

But I just wanted to look normal. You know, normal as in ‘unexceptional, but still not freakishly plagued by bad skin’. I should have been grateful for big blue eyes, and naturally straight teeth. But I couldn’t get past my skin. And I didn’t think anyone would accept me for what I was. 

Flawed. Human. 

“So, what’s with all the stupid selfies, Jezzy?”

Even as an adult, I still don’t have perfect skin. And now, just to make it that much more fun, I have crows feet, laugh lines, those creases between my eyebrows from squinting in the sunlight. I look older. I’ll admit, I may not look quite my age, but I definitely look closer to my age than I used to. And while that shouldn’t matter, and maturity should have graced me a certian amount of self assurance, I am still that terrified woman who looks at her image and only sees the signs of time. I don’t see past the wrinkles and gray hair. I can’t see past the scars left by so many years of chronic skin troubles.

I warn people all the time, I am so far from perfect. I constantly complain about being ugly. Most times, I am told that I’m not ugly. That I should take them at their word that I’m a reasonably attractive individual. I want to be able to see that in myself. But I’m regretting too many things that are beyond my control.

I regret the loss of youth. Even though we all lose that, regardless of what we do.

I regret the loss of physical awareness. I allowed my weight to escape me, and now finding that smaller me is a serious struggle.

I regret, perhaps most of all, that I never learned to appreciate the qualities I did possess before I woke one day to realize they were long gone. And that, had I realized how fleeting it all was, I could’ve been comfortable in my own skin. I could’ve been that girl who was confident. 

Imagine how successful I could have been, if I didn’t constantly see myself as a requisite failure.

This is me today. This photo is not filtered. I wear makeup, yes, but I no longer need a mask of it. And maybe I’m no Olivia Wilde or Scarlett Johansson, but I’m not grotesque. I take the selfies to learn to accept who I am, and who I am no longer. I post the selfies to show people that I am willing to put myself out there. I’m willing to be more than just a name on a screen. I am willing to let you see that while I’m not perfect, I am real. 

And I am not a duck.


WARNING: This Post is Full of Marmosets. Pretty Cool, Right?

Posted in General, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 1, 2016 by jezzywolfe

When it is all said and done, what everyone will remember is I FORGOT TO BUY THE RIGHT BEANS!

How do you do that? Seriously? I stood in that store, thinking ‘How lucky is FullSizeRender(1)it they actually have a four pack of my lucky beans?’ In reality, that was only a lucky four pack if I was looking into some home loved version of a burrito. Don’t ask. It makes sense in my head. That’s all that matters.

I’m 15 shots in to the evening. Plus half a vodka beverage. I figure 16 shots is good. Don’t you? You figure, right? Yeah. We all do. It’s what we have in common. But you know what we don’t have in common? Leprosy. And that’s good, cause hella contagious. We’d have to start our own colony. But it’s okay, because I like you. If you want to start a colony, I’m totally down for that.

So anyway,  bought the wrong beans. I said, this year, I was taking no chances. I’d be following all the proper protocoals. The correct beans. Proper ham. Appropriate intoxication. 2016 would roll in with some big-ass approval, and I’d be making. Last year, it could have destroyed me. Sure. You’ve been through worse. But I’m a wimp, and it was bad enough. No more, please and thank you. I survived it, and ‘fuck you, universe’, for trying to wreck my train. It will take far more than you (or even you) to bring me off.

Somehow, I think that’s a bad participle.

IMG_2214Will I resolve anything? Fuck no! Do any of us, ever? We thrive on drama and pain. It’s true. Don’t be a fucknut here. Pull your head out of denial’s ass and see for yourself. We ARE Shirley Manson’s brain waves. I love her. Shoutout! But really, think about it. Life is boring when it’s good. We don’t recognize the good, even when it’s honey glazed and steaming on a fucking gold leafed platter. 24 karat perfection, and we are looking for the flawed gemstone in the crown.

But it’s not because we are emo hogs. I’m not. Neither is she. The reality is, we don’t grow when there is only light. We wither under too much warmth. Rain, pain, all that guts us, isn’t that what teaches us to grow? Not because we are smart enough to see that shit for what it is, but because, in hindsight, we get it. Rear view, bitches. We emerge the tumbled obsidian in some hippy’s hemp choker. And that’s okay. That shit’s beautiful! You go, with your shiny, black self. You’d look great on my finger. Just saying.

I looked at the end of this year with incredible dread. I hate ends. Even FullSizeRenderwhen it’s the end of a very bad thing. 2015…well, it wasn’t a great ting. But still, I didn’t look forward to ending it. And now, it’s a new year. There are no imminent apocalypses. BORING. But also, anti-climatic. I miss a good Mayan/Hopi prophesy, don’t you?! When it was one of those ‘piss or get off the pot’ scenarios? But with banderos?

Do or die. And we all did. Most of us didn’t die. Hemingway was loving it. I don’t know why, exactly. But he was. I might be loving it. I can’t tell.

Shot #16. One for every year this century has fucked me. I’m still standing. A little wobbly, sure, but alcohol. I’ll be standing when the sun comes back up. And most of you will, too. Unless you’re really hung over, in which case, HA! But not because I’m mean. I’d still give you a hug. I like you. Really. If you only liked me half as much, we’d be golden. Maybe, one day, you will.

In the meantime, I won’t resolute. I will drink responsibly. Meaning, when I drink, I’ll be serious about that shit. (And, no, I will NOT drive.) I have some goals for myself, and they will be good ones. They have to do with finishing a novel. Possibly a short story collection, too. AND ever a poetry collection. Why not? I sometimes string words in unexpectedly coherent ways.

And you thought you were the only ones.

So, here’s shot #16. My goal was not to be able to remember tonight. I’m getting close. I need relief. My heart beats too hard for this. Sometimes the palpitations leave bruises under my skin. Here’s to feeling less, at least for just a little while.

All my love to you. Stay strong. Your light always makes a difference to me.