I Lock the Door

I lock the door upon myself and swallow any cries

and beat the walls with fists made strong with resolve

for I do not want this life of richness

of feelings

of a constant cacophony of want

any longer.

I envy the stoic rock with water battering against it,

 and massive gnarled roots that hold fast in raging winds,

and I want the breaking to be clean and complete,

and the blood to cool,

and quiet,

and quiet…

Until I can stand behind my sealed and barred doors

in statue like silence,

and feel only what little has been left behind,

like smoke,

like salt rings. 

And perhaps someday I may lean against the locked door,



and let it hold me up.



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Bigger Than You

It was the first day of autumn

and the bright air was hardly stirring

when I was caught, red handed, being bigger than you.

And my turtle reflex must have been broken,

for I did not pull back in time to save myself,

and I was judged and found guilty and charged,

swift as a sparrow.

And I should have learned my lesson,

that day,

should have been silent and small with shame,

but the lens shifted and fell,

and through the cracks I saw

that I really was bigger.

And could no longer hear the peevish pounding of your tiny gavel

because I was miles above…

And there was a strange emptiness in my head

that I am slowly filling with better words.

Bigger words.

Beautiful, buoyant words.


It was the first day of autumn,

and the bright air was rising,

and the words were expanding

flying like kites.

And I should have learned my lesson,

that day,

but the kites took my notes and my painstaking homework and scattered it to the winds.

And they laughed until I had to also

with my arms open wide…

And I no longer sit still,

and quiet,

and small.



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Book Snobbery, Fairy Tales and Reality

Book Snobbery, Fairy Tales and Reality





“The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in.” ― W.H. Auden

“In a utilitarian age, of all other times, it is a matter of grave importance that fairy tales should be respected.” (Frauds on the Fairies, 1853)” ― Charles Dickens, Works of Charles Dickens

“If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.” ― Albert Einstein


I was “that child”, the one who wanted fairy tales and magic to be real. As far back as I can remember I dreamed about having supernatural powers (always good of course…well, almost always) having carpets that flew, potions that could transform anyone or anything, the ability to speak to animals. I never understood why Darren and Samantha worked so hard at concealment. Or why Jeannie didn’t dump the Major and go back to live with the Djinn….I mean, LOOK at the decor!!!! Who wouldn’t rather have scarves and pillows and elaborate brass lamps instead of that godawful avocado and mustard vibe?

Music for a fairy tale. Click me.

Music for  fairy tales. Click me.

Books fueled this. Small witches, talking mice, flying nannies, rings and boxes and mysterious rooms and islands all combined in a grand and glorious stew. Why couldn’t I have a wizard for a teacher? (maybe I would have learned math) Why couldn’t bullies simply be turned into flowerpots? Alas, eventually the adulting creeps in. And people stop being indulgent about your whimsy. And your imagination….

You stop inviting your friends over to play make believe. Or, at least, they stop accepting. And you are encouraged to put away childish things. To accumulate the right kind of books….improving books. High tone books. Books with Purpose. The wishing frogs and tall towers and magic mirrors are packed away… Book Snobbery. Where Fantasy books in the annoying “Y.A.” category are barely tolerated. Stuff and Nonsense.(keeping it G rated here. I expect points…) Children should be encouraged to read whatever they reading-on-the-buswant and adults should enjoy the same free pass. You should be proud of displaying your book on the bus whether you are reading Kafka or Twilight. There are life lessons to be found in fantasy. Fairy tales teach you that sometimes bad things do happen. (The original version of some of the most beloved and well known can be a bit brutal.

For example, the Ugly Stepsisters in Cinderella actually cut their toes off to fit into the slipper. Kiddiewinkle Disney this ain’t.. ) But good and kind usually triumph. Sometimes help can come from unexpected areas. And there is always a way out of the woods. I do live in the real world. Drive. Work. Pay taxes. Cook, clean, shop. Watch the political situation (although “real” and politics lately….never mind) When I sit at a stop light I do not think a gnome is changing the colors. I rarely look for dragons. But I still yearn for them. Magic is everywhere and everything. It may not have glittery wings, it may not be vanquished with a sword, there might not be a house dropped on it or a incantation spoken…..but it is here.

Writers poets, artists, storytellers; all know this on some level. Even if we disguise it.The human imagination is ancient. The roots of stories are found far back in oral traditions and the tales were only modified later to make them illustrations of good versus evil. We do research, we discuss, we delve and write learned papers. We collect quotes and materials, and most importantly buy the books buy the books buy the books…. Books are the real magic. The tangible, in your hands, in your face, take you wherever you want to go – Magic. Read it. Whatever the cover, whatever the rating.

If you like it, read it. Do not let any house of cards pompous proclamation tell you it’s wrong. Secretly we are looking for the elves. We want there to be fairies in the garden. We never see a shooting star without wishing. And if you are very, very lucky. You will never lose that. For the Silo, Jaye Tomas.  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8915242.Jaye_Tomas


Engaging thousands online since Spring 2010 – influencing others by learning about ourselves – Lifestyle, Culture, Sci-Tech. Read outside the box.

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Silver Threads

Silver Threads ~

Silver threads caught the light

and disappeared into a shifting pattern

of flowers and vines and a garden

held taut and dust free against the wall forever.

And people filed past it and looked and wondered

where was the garden?

And where is the silver light pouring over it

coming from?

And how can I get there?


Silver threads crackled along the sides of

the mirror lying in a broken pile of old reflections.

And people gazed at it and shook their heads

and tutted about bad luck and seven years,

but no one wondered

where the light went when it cracked?

No one was there to catch it as it poured out

and no one knows how could it be put back…


Silver threads multiply amidst the brown

and I no longer have to strain to see them.

They encroach kudzu-like along my face and neck

and my eyes reflect my gleaming.

And I wonder why the years appear silver?

Or if it is just the light in me overflowing?

And if I can catch it,

cup my hands and share it,

with people who have too much darkness…



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Thank you!

It’s JAAAANE DOUGHERTY!!! Great writing / reading – if you haven’t met her before, today is the day! Always worth your time.

Jane Dougherty Writes

Yesterday the final book in The Pathfinders went on general release. I have been touched by the support of my lovely blogger friends. There’s not much I can do by way of thanks except to give a few books away.

If you have enjoyed reading Abomination and would like to read what happens next, I can offer you a review copy of the second volume Devastation.


If you’re undecided about whether or not you want to jump down that wormhole, I suggest you read this excerpt first. (just click on the image)

Pete's Story

If you have read Abomination and it wasn’t your cup of tea but you’d like to sample something from The Green Woman, you can download this short story set in her world.

Security alert future

If you have read Security Alert and feel you could cope with some more, I’d be pleased to let you have a copy of The Dark…

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Avatars and Underbellies. Now…if that title doesn’t grab you….

Having a blog for me is a tangle. Am I a blogger? A poet? A (real) writer? A nuisance?
The thing about writing and about blogging in particular…
is that you WANT to be brilliant. (Yes, you do. Admit it.) And since deep inside, in the dark underbelly of your soul
(aren’t underbellies typically white? JAYE SHUT UP AND FOCUS)
you probably don’t believe you are, you put your best pen forward. Naturally.
So the usual-ness, the humdrum-ness and the day to day-ness……well, you brush that away like glitter from an old art project.
Until someone says this:  “I don’t know anything about you, what makes you laugh, how the weather is on your neck of the woods, or how you’ve been of late, but I hear about every single one of your book releases. You know, when you go on a date, you have to make small talk and pay for dinner before you try to sell your date your book, right? We’re not all that easy ‘cuz of our sexy avatars…”
And it hits you like a surprising ton of bricks. Have I managed to hold people at arms length not only in the real world but virtually too?
Putting my soul on paper in poetry, yeah…I got that. Typing my life, unfolding it in all its black white grey and occasional psychedelic puddles in *gulp* real time, real just plain old fashioned letter kind of writing?….makes me nervous. Makes me not want to do it. Makes me want to use an image of a tall blond beautiful English professor and try to pass her off as me. I’m not going to do that though. Call it a small act of trust. Maybe you are interested. Maybe you aren’t. 
For what its worth, here is my underbelly, whatever the color……
I’m at that annoying not one thing or another age. Middle aged is only middle if you know where the end is. (55 if you want specifics.)
I am originally from Chicago. I live elsewhere now and do not like it. I am working hard at trying to make a move, many components to this however. Lottery or worldwide best seller would help…
I have written all my life but never got any encouragement from the (very) few people I shared it with.The internet changed that.It allowed me the platform and anonymity to creep in slowly. And look around. And stick a toe in the water. Very glad I finally had the courage to submerge if not actually dive in. I expected to sink like a stone. Nobody was more surprised than I was to find out I could float.
I like hedgehogs and dogs and most animals. Jury is still out on possums.
I like to cook. I like to feed people.
I am obsessed with books. I love them. Love to read, never happier than when I am. Love the old ones for their look and feel. Kindle? meh.
I can only take being around a large group of people for limited amounts of time. Crowds and me are not the best of friends. I have recently joined a non virtual writers group and they are all very nice and very helpful and supportive.Good people, smart people, friendly. 
And I still have to force myself to go. Marketing myself is one of my worst nightmares. Right after the running from the monster and can’t get your feet to move one.
However, I have three grownup (*sob*) daughters and can spend limitless time with them. Ditto for the Grandchildren of Absolute Perfection.
What makes me laugh? Puns. The worse they are the better I like them. The Far Side. Bloom County. Eddie Izzard. Pauline and Carmel singing ABBA songs.
I have developed a deep suspicion of formal religion. Not faith. Just formal religion.
Politics has become a bad, not funny at all, joke.
I dislike celery, smoking, romance novels, invasive people and any pizza with corn on it. (I have seen it with my own eyes….an abomination)
I admire spiders but from afar. Way way afar. Like….different counties.
I wave my hands around when I write. And when I talk.
I work pretty hard but still suspect deep down I am lazy. That demeaning never satisfied voice inside….hard to silence even after all these years.
I love lightning and Assam tea and Russian art.
I also love writers, bloggers, poets, scribblers. I love reading your words. All the same letters but so very, very diverse. Which really is a miracle of sorts. Don’t you think?
So there you have it – a snippet of ordinary me. 
I will try to share more. Try to take the excellent advice of my friend Anthony Servante to heart (he of the sexy avatar)
Still sorta wish I could pull off the tall blond beautiful professor….but….
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All Those Nights


All those nights and grey grainy mornings and all the days of long hours and sour air,

all the sitting and sighing and too sad to think of anything not tinged with sulfur,

and trying to ignore something that crawled,

that stung under my skin,

like pulling your finger thru a candle.
All the nights and nights and endless nights,

walking sleepwalker style through a life not given, 

not given freely,

but taken and slapped against a wall of thickest congealing paint,

only the outline speaks to me,

only the outline seems real,

because my edges are always blurred and the contents always shifting,

add some,

lose some,

steal some.

All those days of lost wandering and feelings pinned here and there like butterflies,

like clinging web strings, 

like splatters from hot grease.
All the times, 

all the minutes,

all the Jacob Marley moments, the dragging chains of my life along, 

all that

all of it…

I give up.

I give over.

I release,

and search for a path not scored with straggling footprints ,

not stained like old china mugs

by bitter memories.

I open my cramped hands and breathe,

trusting that my lungs will remember how,

and that the trembling in my bones will still,

and clearness will barricade me from the small biting creatures

tearing at my thoughts,

and a path will open,

a path will open,

a path must open,

after all those nights…




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