Jacqueline Louise Wright

Sam Wright of Landscape of Imagination has started a very special new blog. His sister, Jacqueline, died shortly after birth. Jacquie's Journal is an attempt to give her a chance to live some of the life she missed.

Sam has invited writers to create experiences for her. If you would like to contribute, please be sure to check the submission guidelines on his site. This story is my gift to her.

Be well tonight, Jacquie.
--Your friend, Jason

*****

Jacquie watched her husband wiggle his key into the lock. The front door opened to a silent house. At the threshold, she listened to the tallcase clock tick in the darkness until his fingers found the light.

Her husband swept in, a clumsy flurry of hands emptying pockets and wrestling out of his tuxedo. Jacquie still lingered in the foyer as he gulped a glass of water in the kitchen, then thumped up the stairs. She twisted the deadbolt, and it snapped, metal on metal.

The clock boomed a single note. One in the morning. She couldn't face the dark ceiling in the bedroom. Not yet. She set her purse on the hall table and followed her husband's trail into the kitchen.

God, her eyes burned. She eased into a chair. The pearls on her dress scratched against her neck all evening. The skin was raw, and her ribs ached from the long squeeze. She opened the buttons and drew the longest breath she could ever remember taking.

Then, the phone rang.

She jumped and snatched it before her husband waddled from the bathroom and answered it with a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

Her daughter, Emily.

"Is everything alright? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, everything's fine. Are you still awake?"

"Yes," Jacquie said.

But Emily didn't say any more. Jacquie tried to interpret the silence.

"Are you at the airport? Your plane is leaving soon."

"It's delayed a little while. I sent Dan to go look for some magazines. I found a quiet corner for myself."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. The delay won't be long," Emily said.

More silence.

Jacquie tried to think of things she should say.

"The ceremony was so beautiful, honey. I just know you two will be happy. And this honeymoon is going to be amazing. You're going to have a wonderful time."

"Thanks." Almost a whisper.

"Honey? Are you sure you're okay?"

"I just--"

Jacquie heard the quiver.

"...wanted to talk," Emily said.

Jacquie smiled and closed her eyes to keep the tears inside. "Honey, you can always talk. Whenever you want. You can talk forever."

She listened to Emily's voice, but the words were not important. She listened and the minutes passed while the sleepy world crawled on without them.

Twins

What we will endure when safety withers and our paths obscure?

(Leaf River IR Trail Camera, Starlight Township, Wayne County, Pennsylvania)

Cold Morning Mists

Walk with me when sky hangs damp and grey. I'll take you where wood falls open and our sister mountain stretches, concealing the Delaware at our feet.

(Standing in Pennsylvania with New York in the distance)

The afternoons grow dark, and the dew sinks deep. Springing from their hidden world, the mushrooms bloom to match the fallen leaves.

(Honey Mushroom)

The day is warm, but the whispers of cold are close. Savor the dwindling rays before the long, silent sleep.

(Red Eft)

Unlit

Where the shadows lean
and corners open
to embrace the dark
a candle watches
unlit
and dreams
reflections of the world.

Remember: Reuben Townsley

We cling to the strength of stone to fight the fear of being forgotten. So please take a moment to remember...

Inscription:
FATHER
REUBEN TOWNSLEY,
DIED
OCT. 30, 1891.
AGED 80 YEARS.

A precious one from us has gone,
A voice we loved is stilled;
A place is vacant in our home,
Which never can be filled.

~*~*~*~*~



(Hibernia Methodist Church Est. 1841, Chester County, Pennsylvania)

Tilted Sun

Days of soft, sheeting rain dwindled in the night.

Morning mist dampened the curtains, still dismal, so she pressed her face into the pillow and slept again.



The kettle steamed as she sat down to a late breakfast, late enough for lunch. Outside, the sun shone dazzlingly bright. It cut through the layers of cherry leaves shading the house.

She turned off the stove and put on her shoes.

No wind. Heat kindled on her skin where the sunlight fell. As intense as it was, it did not sink deep enough to burn off the damp.

Crickets jumped though the grass at her feet. They were everywhere. Still singing. Night and day singing. Could they feel the first frost coming?

She wondered.

Weeds bent in her garden in every direction. Seeds lined the stems. Next year's work by the thousands. Yet, a few of the flowers pushed into the September air with new buds. She knelt by the Marigolds and tickled the petals to make them dance.



She squinted. The sun was wrong. The angles too hot. In summer, the world glowed with clear colors and short shadows. Now, the noon sun hung tilted in the sky.

She closed her eyes and drank the straining light like the tired plants.

Then, she let go. The door closed again behind her, and the shadows felt right.


(A little Monday fun: can you find yourself a little friend in one of the Marigolds? Hint: It has 8 legs.)

Coming Attractions

In the coming weeks, look for these new serial stories at The Clarity of Night:

White Rooms. A man dedicated to spreading hate and violence is kidnapped. His fear turns cold as he realizes he has not been arrested by anti-terrorism agents. Three others are trapped with him in the empty white rooms.

Fingerprints. After a child finds a severed finger on a city sidewalk, follow the strange and sometimes funny conversations as the police, the medical examiner, and other people "touched" along the way try to discover who lost this finger and how it got there.


Also, I'm warming up the camera for fall. I hope to be able to share some of the secret places in Pennsylvania!

Little Windows: Rollin'

Driveways were the theme of the neighborhood that year. Once one house got slick and paved, everyone began hating their crummy stones and dirt. I don't remember who was first, but I know we were not going to be outdone.

One day at the crack of dawn, the monster machines rumbled in. They tore. They dug. They dumped ton after ton of crushed stone for a foundation. No, it wasn't a new airport. They built driveways to last back then.

I was five. Of course, I wanted to see what was going on, but I was a bit scared too. Guys with cigars and black, greasy fingers. They shouted over the straining engines.

See me sitting out on the blanket by the front walk?



Then, it happened. One of them took an interest in me.

Crap.

Come on, little man. We'll show you how it's done.

(BTW, why do they call it a steam roller when we're at least seventy years from the last puff of steam?)

Yup, let the kid drive it!

Come on, guys. I may have been five, but I wasn't an idiot. I knew it was ludicrous. I knew I wasn't really driving the thing.



When the instructions called for gullible, you called the boy across the street. I'm sure he was looking out his window about now. He was thinking, man oh man oh man. Why is he so LUCKY?

Pu-lease, bitch.*

Just get me off this thing!

*Disclaimer: This may be an exaggeration of my five-year-old vocabulary. However, the kid did have to blow out the candles at my birthday party. Come on!)


(The "Little Windows" Series: A while back, I transferred our old Super 8 home movies onto VHS. Now I'm moving those to DVD. They're an odd record of the past. More vibrant than photos, but still distant and imperfect. I thought it might be fun to share some of these "little windows" into my past.)

From the West

Knives flash shadows
Not daylight and steel.
Sapphire tumbles,
Churns in the west,
It comes in the afternoon
Spreading grey
And familiarity
And forever.

Then darkness.
So close.
Like a breath behind your ear
That never answers.

Mists in the night
Pour into valleys
And wake for the morning trains
Until afternoon comes
And swallows me whole.
I swirl in the grey.

Blogger Appreciation Day

Today is Blogger Appreciation Day here at The Clarity of Night thanks to my good friend, Little Puddle!

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Blogger Appreciation Day, it's a day when you recognize and thank a fellow blogger for adding a little something to the world. Part of the honor is to take a picture incorporating some of the things special to your own world. Here is was Little Puddle did for me:



She writes: "You make a point to include the blogging community by holding contests, visiting and commenting on other people's blogs. You have fabulous stories with beautiful pictures. I appreciate the pictures because you include nature and everything around us for inspiration."

In her picture, she has included all things Canadian: a Canadian book, a loon, a twenty dollar bill, a loonie and a toonie (it's hard to see but it's there), and her favourite shoe (with her foot still in it!!)

The most important point of Blogger Appreciation Day is to pass it on. To make another blogger happy and tell them how much you appreciate them.

So tonight I will be emailing my own note and a Pennsylvania picture to Jaye Wells! Happy Blogger Appreciation Day, Jaye!

Post-Contest Update

Because of a rough week at work last week, I'm a little behind on post-contest matters. However, I'm happy to say that I've completed my comments on what I liked best about each of the 100 entries. As a reminder, constructive comments are by private email upon request. Those will be sent by me this week. Anne has already provided her constructive comments, I believe.

Also, winners should have received their Amazon gift certificates. Signed copies of Pale Immortal and the contest photograph will be mailed this week.

Thanks again, everyone!

The Dark Light Comes

Northern Maidenhair Fern (Adiantum pedatum)

Summer slides from the secret places. Dew hangs heavy and cold. What will we mourn as the world dies? What portraits will shimmer in the Autumn leaves?

Book Release Party!!

Today is the day! Anne Frasier's chilling new novel, Pale Immortal has been released!

Watch the music video below or catch the first two chapters and other cool stuff at the Pale Immortal Blog. You can also check out my review.

The party is really heating up over at Anne's blog. Stop over before the police show up!

Melancholy

Her face understanding
Warmth in the darkness
Twined in her fingers
His slumbering dreams.

[St. Paul the Apostle Cemetery, Hancock, Delaware County, New York.]

Returning

Thanks again to everyone who made the "Lonely Moon" Short Fiction Contest such an overwhelming success. And a special thanks to Anne Frasier for spending the time with us. I wish her all the best with the upcoming release of Pale Immortal.

Look for a new contest in the coming months, perhaps mid-November.

For now, as quiet grows and the blue light of twilight follows the sun, we will return to the normal content of The Clarity of Night. Please know that you are always welcome here.

Winners Announcement--The "Lonely Moon" Short Fiction Contest

Anne and I have the privilege of announcing the winners of the "Lonely Moon" Short Fiction Contest!!

*********

1st Place--REBECCA SNOWDEN, THE MAN IN THE MOON (#41).
[Prize: Autographed copy of Pale Immortal, $35 Amazon gift certificate, 8 x 10 print of the "Lonely Moon" photograph (signed by Jason Evans)]

2nd Place--ROY, ENTRY #97.
[Prize: Autographed copy of Pale Immortal, $25 Amazon gift certificate]

3rd Place--STEPHEN ALLAN, THE TREE DOESN'T FALL FAR FROM THE APPLE (#62).
[Prize: Autographed copy of Pale Immortal, $15 Amazon gift certificate]

4th Place--REBECCA HENDRICKS, RUNAWAY (#55).
[Prize: $10 Amazon gift certificate]

5th Place--JASMIN RANDICK, SAIGON (#43).
[Prize: $5 Amazon gift certificate]

Honorable Mention--ELLA LESATELE, SOMEONE ELSE'S NIGHT (#6).

Honorable Mention--JAYE WELLS, I CAN DIG IT (#21).

Honorable Mention--ALCOHOLIC POET, SOBER MOONS (#40).

Honorable Mention--NICHOLAS ABBOT, HOWL (#45).

Honorable Mention--PAUL LIADIS, HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF (#90).


READERS' CHOICE AWARDS:

Readers' Choice--FLOOD, ROBBED (#44).
[Prize: Autographed copy of Pale Immortal, 8 x 10 print of the "Lonely Moon" photograph (signed by Jason Evans)]

First Runner-Up--JASMIN RANDICK, SAIGON (#43).
[Prize: 8 x 10 print of the "Lonely Moon" photograph (signed by Jason Evans)]

Second Runner-Up--REBECCA SNOWDEN, THE MAN IN THE MOON (#41).
[Prize: 8 x 10 print of the "Lonely Moon" photograph (signed by Jason Evans)]

*********

Now that you've caught your breath, let us humbly thank you for a most amazing contest! It was so heartbreaking to select winners. Please know that there are many more deserving entries than are recognized above. You've shared such wonderful talents and insights into writing, it's almost beyond words.

STATS
Just how successful was it? Your writing has generated 23,090 hits from 4,681 unique visitors! Astounding!!

KEEP THE COMMUNITY GOING
Please don't let the community end. We hope to see all of you back here at The Clarity of Night, on Static, and on your own blogs. Let us know if you'd like to trade links.

MORE COMMENTS
Over the course of next week, Jason Evans will be adding a comment to each entry saying what he liked best. If you would like constructive comments by private email, just let us know at jevanswriter at yahoo dot com.

(From Jason) Anne has gotten so emotionally involved in the contest that she has graciously offered to give constructive comments also. However, we must be sensitive to her schedule as she prepares to promote Pale Immortal, which will be released on September 5th. I will be monitoring how she's holding up and may need to cut off her comments if she becomes overwhelmed.

FINAL WORDS FROM JASON
I often get asked why I do this. Am I crazy? Perhaps. But just look at the response! I can't help but feel we need a place where we can come together once in a while to share and help each other grow. A little fun along the way doesn't hurt either. I'm honored to provide that place for you a few times a year.

Writers have to support each other. We all know the writing industry has suffered. Fewer people take the time to read. Fewer people buy books. We have to change those things, and I challenge each and every one of you to start at home.

Lastly, never forget that we are blessed. We are the voice. The intricacies of the human condition, our nobility, our evils, our love, all of these things and more are recorded in our words. Stories capture the depths of the mind unlike any other medium. I want posterity to hear our voice too.

For having the drive and courage to speak out, to lend your own voice, you have my profound respect.


--Jason Evans and Anne Frasier