The Journey of J. Patrick Lemarr
By J. Patrick Lemarr on Jun 22, 2009 in Poetry | 0 Comments
Ravaged Nun and Greasy Priest
I tense like a tabby cat whose prey just flitted by
on paper wings
as thin as hope’s blue thread
her grin - a feint,
her teeth - capped with ice,
topsy-turvy tombstones
to truth’s cruel fate.
I’m a sweetless piñata made from yesterday’s news
a faithless vow
as empty as a gourd
she’s all deceit
a deep salted wound
a prick and prod production
of hell’s delight.
By J. Patrick Lemarr on Jun 1, 2009 in The Journey | 0 Comments
My new book is taking shape. I’ve already managed to whittle down what poetry will be included. The bigger job will be the essays and short fiction, but I suspect I’ll be wrangling a few people into assisting with the decision-making. I’m beyond excited, not just about the book, but about the wonderful opportunity to launch Write Crowd Publications.
The tentative plan is to launch in January 2010 with an eye on Fall 2010 for our second release - an as-yet-untitled memoir that we’ll be letting you know more about in the months to come. If we get our funding together, I’d also like to publish a yearly anthology, but that may be back-burnered while we sort out which strategies work for us and which do not. It’s a bit frightening, I must admit, to be jumping with both feet into the unknown. But what a grand adventure it will be!
Will be back in a few days with something fun!
Write more! Write now!
J
By J. Patrick Lemarr on May 26, 2009 in The Journey | 0 Comments
Okay, that’s not news. My 365 day experiment, however, has gone down like the Titanic. It was a nice burst of creativity, and it’s led to some serious steps… not the least of which is the plan to turn the Write Crowd into a small press publishing imprint. Oh, we’ll still be here, writing our blogs and helping you learn from our mistakes, but we’ll also be publishing some really great work by some really great writers.
Unfortunately, we’re jumpstarting the publishing imprint with some lackluster work… namely, my own. I’m kidding, of course. I couldn’t be more excited. I spent the afternoon working with my cover designer (and long-time friend), Chip Smitson. We’re just in the “mock-up” stage, but it looks gorgeous.
What’s the title? I Am a Broken House
When will it be available? First quarter 2010
You heard it here first. Tell your friends. 
J
By J. Patrick Lemarr on Apr 18, 2009 in Poetry, The Journey | 0 Comments
you have carved your face
in the stone of my heart
a graven image of a frigid flame
you have burned you words
in my oaken mind
you have branded me with your wicked name
You have fed me lies
on a plate of mistrust
the ruined manna from a god of mud
you have poured your wine
a vinegar Syrah
you have poisoned me with your cobalt blood
By J. Patrick Lemarr on Apr 1, 2009 in Short Fiction, The Journey | 0 Comments
Sharon Oldham checked her figure in the full-length mirror. It had taken half an hour and damn near eight head-to-toe changes to find the right outfit. The winner, a sexy skirt and blouse combo, had been a gift from her ex-husband. He had been a real prick, but he knew how to shop for clothes. The outfit flattered her in every way, but she had nearly forgotten it was in the closet. She hadn’t had any reason to go out for dinner since the divorce.
She checked her makeup and made a kissy face, immediately laughing at herself.
“You’re a nutter, darlin’,” she told her reflection. “You’re acting like this is a real date.”
The fact was that it was not a real date. John Herbert, an old friend of her first husband, had simply called to see if she was free for dinner. She hadn’t seen John in nearly a decade—since her husband’s funeral, she realized—and thought it would be a safe and fun way for a newly divorced gal to spend an evening.
She slipped the usual assortment of rings onto her fingers but left her cigarettes behind on the vanity. She had quit smoking once, several years earlier, but the stress of divorce had brought her nicotine demons to the surface. She spritzed a bit of perfume into the air and then walked through the resulting mist.
After making her way downstairs, she briefly perused the bookcase in the den. She wanted to have a few titles fresh in her memory. Small talk had never been her strong suit, but a literary bluff or white lie here or there could work wonders.
The doorbell sent her scrambling for her wrap. By the time it rang a second time, she was on an intercept course for her handbag, which she had left atop a stack of bills on the coffee table. Before the bell could ring a third time, she had thrown open the door.
If she would have taken a moment to look through the door’s security peephole, she would’ve noticed that the man on the other side of the door was not her old friend, John, but a rather large and, as it so happens, violently insane man with a pickaxe.
She should’ve realized that safety always comes first. Still, I think she got the point.
