Jess Boctor

Category: Writing

  • Writing Transition

    I’m stuck.

    I have a nearly completed short story, but there is a transition towards the end of the story which has come to a stalemate. What I want is for the transition to wrap itself up in a nice little bow and float from my head to fingers dancing across a keyboard.

    This hasn’t happened yet.

    So my poor characters sit in a vacuum of action. They’re stuck in a cab on mars not really sure what to do next or where they are going. Meanwhile, I wander around waiting for a lightening bolt to strike with the perfect transition to get them moving again.

    I’m not sure the bolt is coming. So my only alternative is to look to real life for a solution. As I do this, I realize transition is messy. As people we blunder from one situation to another, blurting out stupid things, and hoping the damage is controllable. There are no clean transitions in life, and if they are, we become naturally suspect. Our best action in moving forward into the unknown is simply to put one foot in front of the other and do our best to live a life which honors God and those around us.

    And I think this will be the only way to get myself unstuck, the only way to get Dash and Willow out of the cab. It will be to put one keystroke in front of the other, to blunder a string of word together and hope the damage is controllable. To write something which honors the characters and their story.

    Continuing the adventure,

    Jess

  • Dancing in the Mourning

    Is a life only obedient in joy worth anything?

    How much you love those who love you,

    How much more you love those who wrestle with you!

    I have spent days in the light

    When laughter was easy and your love sweet

    Now I have spent days in darkness

    In these days I have learned to dance, though my vision is blurred

    In these days I have learned to sing, though my heart beats out of time

    I have a new song,

    A song of faithfulness.

  • I wish I were a Bad Ass.

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I wouldn’t care what anyone thought
    I could drink until I puked
    and fight anyone who thought I ought not

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I would say whatever I wanted
    Like fuck and shit and dammit to hell
    And I would laugh as old grandmas looked daunted

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    I could forget about my loneliness
    I would have the craziest friends
    And if they pissed me off I could leave them for their shallowness

    I wish I were a Bad Ass
    Though it may not seem the best deal
    I would be free of loving without return
    And I think its so much easier then being real.

  • Rockin’ Mothers Day…

    I have started a new trend when it comes to gifts for my parents; be it mothers day, birthday or christmas. My new goal is to make them cry with either the perfect card, picture, etc. It may sound cruel but I get joy from touching them so deeply. Dad is a little hard but mom is almost a sure fire. I know it will catch up with me some day when I have sentimentally wicked kids of my own because I cry at everything just like my mom. The point is I think that this year I have gold prize tear jerker gift for my dear ol’ mama. Complete with poetry and visiual affects I think its kicks brunch and a card out of the water any day. Click on the pic and let me know what you think.

    Mothers day

    The poem reads as follows:

    From a mother to a daughter
    While you are young and I am old
    I will take care of you
    Feed, bath, and love you
    My touch will tell you
    All the joy tomorrow brings

    Together
    Then will come the golden days
    A seamless summer haze
    We will laugh, dance, paint and cry
    Our words will tell
    Our joy inside

    From a daughter to a mother
    And when I am old and you are young
    I will take care of you
    Feed, bath, and love you
    My touch will tell
    The dreams that we had begun.

    So go and love on your mothers this weekend!

  • 11:45

    I should go to sleep…

    I have school tomorrow and all the work that goes with it….

    Yet I dream…

    These aren’t the weird during your sleep dreams–I have plenty of those(last night I got kicked out of Pipeline). These dreams are uncertain, and pound through your mind during your waking–and what should be sleeping–hours, full of hopes that could become reality. The dreams of what I could create dance through my head like mystical and elusive sugar plum fairies; but unlike Christmas which has an appointment in my calender the fruition of my dreams do not. I could work so hard and push myself to new limits to MAKE them come true-but what would be the point? Without Jesus none of it matters. I hold so many things dear to my heart and so often he has to remind me that they aren’t really mine. I want only to proceed with his guiding hand, but it is so easy to begin to guide. I pray that God will calm my spirit and teach me the lesson of trust. It is a lesson I have long forgotten.

    So many dreams, so many nights, that may never come true…

    This is what 11:45 is to me…

    The agony…

  • Work in Progress

    This is a poem that’s been rolling around in my head for the past few weeks…..

    Window OutLive in a Shell

    The stars shine so bright

    but I do not see them.

    The breeze rustles the leaves,

    but I do not hear them.

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am safe, all alone.

    I once danced through the breeze,

    I once sang to the stars

    I once had many friends

    I now have many scars

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am safe all alone.

    It has been a long while,

    since my heart felt the warmth of the Son.

    It has been a long while,

    since my heart felt tenderness.

    I live in a shell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am here all alone.

    What was first a defense,

    An excuse to allow time to heal,

    Turned to a habit,

    Building a wall to conceal.

    I live in a hell,

    a nut not to be cracked,

    I am cold; all alone.

     It’s still a work in progress, but I thought it would be good to get some part of it out. Tell me what you think.

  • I dreamed a dream…

    As the fog cleared I saw my heart, beating in two hands. Quickly they wrapped it, suffocating it, tying it to a piece of lead. As my angst grew, the hands worked harder, quicker, as if fighting against the emotions I was feeling. The more the fog cleared the easier it was to see the hands intention. I could see now that my heart was hurting, it writhed in pain. The hands worked in frustration, as mother that tries to quiet a child who will not be comforted. My heart could not be soothed by these hands, so the hands planned to bury it in the depths of the sea. Fear burned within me, passion fought to save my heart; my broken heart; but the hands fought harder, faster.

    I was too late. The hands completed their work, the lead was tied and my heart was let loose. I went numb at the sound of the splash. I watched my heart, my dreams, my loves; I watched them all sink into darkness. With anguish I cried, “Why?” I had to know who would send my soul to a cage of waves and darkness. As the waters stilled I watched for the reflection of the culprit. 

    It was me. The reflection was mine. The hands were mine. I buried my own heart, my broken heart, when I could not heal it.

    “Oh God! What have I done?” I shook with tears that were too late.

    “My child, why do you cry?”

    “Lord, my Lord, I have buried my own heart. I have sent it to the depths of the sea. It was broken, I could not mend it, I could not make it well.”

    “My child, why do you cry? Remember what is lost can always be found. Where my love is I am there also, and my love has no bounds. No depth of the water is too much for me.”

    With these words my Lord returned my heart to me. He brought it out of the sea, gently he untied its bonds. He removed the lead and his touched soothed the pain. As my heart, my whole heart, began to beat again He offered it back to me.

    “No, Lord. What You save is Yours.”