Category Archives: Writing

Mind Games Update

Hey, loyal followers.  I was informed recently that my short story, Mind Games, that was accepted for web publication by Dime Show Review last February has also been selected to be included in the literary journal’s print edition, volume 2, issue 2.  The print edition was published on July 30, 2017 and is available for purchase on Amazon.com  Here is a link if you care to own a copy of the print edition.  Thank you for your consideration and continued support of my craft and my passion.  Now, back to the keyboard with me to breathe life into those that dwell within the realm of my somewhat eclectic imagination…

Dime Show Review, Volume. 2, Issue 2 2017

Dime Show Review, Volume 2, Issue 2

Featuring the short story

Mind Games

by Jeffrey L. Johnston

available NOW on Amazon.com

(CLICK HERE TO BUY NOW)

Writing Again

I Picked up my novel in progress the other day after setting it aside two years ago. I read through the 22,000+ words I’ve thus far laid down on this piece, keeping the temptation to revise the unfinished work along the way at bay while plotting how to re-establish a connection with my words and pick up where I left off so long ago. I’ve located the extensive notes I compiled and, realizing the need to reduce the number of supporting characters in the story, I now feel I can get some forward momentum going on it.

Stay tuned, friends. I should have an excerpt for you next we visit this topic…

Mind Games by Jeffrey Johnston

Good evening, loyal followers!  Wow, has it really been nearly two years since I have posted anything for all of you to ponder on, laugh at, or simply throw your hands up in disgust upon reading?  That’s terrible!  Unforgivable, even!  Well, I’ve been quite busy between April 2015 and now.  I bought a little house by the river where I have been making a place for me and my family to put down roots and stay put for a spell.

There is still lots to do, but its high time I set the aspirations of home improvements (further improvements) aside for a while and devote more time to creative outlets I have been neglecting; things that make me tick-that make me, me.  This includes my writing.  Not only writing for all of you in my blog, but also revisiting my personal essays and many works of fiction in process.

With that said, I just wanted to pass on the news.  A short story that I wrote, Mind Games, has been accepted for publication by Dime Show Review, a California-based literary journal.

Mind Games is a first person narrative from the perspective of a teenage boy in a coma.  The link to the story is provided here:

Mind Games by Jeffrey Johnston

Thank you all again, for your patience and your steadfast loyalty…

J.L. Johnston

 

A Prayer for Jessica

cathedral sepia_8x12_grunge

I saw her on my way to work this morning. Jessica was her name… Jessica is her name. Walking past the Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament, as I have each morning for nearly eight years, I saw her. A petite young woman—tomboyish presence and a somewhat gruff demeanor—she was likely in her late teens or early twenties. She was crying. I walked a few more steps past as I processed the scene, and then I turned back. She was standing before one of the three heavy doors that front the Cathedral, her upturned face gazing skyward with tears running freely down her soiled face, creating narrow rivulets of lighter colored flesh as her tears progressed down her cheeks.

thre doors

I ascended the Cathedral steps and cautiously approached. She wore dirty tennis shoes, thin cotton pants and a grimy sweatshirt. A large duffel bag and a paper coffee cup lay at her feet. “Hey, are you OK?” I asked, knowing that I would probably not get an honest answer. It was apparent that something was going terribly wrong in her young life at that moment, but I had to ask.

“I’m OK… really.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“I’m Jessica,” she said, wiping away tears with the heel of her hand, and offering me the other.

“Jeff,” I replied, gently shaking her hand.   “I’ve been where you are, Jessica. It’s scary, I know.

“You have?  Really? I’m OK. I just need to quit drinking, that’s all.” She said.

It was rather presumptuous of me to assume that I had in fact been where she was at that moment, in her moment of utter despair. I couldn’t possibly have known what was going on in this girl’s life, what had brought her to tears on the steps of the church with a duffel bag and soiled clothing—not really anyway. But this sad, troubled scene somehow looked very familiar. Felt familiar.  I saw myself in this distraught soul.

I offered to buy her breakfast, but she emphatically declined.

Cross Reflection5

“I have money. I’ll be going home soon. Thank you, though,” she said, wiping away a fresh flow of tears from her cheek with the sleeve of her soiled sweatshirt. “It’s just so fucked up, ya know?” she said, and started to cry again.

“Please believe me when I tell you, Jessica that it will get better.   You’re in the right place.” I told her. “This door will be opening soon. Never lose faith that things will get better for you.” She thanked me and I went on to work.  I had to.  I was already late.

cruscifix

While hanging up my coat at work, I glanced across the entryway to my cubicle where, several months earlier I had pinned up a business card given to me by a man who runs a residential recovery center in the area. Koinonia Homes for Teens, it’s called. They did a presentation at our office for the United Way charitable campaign last year, and for some reason, Instead of shoving it into a drawer, or tossing it, I pinned it up, along with their facilities brochure at eye level on my cubicle wall. I’m still not sure why I felt compelled to do that at the time, but that’s what I did.

I took the business card down and went back to the Cathedral in hope that Jessica would still be there… She was.

I ascended the steps again. She greeted me with a smile and took a few steps toward me. I handed her the card.

“When this door opens later this morning, ask someone inside if you can use the phone in the rectory. Call these people. They do wonderful work with kids and young adults in your same situation. I’ve met and heard the testimony from of a pair of young people who were once where you are now, whose lives were spared. Through this organization they were led from the pathway of despair that they were on. They can help you. Keep the faith, Jessica. Keep praying,” I told her, and went back to my office.

Koinonia

Once back in the office and in the privacy of the gray fabric walls that make up my 8-5 existence, I took a moment and said a prayer for this young woman… a prayer for Jessica.

I know now why I didn’t stuff the United Way and Koinonia Homes information into a drawer several months earlier, to be forgotten… Jessica needed it today.

8x10 Mary's Hands

Memoir excerpt

This is a small excerpt of a memoir piece that I have been working on, literally for decades.  My bravery in submitting the entire work for publication falters at times, as it is rather revealing of a tumultuous time in my rather dysfunctional adolescence.  I am well into revision #3 of the final product which is a little over 27,000 words.  The tentative tittle is Valentines Day.   While there is a teenage love story involved, the title is more representative of the date in 1982 that the event of which the piece is based took place.

Will there be more to come?  Perhaps…

Enjoy.

J. L. Johnston

***

Settling into the cramped quarters of my mother’s 1972 Ford Pinto, the smell of stale cigarettes and motor oil enveloped our senses as me and my friend John primed ourselves to embark on an adventure; the climax of which neither of us could have possibly foreseen nor could have ever been fully prepared for. With the turn of the ignition key the tiny ten year old four-banger sputtered to life, belching a cloud of black smoke into the frigid night air. “We got away with it,” I said with an eager nervousness in my voice.

“Yeah, we did, huh,” John said, lighting a cigarette and sending a smoke ring sailing through the cab of the car before disappearing upon impact with the rear-view mirror. The car was dirty, the ashtray spilling over with crushed out Moore 120 menthol cigarette butts.   Mom said that she liked them because they lasted longer than the 100’s. The floor of the passenger side was littered with empty Styrofoam cups, fast food wrappers and a couple of old Tabloid magazines.

Thankfully the car was parked in the street. The only driving experience between the two of us was my recently completed 10th grade drivers training class, and backing out of a driveway was uncharted territory for both of us. I was 17 years old but I had yet to get my driver’s license or any actual driving experience outside of a joy-ride in a V12 Jaguar that we kind of borrowed from the parent of another buddy of ours one night.  There was also the occasional pilfering of my father’s ’78 Pontiac Firebird. John was 15 years old, still two years away from being able to even take the written driving test. Nevertheless, we were off and running. The plan was to swing by John’s house, drop him off and then I would proceed to drive around the neighborhood for a while with hopes of being recognized behind the wheel by a friend or two before eventually returning the car to my mother.

Putting the car into drive, I made a U turn on the small dimly lit dead-end street and pulled up to the traffic signal at the corner. Pulses racing with anticipation of our forbidden escapade, we gave each other another glance and nervously chuckled. The light changed and we headed toward the neighborhood where John and I both lived.

That traffic light at the corner of my mom’s street turning green would be the last thing I remember of that cold rainy February night. Unbeknownst to either of us, something terrible was about to happen; something so sudden and so violent it would change our young lives forever.

A ride along the American River

Among my many passions in life-activities that I spend my free time doing and, frankly, wish I could make more time for, is cycling.  Unlike the road bike rider that truly owns the classification of “cyclist”, I ride a mountain bike because, well… I like to play in the dirt.  I always have.  While I do love to leap off of the paved trail and tear down a fire trail or horse track on occasion, as I documented in an earlier blog post in which I posted a video of me tearing down a trail in Auburn (my GoPro camera’s maiden voyage) most of my bike riding time is spent on paved bike trails, much of it along the scenic Sacramento and American river trails.

Come along as I take a leisurely ride along the American River Trail at dusk via historic Old Town Sacramento, across SF Golden Gate replica which connects the American River trail to Sacramento State University, then beneath the up lit Tower Bridge, culminating in a short ride down K Street at night.

Stay tuned, loyal followers.   There will be more of these to come, perhaps with music and/or commentary next time.

J. Johnston

2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,800 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 30 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.