James A. Reeves is a writer, designer, and educator whose work examines the role of ritual and faith in these days of distraction.



September 25, 2022

Antistatic

Interstate Scene 13: A jumbotron flashed above an overpass, and I held my breath.

September 23, 2022

Night Station 01

Mojave Desert, 2019

September 21, 2022

The Throwback Special

The action unfolds in hotel rooms and hallways, where the hum of the ice machine veers from reassuring to sinister.

September 18, 2022

Plaza

Interstate Scene 12: Munching a cold french fry, I counted the logos flying around my head.

September 15, 2022

The Haunting of Hill House

Ghost-wise, I’m not sure where to go after Shirley Jackson. Any recommendations for novels that deal with hauntings would be much appreciated.

September 13, 2022

Drone

Interstate Scene 11: Strange how the noise in my head can only be soothed by more noise.

September 5, 2022

Fields and Waves

Berenice Abbott’s portrait of a magnetic field reminds me of fireworks beneath the eyelids and my childhood conception of God.

August 31, 2022

Old Notebook, New Notebook

Today I learned that Cheez-Its were invented in Ohio. There’s magic here. There’s also magic in a fresh notebook.

August 29, 2022

The Fifth Child

The Fifth Child digs into the muck of living beyond the bounds of time, consensus, and normalcy. The novel’s crisis is simple; its implications are not.

August 26, 2022

Red Shift

Interstate Scene 10: They say evolution occurs most rapidly in body parts that attract lovers and frighten rivals.

August 18, 2022

Pictures from a Bad Dream

This morning I fed a robot a few sentences from the novel I’m writing, and it generated some startlingly accurate pictures.

August 10, 2022

Reflex

Ohio. Sunset: 8:36pm. I sneeze whenever I glance at the sun, which I’ve always taken as proof I am a night owl.