James A. Reeves is a writer, designer, and educator whose work examines the role of ritual and faith in these days of distraction.
Antistatic
Interstate Scene 13: A jumbotron flashed above an overpass, and I held my breath.
Night Station 01
Mojave Desert, 2019
The Throwback Special
The action unfolds in hotel rooms and hallways, where the hum of the ice machine veers from reassuring to sinister.
Plaza
Interstate Scene 12: Munching a cold french fry, I counted the logos flying around my head.
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.
Drone
Interstate Scene 11: Strange how the noise in my head can only be soothed by more noise.
Fields and Waves
Berenice Abbott’s portrait of a magnetic field reminds me of fireworks beneath the eyelids and my childhood conception of God.
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.
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.
Red Shift
Interstate Scene 10: They say evolution occurs most rapidly in body parts that attract lovers and frighten rivals.
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.
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.