John E. Meredith Library

08/10/2024

This writing thing is so weird. You create these imaginary people who only live in your own head, and then try to figure out what kinda hell you're going to put them through.

06/25/2024

Finally making some progress on the novel I've been charging at for the past few months. As in, I have a better idea who my main character is now and where everything is going.

This wasn't one of those stories I have to tell before I exit this earth. It was just a random thing jotted down in one of my notebooks. For whatever reason, it intrigued me, so it's become THE thing I'm doing. Not at all the way I normally work, but then I haven't gotten this far on the previous shots at writing a book. So maybe there's something.

Not sure how it works for other writers. For me, though, I've gotta find myself somewhere in who I'm writing about, or maybe find them in myself. That's fun when you're writing horror stories about some really messed-up people. Good thing I'm a little bonkers to begin with, I guess. But it makes the writing process like a month in the loony bin, like Method actors trying to find their truth in who they're creating for the screen.

The way it's looking, I might be able to send parts of this out as short stories, get a good pile of rejection slips under my belt before the work is done. Builds character, don't ya know? The one with the most rejected stories wins. Meanwhile, there's a few other things sitting in files that I can send out. Looking for publishers who want "short" stories well over 5000 words right now . . .

Sometimes I wish there were other things I wanted to do. I mean, there's photography, but that doesn't make any money either. Not that riches are the goal, but it'd be nice to actually earn some kinda living from the s**t I wanna do. That's the dream, right? But the clock is always ticking, louder and louder all the time, and I keep wondering why my passion wasn't stamp collecting.

Anyway, I doubt anyone really cares about this little ramble, myself included. I just had thoughts, that's all. And wanted to share the fact that I'm still doing the work I set out to do, that I've not given up yet.

❤️💀❤️

05/17/2024

"John,

You probably know
most of this stuff
but, just in case
you don't.

Love
Dad"

From my teens, the only book he ever gave me.

05/14/2024

When I first read them, I hated both of these guys' style. Now I'm writing something that sounds like they had a baby. 🤷

05/13/2024

The Tornado Blues

It was a warm and sunny day
on that grand 13th of May.
A tornado came down
and it blew the town around.

The buildings shivered
and the ground quivered.
The citizens had fear
that the tornado was near.

They were cleaning our house,
my mother and her spouse -
but that sky got so black that
our dog had a heart attack.

We went into the hall.
My brother started to bawl.
That dark swirling mist
punched things like a fist.

Telephone poles hit the ground,
landing with a terrible sound.
It blew cars down the streets
with the drivers still in their seats.

Soon the storm ceased -
we still had a house, at least.
We looked at our property
and a few tears came from me.

Trees were plucked from the ground.
The animals could not be found.
My brother let out a sigh
as I looked up into the sky.

If you want to move to our state,
the decision deserves a long debate,
because if you move to Kalamazoo
you might get the tornado blues.

- Johnny Meredith,
ten years old

04/22/2024

I have soooo much useless knowledge in my head.

04/22/2024

04/19/2024

It seems I've got some catching up to do here on my writer's page. Maybe I can finally start using it as I intended, as a place to drop some of the stuff I'm working on and do the kinda rambling about writing that's gonna bore most of the folks on my regular page. We'll see how that goes. Meanwhile, here are the first four pieces in a collaboration that I've started with the great artist, Erik Roman. Do yourself a favor and check out his work. ❤️💀❤️

01/29/2024

Everything I've written today could only be described as "Charles Bukowski finds himself in a horror story." Still not sure exactly where this thing is going, or if it's gonna hold my attention enough to end up a novel. But I've stayed with the same sketchy main character for months now. Sounds strange, but I've pored through all the half-baked ideas and plotlines in my notebooks and now I'm kinda letting him decide what he wants his story to be. Writers are some weird mofos. 💀

01/02/2024

Kneeling before my altar to start the new year. 💀