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Update from Jaimee
It's been a while... On this spring's writing retreat, one of my mentors and hosts brought several polished stones and laid them face down on a cloth. She then passed the cloth around the room, instructing us to choose the one we felt most drawn to. I stared at them all for what seemed like an absurdly long time. I was drawn to the largest stone, and it was one of my favorite colors—a deep dark blue—like the ocean outside my hotel window. But something inside me balked. "No, not that one....
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When Book Adventures Get Awkward
Jaimee Walls August 8th How Audiobooks Can Get You In Trouble. . . ↓ I love when I find a perfect audiobook and skilled narrator. Getting wrapped up in a great story when out running errands or on a road trip can be a great alternative to listening to the radio or trying to find stations in between regions. Until you have an awkward moment at a drive-thru window. . . There I was, engrossed in this delightful adventure of a book. It had teased at some romance, and even had some blush worthy...
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Catch Stitches in Timberline Review
Catch the short story 'Stitches' in the 2025 Timberline Review
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Your Mark
From the moment you could stretch your hands out to touch things, you did. But you did not just touch things, you affected things. Your hands were constantly moving and stained with colors and textures, and you found ways to saturate your whole world with them. The stains spread from your hands to your face to the walls—you left your mark everywhere you went. The art you created wasn’t just from makeup and markers—though it most often was—but any texture, taste, or sound that you could shake out, shape, and authenticate. You continue to leave your creative designs on anything that will take the ink—always creating, making this world a…
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For as Long as Words Last
I still struggle as a writer. Most days my writing feels a bit feral, with words speeding by like wild cats—too fast for me to grasp the ones I want. Or the ink spills from my pen in messy smudges that might as well be a child’s finger painting. If I’ve bothered to outline, the ideas rove past any margins I’ve set and the words oscillate between the edges of the paper, hitting every line, roughly skittering against any plan I’ve had. I’ve been told there are two kinds of writers—plotters and pantsers, or more updated terms—architects and gardeners. Essentially, one who does it right and one who figures…