Skullburn ‘77 is the new short written by James Morgan with me as the main character. http://jasonmyersehm.ecwid.com/simple-store buy it now!
Skullburn ‘77 is the new short written by James Morgan with me as the main character. http://jasonmyersehm.ecwid.com/simple-store buy it now!
Yo, I gotta new short story up here for $5.99:http://jasonmyersehm.ecwid.com/simple-store . It’s actually a novella. It’s over a 120 pages and is written by James Morgan with me as the main character. It’s called Skullburn ‘77(Who Am I) and it’s a great primer for Blazed. Ain’t gonna wanna miss this one!
Ecwid: shopping cart when and where you need
So everyone, a few weeks ago I was sent a short story by a person calling themselves, James Morgan. I took a look at it and was shocked to find out that I was the main character. Upon further reading, it was clear to me that this was one of the best short stories I’d ever read. It’s called, Skullburn ‘77(Who Am I) and it’s the perfect primer for Blazed and my new e-novella, Better Than You(All Of You) which marks the first appearance of James Morgan in any of my writing. Here is the link: http://jasonmyersehm.ecwid.com/simple-store and for those of you who do buy it, if you leave your address on the order form, I will send you an original piece of cover art designed by me within the month and none of them will be the same. Come and get it, y’all. It’s all fucking beginning!
Lotsa you are going to get your wish. I have no idea if you’ll ever be able to read it, if it will sell, etc. etc. But for the past six years, so many people have wanted me to write a book with a female lead character, told from her perspective. I often defended my never having done this by pointing to Dead End and those Gina King first person chapters. It was a lame excuse. Truth be told, I don’t think I was ready to do anything like that before. Not when there was Travis Wayne, Kaden Norris, James Morgan, Alexander Franklin, and the soon to be well known, Jamie Miles, to bring to y’all first. And truth be told, Travis Wayne set the bar high and also set a certain style and a pacing to my later work that I could never quite figure out how to tell a story with a female lead. Just wasn’t ready. Until now. About a week ago, I was taking this early morning walk, like around 6:30 a.m. cos I couldn’t fall asleep. There were way too many things going on in my head; contemplating this new e-novella offer, all the things I have to get done before Blazed is released still. The false start on Exit Here Media and how to proceed from there, working out the travel dates for this trip, working out the travel dates for friends and family coming to the reading, and my biggest concern was, What’s fucking next, dude? What the fuck are you gonna do next? You have to produce always, constantly, and you have to deliver something when 90% of your money comes from your art. And as I was walking and chain smoking, I began thinking about the Phantogram song, “Mouthful of Diamonds”, and this girl just sorta popped into my head. She didn’t look familiar, like anyone I knew, nothing. I was near USF and this amazing fog had already rolled over and covered the sky and I was hit with this strong, passionate, overwhelming feeling of nostalgia and familiarity and uneasiness. When you’re in that area and it’s grey and foggy and quiet, you almost feel transplanted into Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” or “The Maltese Falcon”(at least I always do), and it’s so melancholy but amazingly gratifying as it confirms and validates my decision to live my life here and always want to stay here. Anyway, this girl was suddenly in my head. I saw her and her long black hair. Her sharp green eyes and thin lips. Her sleek and slender body and her 5’7 height. I saw her pale skin and her Black Nike hight-tops. Her cut off jean shorts and black leggings. Her large white shirt and the gray cardigan over it and the letter jacket she was wearing. She looked shy but unafraid. And then she walked away and disappeared into the fog. The Mission was actually the first book I ever wrote where the story was built around an image of character who was constantly in my head for days at a time. Once I finally accepted that the reason Kaden was there was because he wanted me to tell his story, I then began to build that world up after I figured out what he wanted to say. And I’ve done that with every book since. Exit Here was so different. That started with me wanted to tell and updated version of “Less Than Zero” that was the idea and Travis Wayne was born out of that idea and then proceeded to make that idea his story. Anyway, that morning, that girl, there was something happening there and I knew she’d be back but I didn’t know what for. There was just something in those eyes, the way she held herself, that was haunting and sad. I knew she’d become important but I didn’t know how or why. In all of my years as an author, I’ve never had an image of someone stay with me for so long and spend so much time in my head. I began seeing her everywhere and I knew that there was something there. I realized she’d been through some fucking shit and her life was the kind of life that can captivate a generation, which is a scary thought because what if you fuck up? That is one of my biggest fears as a writer. Me fucking up these kid’s stories. Me not telling them properly, me missing the point, me doing them a disservice by not digging for the truth and telling the story honestly, in their voice, the way they’d tell it if you met them in a counseling session or a twenty-four hour holding cell or in detention or over a mirror full of lines at seven a.m. just the two of you with the Crystal Castles blasting. And slowly, I began to sketch her character out. I wanted to know more. It’s been like an obsession with me because she’s always fucking there. Daring me to come closer. Challenging me to go where I’ve never gone before. Seeking out a way to get what happened to her out into the world. And the more I sketched, the more the foundation began to grow. Layers of dirt, top soil. grass, weeds, and of course some fucking gardens. Her name is Sloan Marcus and she’s 18 and her story, her life, goddamn it, Sloan, it’s beyond interesting, it’s tragic and heartfelt and funny, and cruel. It’s everything a story should be. A walk on a foggy morning and there she was. I’ve never been so shaken or intrigued in my entire fucking life.
I tell her, “these last five minutes with you have been the best five minutes I’ve spent with anyone in the last five years.” And every word of that was true. I mean, she opened her door holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and The Maltese Falcon and Blue Velvet DVD’s in the other. She was wearing this black, XL, These Arms Are Snakes t-shirt with the sleeves cutoff, that covered the tiny blue shorts she was wearing, and that she bought at a show she snuck into in Austin where she was living at the time, just one year away from getting her Bachelor’s degree in Art History from the University of Texas. On her coffee table was a copy of Jim Harrison’s gorgeous, stunning book, “The Woman Lit By Fireflies” which she was nearly two thirds of the way through. “Death Of A Ladies’ Man” the Leonard Cohen record was playing and then she hopped over the back of the couch to sit next to me then picked a notebook up off the coffee table and proceeded to read me six pages of a short story she’s working on for one of her classes in the Creative Writing program at San Francisco State where she’ll earn her MFA in Creative Writing from in 2015. What she read broke my heart, made me laugh, and shocked me. What struck me the most was the fearlessness of how she wrote and the beauty that was born from her not being afraid to write from her gut because that’s where the good stuff always fucking comes from. Always. And then every thing else will eventually come together after that and it’ll be honest and heartfelt. So many fucking people who say they wanna be writers, approach the art from a place of fear instead of passion. If you’re working on your first book and it’s not done yet and there’s no publishing deal in place which is basically all of us at the beginning, and then like a third of the way through your first draft when you find yourself stuck because you never took the time or put in the effort to really think your idea through and develop the characters beforehand, and you’re actually spending time thinking about if it’s even worth it because what if no one likes it, you’re fucking doomed already and might want to move onto something else(not another book but a career). The moment you begin to write for anyone other than yourself is the moment your writing loses it’s soul. None of this is guaranteed. Blazed could sell a hundred thousand copies in it’s first year but that doesn’t mean my next book will be published. I second guess myself all the time, during every draft of every book but it has nothing to do with how I think a particular story or book will received by anyone else. I’m second guessing choices I may have made earlier in the book or in an earlier draft or whether or not I should’ve followed or not followed a sub-plot that naturally arose from the characters while I was writing which didn’t exist in any of the outlining I’d done prior to beginning the book(which is another reason why character development beforehand is so important. So many plot twists and turns in my books were a result of the characters driving them and doing things I never planned on them doing because you can’t plan for it. By the time you’re working on your first draft, these characters should be alive and feel like real fucking people and as you all know, the people in your life pull a lot of shit you weren’t ready for, and throw some nasty curveballs at you, and just do some random ass, bizzaro shit, and that’s what should be happening in your stories and if it’s not, that means you haven’t given them anything other than a name, an age, and perhaps an appearance. Your characters(all of them)need to have things in their lives to risk or lose or gain. People are naturally conflicted everyday. People live with fears and doubts and joy and make crucial decisions all the time, throughout their days that not only affect them, but everyone around them and that’s what your characters should naturally be doing when you’re writing and most of it can’t be planned for ahead of time. And if your characters aren’t doing that, it usually means that one day, you thought, “This would make a great story” and then you named some people and started writing and I bet fifty pages in, you had no idea what else to write and you felt so fucking stuck and stopped writing(even though you were in love with the first twenty pages or so and the writing was beautiful). And perhaps it was and perhaps there was something great about that idea but an idea is nothing without execution and executions starts with planning. Anyway, to get back to my point about what I heard that night and why it was able to strike a nerve inside me the way it did, and that’s because of the care I could tell that went into those pages. This was a story that was written from the gut by someone who trusted their instincts and was writing for themselves and writing it honestly. This was a story written by a beautiful girl with a passion. And finally, this was a story that was written without intention and what I mean by that is this amazing person sat alone in a room and bled for hours because this is what she wants to do with her life and nobody fortunate enough to spend their lives doing the one thing they care the most about and live and breathe for, gets to that point without wanting to spend every free second of their time working towards that. As a writer, you walk right into the thick of the war everyday and then you sit down and you go to battle because you have to, you fucking need to, and the last thing on your mind is “what if this doesn’t work out, what if this doesn’t get published, what if this offends someone, what if I do this and nobody likes it”, none of that bullshit is present at all, and none of that bullshit is even prevalent. You’re doing this for yourself. This is your happiness. And the only things that matter are trusting your instincts, trusting yourself, and knowing that you’re telling one hell of a fucking story and your telling it because you have to, not because you want a publishing deal, fame, or notoriety. “these last five minutes with you have been the best five minutes I’ve spent with anyone in the last five years.” And yes love, just being around you is an inspiration and you make me wanna be better.
A few weeks ago, I received a short story written by someone calling themselves James Morgan. The story is called, Skullburn ‘77(Who Am I), and the main character’s name is Jason Myers. It was very unsettling at first and I’m now in the process of editing it to publish on my upcoming media site, Exit Here Media. Stay tuned. It’s going to get even weirder, I can just tell.
This is an answer I gave in an interview that was never published after Run The Game came out:
“I never expected the critics to admire the book. It’s a rough story, narrated in a very unrefined, unapologetic voice. It also tells the story about a group of kids who live rough lives. But here’s the thing I think a lot of the people who hated the book missed(and believe me, there were tons of them and they were very fucking vocal about their disdain not only for the story but for me as well). And this is something I think they miss about who I am as a writer in general and what I actually do versus what they think I do.
I do not sell my characters out or write them off or judge them because they live a certain way. I also don’t glorify those lifestyles in any way which a lot of critics accuse me of doing. What I do is I write honestly and truthfully about it and let the readers take whatever they want from it and form their own opinions and conclusions about it and the people involved. I refuse and always will refuse to acknowledge, let alone adhere to this false moral center that requires my characters to turn their backs on these particular lifestyles and the people, their friends involved in them thereby casting everyone and everything besides that character as bad or evil now. If I were to ever do this, not only would it be time for me to stop writing all together, it would also mean I could never be trusted as a writer again. My readers are smart, they’re so intelligent, and I have the upmost respect for them. They deserve honesty and integrity from the books they buy, steal, or check-out from the library, before spending their time(time they’ll never get back)devouring them. And for me to insult their intelligence by writing a character who has to turn his back and walk away from everything he’s ever known and been apart of because he feels bad or horrible about something he did or the way he treated someone, therefore implying that everyone and everything involved in that scene or life is somehow horrible and bad, for me to do that would mean that A: I have no respect for your time. B: I have no respect for this craft. And C: That I’m full of shit and not talented enough to evolve a character within the confines of the life he’s chosen to live and the people he’s chosen to surround himself with. “
James Morgan is the international, best selling author of the novel, PieGrinder. But that was three years ago. His reputation and fame have been in a steady decline since then even if he refuses to admit otherwise. Waking up one morning in a Los Angeles hotel room-hungover, bitter, and unable to remember the name of the naked girl in bed with him-he bolts town and drives back to San Francisco for the girl of his dreams birthday party. What begins as any other bingefull night-James navigating through the dirty, drug filled bars and pads of San Francisco in search of the girl, cocaine, and respect-slowly descends into a new kind of hell that has James questioning everything, even himself and the one thing he’s built everything with, his writing and words.
"Better Than You(all of you)" was written in 2006 as part of a short story collection Myers wrote-which was never published-called Drinking The Bacon. This story also marks the first appearance of Myers’ infamous character, James Morgan, in any of his work.
I’d totally buy this fucking story. And you have my word, it’s fucking good and absolutely perfect!
Just a heads up here, but my media company, Exit Here Media, is officially launching on Wednesday. And with the official launch comes the seventy page short story, Better Than You(All Of You). The story can be purchased for 4.99. The story also centers around my infamous character, James Morgan, as he navigates through a day that begins in an L.A. hotel room and ends at sunrise in San Francisco’s Mission District. The story was written in 2006, and it marks the first appearance of James Morgan in any of my work.
“When’s the last time you washed that bathrobe, brah? That pizza stain next to your armpit has been there for at least three weeks. There’s like two new pizza stains I’ve noticed too.”
Michael says this to Kyle.
The three of us, we’re at Kyle’s loft right now drinking tequila and pineapple.
Kyle’s just dumped an entire gram of blast on a mirror and I’ve cut it into six lines.
“Why are you paying so much attention to my bathrobe?” Kyle asks.
“It’s all you wear, dude. Like last night, when I saw you at the gas station. Bathrobe and sandals. That little bitch you fuck.”
“Which one?” he asks.
“The one you were at the gas station with. She was wearing a bathrobe too.”
So what, I say, cutting in. He wants to be comfortable. Nothing wrong with that.
“Wash it, dude,” says Michael.
A bathrobe’s still way better than sweatpants, I say.
“A tube sock is better than sweatpants,” Michael says back.
“When you knock Nose Candy out, Trav. You should slide a pair of sweatpants on him,” Kyle says.
I pour some tequila in a shot glass and down it.
Maybe I should, I say.
“Like I’ve got a bathrobe too,” says Michael. “I’ve got three actually. I like to wear them too. But none of them have pizza stains on them.”
“Dope,” says Kyle.
I grab the mirror and blast one of the rails.
“How often do you shower?” Michael asks.
“Everyday,” Kyle answers.
“Bullshit,” says Michael.
“How often do you shower?” Kyle asks.
“Twice a day motherfucker,” Michael answers.
I probably shower twice a day too, I snort.
“I’m not talking about you, Trav,” says Michael, taking the mirror from me.
“My dick’s always clean,” says Kyle. “And that’s what counts.”
“Very true,” says Michael, after snorting his line.
Appetite For Destruction is spinning on the record player, and I go, I’m gonna cut some of that dude’s dreads off tonight.
“Please do,” says Kyle. “Dreads on white people are totally unacceptable.”
“I can’t believe Claire fucking married that talentless fuck face.”
The night we hooked up, right before I put my dick inside her, I almost didn’t because of that. Because I was so disgusted that she fucked that dude.
“It woulda been a total deal breaker for me,” says Michael. “I’ve got standards.”
“So do I,” says Kyle.
She’s such a fucking babe though, I say.
“Absolutely,” Michael goes. “But there’s a lot of babes out there who don’t do that. You’ve got to be in a pretty bad place to let something like that crawl on top of you.”
Ugh, I groan.
I dump another shot of tequila down my throat.
Let’s not talk about that anymore.
Kyle slams a line and passes the mirror back to me.
“So what’s really gonna happen between you two after you leave?” Kyle asks.
What do you mean?
“You’re not really going to stay together, right?”
I say, We’re gonna try.
Michael starts laughing and goes, “Good one, Trav.”
“Come on,” Kyle goes. “You know what he means.”
I don’t, I say. Indulge me.
“Dude,” Michael goes. “I think it’s great Claire gets to fuck you again. Bitch loves you to death. But you’re not gonna stay together no matter how hard you’re trying to convince yourself otherwise. It ain’t in your DNA, man.”
I lean down and snort.
And Kyle goes, “He’s right, dude. You know it, I know it, and deep down, I think Claire probably knows it too.”
Passing the mirror to Michael, I light a cigarette and say, It’s different now.
Both of them start laughing.
And I go, You guys think what you want but I know how I feel.
“Now,” says Michael. “You feel this way now because you’re back but the second you land in L.A., you’re gonna shut her out.”
No, I say.
“Yes,” says Kyle. “You only like things in the moment, man.”
I don’t say anything.
“And once you’ve stepped away from that, you have no use for anyone you were with anymore.”
Michael snorts his line, passes the mirror to Kyle, then he pours me and him a shot of tequila and smacks me on the back.
“Don’t look so serious,” he says.
I pour the shot down my throat.
“It’s Claire’s fault for being in love with you still,” he says then downs his shot while Kyle does the last rail and adjusts his eye patch.