JAMES H. SUMMERS
LOSS
I knew what I came here to tell you.
Stay a moment. It was here a moment ago.
You Know This Room.
The chair goes there. Beside the window. Somebody moved it, although there is a pale square in the carpet where it has apparently always been. I can remember the curtains in the house before this one. Every flower. The little tear near the hem.
I cannot remember what I was looking for beside the chair.
There is a person at the door who knows how I take my coffee. I know that I love them. That arrives first, warm and certain. The name takes longer. Please let the name arrive before they notice I am waiting for it.
You can know someone is precious without being able to explain who they are.
The books. Yes. That was what I wanted to show you.
I’m James H. Summers. These pages lead into my work, the life around it, the things I have been building. I put the names on the buttons so you would know where you were going.
There Were Five Things.
Before I forget—
Far From Ordinary
Writing. Web pages. Games, friends, late drives. Yard work. There was always something that needed doing outside. This page holds the everyday things that have occupied my attention and fed the work.
An ordinary day feels so small while you are having it. You think there will be plenty more.
Down The Road
I know this turn. There used to be a tree here. Or that was another road, with someone beside me telling a story I wanted them to finish.
Bloody Seconds. That is where this button goes. Return, memory, forgiveness, consequence. Paths into Second Chances and Hemoglobin Insecure. What we carry into another chance. What follows us even when we cannot quite turn around and name it.
You might recognize the voice.
About Me
There are recordings. Introductions, interviews, book videos. Me explaining the stories, the choices, the plans for bringing the work toward the screen. The DarkFictionAuth channel.
Press play. Sometimes a voice reaches a place that a name cannot. Let me finish a thought there. I left several for you.
Well Rounded
I kept the other things here. Reflections. Fragments. Peggy Landers. Ways for readers to participate. Something funny, too. I remember wanting there to be something funny.
Extras widens the world around the books. You can wander through it. You do not have to understand why every little thing was kept to understand that it mattered to somebody.
I wrote this part down carefully.
Further Clarification
Interviews. Representation. Collaboration. Television or film. If you want to discuss those things, this page explains what I am looking for and what your inquiry should include.
Please know the work. Tell me which book brought you here. Be specific. There is comfort in having the right words in front of us, where we can both see them.
Did I tell you about the chair?
Never mind. You are still here. I can see that.
There Is More Behind This.
James H. Summers. That Is the Name.
I wanted you to read me. That was what I came here to say. I write about control, identity, survival, consequence. About people trying to understand what is happening close to them. A conversation changes. A room feels different. Somebody they trusted says something they cannot put back where it was. If you enjoy that slow uncertainty, the atmosphere, the need to turn another page—there is something here I would like to share with you.
Bereft Reality. Picking Murphys. First Responder. Site 123. They Heinous. I will leave the names together here. Choose the one that catches your attention. There are people inside those pages with things they need, things they fear, choices they cannot take back. Spend some time with them. Perhaps one of them will stay with you after you close the book.
The photograph is still clear.
It is the afternoon around it I cannot find.
Would You Tell Someone?
If you read a book of mine and it means something to you, please tell someone what you found. Share a link. Recommend it to your reading group. Ask your library about it. Leave an honest review. Your words might bring a reader here who would never otherwise have known these books existed.
I keep trying to get the word out. Some days it feels like leaving notes in a house where nobody comes into the room. Perhaps you could carry one outside for me.
I was going to ask you to stay.
You have stayed. I know. Thank you.
There was somewhere I wanted to invite you. A place with a long horizon. I have the picture.
Yes. There.
That was what I wanted to show you.