Writing & Philosophy

I know I announced a new book in January, my science fiction adventure All Things Strange and Dangerous, so having me release yet another new novel in early 2024 makes it seem like I’m amazingly prolific. The truth is, I work on fiction projects in batches and then take a break before doing them again. This will no doubt be my last one for a while.

This magical realism novel features Iris, the Goddess of Rainbows.

She’s a messenger of the creator, the All-Father, the god of gods. She’s coming out of a centuries-long deep depression after having her heart broken by Zephyrus, the god of the west wind. The All-Father has given Iris her first assignment since Shakespeare was a new thing, sending her to an Earth that has changed beyond all recognition.

And then there’s Cody Shane, a lowly agent of an unnamed secret government organization tasked with national security against supernatural threats.

He’s been assigned to track down an enigmatic old woman who’d committed an act of terrorism in San Francisco before disappearing into thin air — literally vanishing, caught on camera — and avoiding capture.

Following up on reports of “unusual rainbow activity,” Cody thinks he’s on yet another wild goose chase until he has a run-in with Iris, and the two realize they’ve been sent out after the same person.

The terroristic incident in question happened in another of my books, Eleven Days on Earth, where an old woman throws running chainsaws off the top of a San Francisco skyscraper. Several characters from that book make cameo appearances in this one.

The stakes are high. It turns out there are multiple ways our world could end, all of them happening at the same time, and there’s only one way to stop them. Iris chooses Cody as her earthly champion, and they team up to do exactly that.

Save the world.

She Comes in Colors is my 11th book of fiction, and with this one, I’m branching out into new formats. Not only is it available as an ebook and in paperback, but you’ll be able to listen to it on Audible as well, and — soon, if not already — it’ll be in hardback too.

Here’s the Amazon link: She Comes in Colors by Jerry J. Davis

So what else is happening?

I’ve invested in a new type of camera, an Insta360 One RS, which takes 360º images and video. Primarily for use in my day job, I’ve found it not only mind-blowingly amazing in its capabilities but also incredibly fun to use.

Having built-in AI image processing, it erases itself from reflections, and also erases its own selfie-stick and tripod, so that the images appear to have been taken by some sort of floating anti-gravity drone.

You can take one single picture with this camera, and then get a nearly infinite amount of various still images out of it, from just about any angle or direction. If you use it for video (which a lot of Tiktok and YouTube creators are doing) it’s the same, you take that one video and grab multiple shots, and get video shots that are almost impossible from any other type of camera.

Lord help me, I may start vlogging again on YouTube just because this camera is so fun to use.

New Storefront Coming Soon

The GroovyMojo web domain is being pulled away from Substack and I’m building a new website with it for GroovyMojo Media. Besides featuring signed copies of my books — which have been removed from my main website — it will also have custom notebooks, and other fun things. I’ll post another message when that is ready, so you can check it out if you’re curious.

I’ll also feature a backstock of proofs and advanced reader’s copies of my books, which I’ll be practically giving away, as they’re full of typos. They’re all signed and some are marked up from when I was editing. I’m not sure if anyone will actually want these, but I find it hard for me to bring myself to throw them away. I’d rather hand them out to anyone who wants to pay for postage.

Thank You!

In wrapping up, it’s evident that there’s a whirlwind of activity in my world, from the release of another new book to my branching out into new creative endeavors. I’m excited to bring you along for the journey. Keep an eye on your inbox for the release of my new website, and perhaps a peek into my newfound vlogging adventures. Thank you for your unwavering support and curiosity—it fuels my ventures into the unknown and the magical. Here’s to uncovering the extraordinary in the everyday together.

I am excited to announce my new novel is out: All Things Strange and Dangerous

I wanted to write a story that feels like something out of the golden age of science fiction, full of danger, adventure, romance, and comedy — reminiscent of grandmasters Jack Vance and Clifford D. Simak.

Desmond, poet son of infamous space adventurer Rumlan Clews, inherits his late father’s starship and, fleeing an arranged marriage, takes off to explore the galaxy — not realizing what he is getting himself into. Galactic drug smugglers, sentient atomic bombs, lethal alien robots, and unexpectedly, the love of his life.

One thing I accomplished in 2023 was finishing the first drafts of two new novels and then extensive rewrites of one of them. That one may or may not be out before the end of the year.

This smart and somewhat dodgy lawyer reveals a path for Desmond to escape his predicament, albeit fraught with legal ambiguities and the daunting prospect of navigating the perilous, uncharted expanses of the galaxy.

Embracing this gamble, Desmond defies his family and takes off in his father’s starship, deciding to follow in his father’s infamous footsteps. However, this proves far less glamorous and way more complicated and dangerous than he’d ever imagined, as this odyssey leads to dealing with ruthless smugglers, android assassins, deadly alien creatures, and most unexpectedly, love.

So yeah, that should be out either by the end of December 2023, or at least in early 2024.

There is the possibility that there also may be another book in 2024, but we’ll see. I have a sequel to No Such Thing as Mermaids started, but I’m not sure if it will be done next year. I have all the research done, the settings noted, and the cast of characters set, but I have restarted the beginning three times now. Before I can continue, I have to find the one that feels like the story I want to tell.

Alright, that’s what’s new! Two books are on the way, maybe even a third. I can’t wait for you guys to read them. Thanks for riding along with me on this wild writing journey. And let me know if you’d like to see some new short stories … I’ve been thinking of writing some of those in 2024, too.

The little girl woke up to see a man standing in her doorway.

It was dark in her room, and there wasn’t a lot of light from beyond the doorway. All the little girl could see was an outline of the man’s figure. He came forward into the room and spoke her name, and his voice was familiar. It was the voice of her favorite uncle. “How is my little sweetheart?” he asked her.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Okay,” she told him.

Her uncle came closer, but not too close. “I’m sorry to wake you up, but I wanted to say goodbye. I’m going away for a while, so I’m not going to be able to see you so often.”

“Oh.” The little girl didn’t like that news. He was the one who always brought her candies and new dolls. “Where are you going?”

“On a trip.”

“Are you going to be a long way away?”

“A very long way away. That’s why I woke you up, sweetheart. I wanted to say goodbye before I leave.”

“Okay.” She was just a little girl, and didn’t know what to say. “Goodbye.”

Her uncle seemed to want to come and hug her, but wouldn’t allow himself to. This was odd. He sounded very unhappy, too. “Goodbye my little sweetheart. You take care of your mommy, now. Okay?”

“Okay. Bye-bye.”

“Goodbye. You go back to sleep now.”

“Okay. Goodbye.”

“Goodnight.” Her uncle backed away from her, edging toward the door.

The little girl settled back into her bed, and glanced for a moment at the clock. She could just barely make out the time. It was after 11:00 PM, very late indeed. When she looked back up at the doorway, her uncle was gone.

The little girl went back to sleep.

In the morning, her mother was unusually silent, and spent a lot of time staring off into space. She’d burnt their breakfast eggs. While the little girl was eating, she suddenly remembered her uncle’s late visit. “Mom,” she asked, “where is uncle going?”

Her mother seemed shocked by the question. “What?”

“When he was here last night, he told me he was going away. Where’s he going?”

“Uncle was here? Last night?”

The little girl nodded.

“When?” There was an edge to her mother’s voice.

“It was really late. My clock said after eleven.”

Her mother went pale, and her mouth hung open. It took her a few moments to say anything. “Your uncle loved you very much. I don’t doubt he stopped by here to say goodbye to you.”

“Where’s he going?”

Her mother fumbled with a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and putting it in her mouth. Her hands were trembling when she lit it. The flame wiggled and she had a hard time keeping it at the tip of the cigarette. “Your uncle went to heaven, honey.”

“Heaven?” The little girl didn’t understand.

“He was killed in a car wreck last night.” Her mother began crying, and so did the little girl. It wasn’t until a few days later, after the funeral, that she overheard her mother telling relatives in a hushed voice about the late night visit from the uncle. The other relatives gaped at the news, astonished, and gave the little girl strange glances. It was then the little girl learned that her uncle had died at about 7:00 PM that fateful evening, while driving home from a restaurant. The person who had come into her room at 11:00 PM could not have been her uncle, unless it had been his ghost.

That little girl was my mom. She’d told me this story several times. It was the first ghost story I’d ever heard, and it scared the hell out of me when I was a kid. Even now it gives me the willies, especially sitting here, alone, at a word processor at 4:00 AM … in a house that may be haunted. I’m feeling a chill as I type this, and little prickles all over my arms and at the back of my neck.

Is my Mom’s story true? She told me it was. Beyond taking her word for it, however, there’s no proof. That’s the problem with ghosts.

I was a kid when my grandmother on my mom’s side passed away. We were out camping at the time, so word didn’t get to us until we returned from the trip. My mom was devastated. Her mother had choked on a chicken bone during a midnight snack, and Grandpa didn’t find her until the following morning.

Years passed and the tragedy faded. We moved from Arizona to California, ending up in the bay area. We were there for about a year, and then moved inland to Stockton, which is at the heart of California’s central valley. I remember this part clearly, because we were living in a duplex. At least three, probably four, years had passed since my grandmother had passed away.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, my dead grandmother arrives via parcel post.

I don’t remember a whole lot about this grandmother. She’s only a vague image in my memory, because she passed away while I was so young. Being that she was only 14 years older than my mom, she didn’t feel she was old enough to be called “Grandma” so I was instructed to call her “Nana.”

Nana and her husband, my mom’s stepfather who they all called “Spud,” were only occasional visitors. I mainly remember them from Christmas mornings. Grandpa Spud is especially vivid in my memory because of the year he dressed up as Santa and scared the holy hell out of me.

So, years later, Nana shows up at our duplex in California in a white box. She’d been cremated and these were her ashes. Obviously they didn’t wait this long to cremate her, but I’m at a loss for why it took so long for the ashes to reach us. I’d hate to think they’d been lost in the mail all that time.

The ashes arrived addressed to my father, because Nana’s will stipulated that she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread via airplane over a specific forest in Oregon. My father, being a pilot with his own airplane, was the logical choice. They had all lived in the same area up in Oregon in the 1950’s, back when my dad was in the lumber business. I guess this forest was someplace dear to Nana; perhaps that’s where Spud had proposed to her. My father was familiar with the place. The idea of flying up there and taking care of Nana’s last wish wasn’t a problem. However, it wasn’t a priority either. After all, she was already years dead, and my father was a busy man.

Nana’s ashes, still securely sealed in the white cardboard box, sat around the house for a while. It would spend some time on the dining room table, or the coffee table in the living room. Or I’d occasionally see it sitting on the kitchen counter. Finally during a frenzy of housecleaning, Dad took the box and put it on a shelf in the garage. There it sat for quite some time.

It was after Dad put the white box in the garage that Mom started noticing weird things going on. She’d be cooking dinner, and have the oven set to a specific temperature. She’d turn away and take care of some other detail, and turn back to see the oven temperature knob was not where she’d set it. Puzzled, she’d set the knob back to the proper temperature, then later discovered someone moved it again. This was unsettling, especially since she was the only one in the kitchen the entire time.

Then Mom noticed that someone kept changing the temperature on the air conditioner. This also was odd because it was happening while my dad was at work and I was at school. There was no one else in the house.

These things had been going on for a while before Mom finally mentioned it. She didn’t seem frightened; she seemed bemused, almost comforted. It was familiar to her, because it was exactly the kind of things that would happen when Nana was around. Mom and Nana always argued about what temperature to set the stove or oven, and Nana always wanted it colder or warmer in the house than Mom did.

This talk of Nana’s ghost being in the house scared me, but I didn’t see any of these inconsistencies of temperature settings with my own eyes. I was 10 or 11 years old at the time. My toys weren’t moving around, and I wasn’t seeing anything strange. Nana wasn’t appearing to me in a doorway or anything like that. So I didn’t really believe it. It still gave me chills but it was fun to go along with it. Mom had always believed in ghosts. Ghosts were fun. Being scared was fun.

This changed when our little dog, Taffy, started getting involved. Taffy was a long-haired Chihuahua that my dad used to call “Ten pounds of love in a five pound package.” She was a tiny little thing, but she thought she was a ferocious attack dog. Taffy had no fear, and she was on guard at all times to protect her family. She’d bark at the mailman, at other dogs and cats, and especially at visitors that she didn’t recognize.

Suddenly Taffy had begun to bark frantically at things that no one could see. Especially in the late evening, she’s suddenly start growling and barking for all she was worth at a corner in the dining room, or at a spot in the hallway. It didn’t seem to be that she was barking at something she heard or smelled, because she had her eyes fixed on a specific point and all her attention was right there, right in front of her. She was barking and snapping at thin air.

This is something I witnessed personally. It was very freaky. I remember that it even disturbed my Dad. “Taffy!” he’d say. “What the hell are you barking at? Taffy! Stop!” He’d have to bend down and pick her up, and carry her away from whatever had her so upset.

Finally, there was the time when my dad was gone on an extended business trip, and my mom and I were up late and watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. We were sitting together on the couch, with Taffy at our feet, and Taffy started growling. By this time she’d gotten a lot less frantic about the whole thing, having become more familiar with whatever it was that upset her. She’d just stare and give a low warning growl.

On this night, she did more than just stare at a spot in front of her. Very slowly her head turned as she was growling, as if she were watching something cross the room from left to right. It was weird. I remember sliding over closer to my Mom. Taffy suddenly stood up, still tracking something with her eyes. She was pointing toward Dad’s rocking chair.

As we watched, and as Taffy continued to growl, the chair moved slightly. Just a little bit forward, and just a little bit back, like something was trying to rock in it. I remember the look on Mom’s face. She turned toward me to make sure I was seeing the same thing she was seeing.

I didn’t have to convince her to let me sleep in her and Dad’s bed that night. We slept with the lights on. As soon as my dad got home from the business trip, Mom told him that he needed to get Nana’s ashes spread over that Oregon forest. He needed to do it now.

Dad agreed. He took me along as copilot. Back then he had a single-prop Cessna 192 and it took a while to fly all the way up to Oregon, but he navigated us via familiar landmarks to where we needed to be and then had me open the white box. Inside was a thick plastic bag. I’d expected the ashes to be white and powdery, like the ones in the fireplace, but they weren’t. They were strange flat chips colored black and gray. After all those years, there was Nana — and now, as I’m writing this, when I think about Nana this is all I can see. Not her face or her voice, but these strange looking ashes.

In an airplane, you can’t just crank down a window and toss something out. The only part of the window that opened was this little five-inch hatch, and when Dad reached across and flopped it open, the wind made an unbelievable wail and it was like a tornado had been let loose inside the cockpit. I had a hole cut in the plastic bag, and I shoved it up against the open window hatch as my dad dipped one wing low and circled. Most of Nana’s ashes made it out the window, but a good percentage of it swirled around us in the cockpit. I even got some in my mouth. My dad was yelling and the airplane bucked and jumped. The ashes stung my eyes.

There was a sudden THWAK, and the window sucked the last of the ashes out along with the plastic bag. I shut the little hatch, and continued spitting out ashes. Dad leveled the airplane, and after a few moments began laughing. We turned south and headed back home.

After that day, Taffy no longer barked at invisible things, and the air conditioner and oven ceased changing the settings on their own. That cinched it for Mom. For her there was absolutely no other explanation than it being the ghost of Nana haunting the duplex, waiting for us to fulfill her final wishes. I think my father was convinced, too.

Me? I’m not so sure. I just remember those ashes swirling around me in the cockpit of the airplane.