James Waite
Author of fantasy, short fiction, and poetry exploring connection and the unseen edges of everyday life.
Novel
A watchful forest pulls Lumi into magic and Avery into his hidden voice; together they uncover mysteries, wonder, courage, and a quiet, growing love.
Short Stories
Some griefs arrive late, some strength looks like stillness; these twenty-one stories gently reveal how quiet, unseen moments endure and matter completely.
Poetry
A deeply personal poetry collection exploring life, love, and loss—capturing quiet joys, heartbreak, and the bittersweet beauty of being human, one story at a time.
Poetry
A poetic exploration of distance, memory, and connection—moving through love, loss, and quiet in-between spaces, asking what remains as time reshapes us.
About the Book:
The forest has always been strange, but lately, it feels like it’s paying attention. Lumi Fox stumbles into magic without meaning to. Avery finds power in his voice he never knew he had. Together, they’re drawn into a world of shifting paths, mysteries, and wonders that seem to bloom before their eyes. With each step, the secrets around them grow deeper, and so does the quiet warmth between them. Bluefire & Songcraft is a tender, whimsical adventure about courage, curiosity, and the beginnings of young love.
Excerpt:
Dale Fox had built many questionable things in his life: a corn-husking accordion, a yodeling umbrella, a breakfast cannon—but nothing quite as ridiculous or impressive as the contraption currently stomping across his front yard.
Most folk in the nearby towns barely believed in magic anymore. It had become the sort of thing spoken about in half-remembered stories, or blamed when milk soured too quickly. But Dale Fox? He worked with it the way others struck matches to light their fires—casually, confidently, and without much concern for the consequences.
Even out here, beyond the train lines and city gates, Fox Farm and Stables had earned a reputation. “Odd,” people said, though not always with disapproval. Dale himself was one of the few animal-folk still living in the region, and certainly the only one who regularly filed patents composed of ill-advised sketches and pieces of enchanted brass.
The machine in question resembled a horse—if one stood very far away and squinted generously.
Up close, it was something else entirely.
Its brass-plated legs moved with a lurching, uncertain elegance, each step accompanied by a groan of metal and a puff of steam. That steam hissed sharply from vents near its ears, as though the creature itself were growing impatient with existence. Beneath its belly, a dense tangle of gears spun in chaotic harmony, clicking and whirring with alarming enthusiasm. Its tail—an unnecessary addition, according to everyone but Dale—twitched sporadically, flinging clumps of dirt across the carefully tended vegetable garden.
Dale stood beside it, fur streaked with grease, sleeves rolled high and posture unwavering. In his hands was a wrench the size of a canoe paddle, which he applied with the sort of focus usually reserved for delicate surgery.
The machine shuddered. Coughed. Then lurched forward another step.
Dale didn’t flinch.
Instead, he barked over the noise:
“Gavin! Give her a kick in the boiler! She’s stalling again!”
About the book:
Some things endure quietly. Some griefs arrive late. Some strength looks, from the outside, like stillness.
When the Walking Becomes Too Much gathers twenty-one stories about the small moments that turn out to matter most. Moving between the familiar and the gently surreal, these pieces ask a simple question: does the quiet stuff count?
It does. Completely.
Excerpt:
Every morning at precisely 5:12 a.m., while the city still slept and the radiators clicked and popped softly along the walls, a white cat with a pink nose leapt down from the windowsill and began his routine.
In the earliest light of dawn, his ears caught the rising sun and seemed almost translucent—glowing faintly pink against the dim room.
There was no breakfast.
No grooming.
Only discipline.
He placed his paws flat against the hardwood floor, careful and exact. His back remained straight, unwavering. His tail extended behind him in a perfect line, as rigid as a ruler.
Down.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Twenty repetitions. Not one more. Not one less.
Each movement was precise—controlled to the smallest detail. Even his whiskers held still, as though they, too, understood the importance of the ritual.
By six o’clock, Crabapple was already at the gym.
But his training did not begin when he reached the door.
It never had.
He always ran there.
About the book:
This collection of poetry explores the beautiful, humorous, and often bittersweet terrain of being human.
With themes of life, love, and death at its core, each poem captures a true moment, an emotional snapshot, drawn from the author’s own experiences. From quiet joys to heartbreak, losses to revelations, these
poems offer deeply personal stories with a universal resonance. Whether you’ve loved deeply, grieved silently, or simply marveled at the strange miracle of existing, this book speaks to the truth we all share:
that every life is made up of stories worth telling, one poem at a time.
Excerpt:
Each night, the light comes slicing in—
a solitary sentinel on the corner pole,
casting its eye through glass
to trespass on my weary soul.
So I rise, half asleep, half mad,
a bag in hand, a length of tape,
to hang upon the window’s frame:
a makeshift veil, a plastic drape.
The bag crinkles—clings just right,
a humble moon to blot the glare.
Beneath its shield, I claim the night
and slip into a thankful prayer.
Then morning comes with softened grace.
I peel my hero; light turns kind.
Daylight gleams—the world takes place,
no trace of what was left behind.
Each evening’s rite, each dawn undone,
a quiet dance of shade and tape.
The smallest acts, when gently spun,
reveal the comforts we create.
About the book:
This collection explores distance, memory, and connection between people, places, and versions of ourselves. These poems move through love, loss, and the quiet spaces in between, asking what remains when time and distance reshape everything we thought we knew.
Excerpt:
Distant Friend
Four hundred eighty-four verses penned,
This makes four eighty-five, my distant friend
Will any soul wander through them
Before I reach my final end?
Scribbled them all while half asleep,
Their meanings now just forgotten dreams.
Three thousand lives within my mind,
A dozen paths I seek to find.Under stars with you, I wish to stand,
My only need, the touch of your hand.
When I weep, it's your face I see,
The memory of you comforts me.
James Waite is a writer from Western New York, collecting stories the way some people collect postcards.
He has published the novel Bluefire & Songcraft, the short story collection When the Walking Becomes Too Much, and the poetry collections Familiar Sounds and Distant Friend.
He insists he has a “writing system.” Spoiler: he does not. He writes stories full of unpredictable magic and quiet moments, and hopes his characters behave better than he does when left unsupervised.
Email: [email protected]Phone: (716) 268-1441