JANE GEORGE
  • Author & Illustrator

...journal jane...

where I blog, sometimes

Ring Rider available for pre-order in eBOOK

1/23/2016

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It's finally on the horizon!    Release date: March 22, 2016    Pre-order your e-book copy here.
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Cover for Book Two: RING GHOST!

9/2/2015

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Here's the cover for the second title in The Enchanted Circus of Jules Compere, my Young Adult fantasy series, which will be available in April of 2016. This story continues the adventure and romance of book one as Circus Lunastrata - now possibly haunted - travels to San Diego during Halloween and Dia de los Muertos to rescue an injured trapezist on the run.
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Working away...

8/5/2015

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RING RIDER, Book One in my Enchanted Circus of Jules Compere young adult fantasy romance series, will be available in March of 2016.
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Bzziness Name Change

5/13/2015

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I have officially changed the name of my publishing organization from Paper Grove Publishing to...

...drumroll, please...

Beeswax Books
This name reflects more accurately on myself and the spirit of this endeavor as well on a wonderful new phase for me and my work!

A new logo will be forthcoming. 
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Cover Reveal!

4/23/2015

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Here is the book cover for Book One in my new, revamped Enchanted Circus series, RING RIDER. Look for it to be released early in 2016, followed closely by the next two books in the series. 

I designed the cover using shots from a photo shoot I set up. The striped big top background is from a painting I made, copied multiple times, and then I constructed a paper circus tent from the copies for my previous book trailer. The image is from a screen grab. Recycling, yay! In the covers for this series, I also used a couple public domain images from The Graphics Fairy. If you are a creative type, you need to know about this site.

The models are the talented young actors Helen Grace Lahey and Cooper Miller. They perfectly embody Evanja Leane and Walter Winstanley. Make up by Isabella Parkinson-Morgan.

Big thanks to all who took part in the shoot and offered feedback on the book cover process!


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Below is the full cover for the print version of the book. The theme of the shadow projected against the inside of the tent continues throughout all five covers.
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The Magic of the Circus is Real...

11/20/2013

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...but on hiatus. My enchanted series is being revamped, reworked, and completely overhauled. The Big Top has burned down. What new magic will rise like a phoenix and blaze forth in the center ring?

All will be revealed.

In the meantime, the books are no longer available.  I make my apologies to those of you who loved The Mumbo Jumbo Circus and The Daring Young Man. All of the quirky characters will return in their rag-tag, magical circus, better and brighter than ever.

TRUST JULES COMPERE AND HIS MAGICAL JU-JU.

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Days in Catland

10/29/2013

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We have FOUR cats, which officially qualifies us as crazy cat people. We recently moved from the 'burbs back to the city and and the felines are making the adjustment. So, to celebrate National Cat Day, here are some shots of our Kitty Cat Crew and a glimpse into our Days in Catland.

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Go ahead, find a good sun spot and have a wonderful National Cat Day! I need to attend to the litter boxes now, catch ya later.
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Come With Me

10/8/2013

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Here's that chaser I promised, a delicious mix of Words to Live By sung by the most adorable man EVER.

Now it's off to the factory with me. There's so much time and so little to do.
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Then & Now: Verses for the Dark Moon

10/4/2013

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PictureImage: astronomyonline.org
My tongue-in-cheek personal tag-line (yes, everyone should have one) is EQUALLY TWEE AND EVIL. And for all it's cheekiness, it's mostly true.

On this blog I'm usually silly, twee, whimsy-girl, which is my preferred state.  But I do possess a full range of being-ness, and this includes The Dark Side.  In honor of today's dark moon I bring you two poems. The first is from my lost days as a punk rocker. Be nice, I was nineteen, and this was before I had my sense of humor transplant. (Oh, and shhh, that's a secret.) A couple days ago I was unpacking boxes, shelving books, and came across my old diary, uncovering this gem. When I stopped laughing so hard I cried, I knew I had to share this goodness with the world. There are more gems in there. They're gonna stay in the vault.

The second poem, written today on the fly and not nearly as unintentionally funny as the first one, deals with a recent sojourn wherein my creative work was put aside for an important calling. This is why I haven't been around. And that last, long-ago post wasn't exactly sweetness and light either. But like the moon, my life has entered a new phase. I am in a new house in the big city, and I am BACK, baby!

And now I curtsy and show you the dark side of the mirror, past and present. In a few days, I'll post something really super-twee as a chaser. I promise.

Then: 1981                                         Now: 

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Four Inches From the Floor


Does anyone breathe
behind those black windows?
If anyone does,
they're sleeping,
four inches from the floor.

You don't have any money.
Pretend you're a writer.
Studio apartment.
Make believe you're an artist.
Paint your radiator with mushrooms.

Four inches from the floor.
Ain't it arty to be poor.
Dye the bedsheets black.
Hang in the window with a tack.

Does anyone think
behind that black brick?
Old rice in the refrigerator.
Plastic dishes in the sink.
You can't leave the mattress.
Don't have any money.
Lay on the floor.
Think about writing.
It's so arty to be poor.
Studio apartment.
Paint your nails black.

Four inches from the floor.
Ain't it arty to be poor.
Dye the bedsheets black.
Hang in the window with a tack.

Go back to sleep.

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I Know What You're Trying to Do, Jane

The dark moon remembers death, 
with your turtle-beak gasping breath.
Whimsy dances, further and further,
growing up, growing away,
blown by my fetid depression-breath,
which reminds me of your infection,
and how it filled the room.

Lifted, shoved, you through the door;
what was mortal clung for more.
Purpose fell, deeper and deeper,
fading slow, fading to light,
called by those on that far shore,
who remind me I am your guide;
you told me they were rude.

The new moon rekindles fire,
sparks my dreamy life's desire.
Horror rots, weaker and weaker,
growing up, growing into,
fed by the beauty of the light-briar,
which reminds me we are so much more,
and many more at once.

As I stow the lantern, take up the pen, 
I hear your voice.
You didn't know you would be this happy.

 
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I am Queen of the Moon Dial

6/20/2013

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A prose poem regarding the care and feeding of my stories.

The calliope sings Tick Tock, a steam-powered tune of time...endless time, no time. Space...endless space, no space. The calliope’s wordless tune makes a promise of stories. Toots and whistles and jolly fun lead me dancing, twirling, to the grandfather clock that towers a mile above me—a lemon-polished fortress of hours.

Tick tock toot toot, I have only so many heartbeats upon this earth.

The glass-fronted cabinet shows my tiny reflection yet I shy away and cannot look. I am unfinished, unshaped. There are stories up there in the moon dial. Stories I yearn for. Crave. Out-of-reach tales that will fill my soul, give my being weight, and Meaning. Make-believe will make me real. The untrue will force the truth. If only I can get there.

My fingers pry open the cabinet. It takes me years.

I hoist myself up into grandfather’s body, step inside, heels clack on dark, hard wood. Beneath the Weights of Time, a cauldron glows hot and thick. Brighid’s Cauldron, her forge of inspiration, calls my name. To accept the invitation is to take on the Taskmaster. Brighid says she will burn my toes if I back out now. The moon dial, shimmering faintly high above, and its riches, is my goal.

Beware family, beware lover: I will throw over all else to get there.

On a rising column of cauldron smoke, I ascend far enough to grasp the time chains. From here on up, I must propel myself. Burning arms, bloody fingers, chain by chain by chain by chain. Rejection oil loosens my grip. Legitimacy spits me out, straight into the mouth of the doubt demons. Brighid, I beg of you, let me drop into the cauldron, rest for a while. Ha! She keeps her promise to burn my toes.

Tick tock toot toot, you have only so many heartbeats upon this earth.

I crawl. I clamber. Once in a blue chain, I float up a few links. I climb again. The moon winks. Just for me. It spins away, a tease, to be replaced by a sailing ship, a shepherdess, the rays of the sun. I am about to fall with the giddiness. Stories are close. I smell them, yet I grow heavier the higher I climb. I reach for the stars anyway.

The gateway to the moon dial beckons me through. Brighid smiles.

Chime the hours. Ring the bells. I live in the moon dial now. There is my own magical, traveling circus. Over there in the nightclouds, my heartbreak and denial. Cookie kings and imprisoned nature sprites dwell with me. Tales of romantic witchery beg for happy endings. They all whisper to me, Queen of the Moon Dial, sitting atop all the time in the world. And then down below the calliope sings.

Tick tock toot toot, I have only so many heartbeats upon this earth.

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Written Material and Art Copyright Jane George All Rights Reserved.

  • Author & Illustrator