Jemiah Jefferson

Photo by Serena Davidson

Hi – my name’s Jemiah. I write books by inclination, and co-edit comic books by vocation. Here you’ll find info on my published works, thoughts on and previews of the upcoming Dark Horse projects I’m doing, a bit about me, and then a bit more about me.

Link me!

Only a link to whet the appetite. This page will change on the sooner side of eventually.

But this is great and should be read.


You should get yourself a copy of this. Yes, I know the photographer. She is extremely talented.


Until I can get a higher level of security enabled, comments and contacts are off line for this blog.

Hope you know how to reach me some other way!


Farewell, and flights of angels wing you to your rest, Philip Seymour Hoffman.

In another one of those “art predicting life” moments, the fan fiction I am currently working on deals with the concept of drug addiction, and heroin is one of the drugs in question, though it is never taken, and will probably not even be mentioned, in the chapter at all. However, if you’ve seen Sherlock S3E3, you will know exactly to what I refer. I don’t like it when my subconscious travels to the future; it’s never anything good. It’s never lots of sticky orgasms and laughter and friends; it’s one of the most talented actors in the world, dying of a heroin overdose, perhaps an intentional one. I don’t like it. No sir.

I want to go home and hug my cats.

Also – this is good. And accurate. And an accurate portrait of my life. So you can be hard on me for never making even the most basic and tentative of plans, or for not ever seeming to get any work done, or whatever, but it won’t change my situation.


I have been laid low since receiving a flu shot Friday. Mostly I have been very deeply asleep, occasionally swimming back to the surface to get a gulp of water, to pee, to have a snack, to become aware of the slowly swelling and receeding pain in my left shoulder. Sometimes I drifted just below the surface, taking advantage of the thin veil between worlds, as it were, to access long-buried or forgotten memories. I recollected as many details of the house I grew up in as I could- the house was green, had a patio (not a porch; porches are nicer in my opinion), the layout and position of all the rooms. Associated memories trailed along after them, but I can already recall the emotions and events with a clarity that has not benefitted me.

Today I was awake, with the help of a lot of caffeine. It was difficult and the day was close to unpleasant. The flu shot wins this round.


Sweet Dee found a sunbeam.