James Wood
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Writer. Musician. Watercolorist. Bylines @Mcall & @GuitarWorld. Order my new suspense novel, "The Seventh Echo," wherever you buy books!
Articles by James Wood
The Greatest Month of The Year
There are twelve months in a year. Twelve little containers of days, spread across four seasons, each convinced it brings something special to the table. I have to believe that at some point, probably during some celestial staff meeting nobody bothered to invite us to, the months got together and started arguing over which one of them was the greatest. January, naturally, would be the loudest. “I’m FIRST,” January would say. “New year. New beginnings. Resolutions. Fresh starts.” Yeah, ok January.
My Imaginary Friend
Some childhood friendships are meant to last forever. Others should never have begun I’ve spent the better part of six months trying to convince my therapist that I’m not crazy. So far, neither of us is having much luck. It all started with what she calls a psychological episode. That’s a fancy way of saying I had a complete nervous breakdown. One minute, I was going about my perfectly ordinary life. The next, I was remembering something that had been buried in my mind for more than twenty years.
What’s In A Number?
What’s in a number? I mean, really. For something we completely made up thousands of years ago to keep track of goats, grain and probably whose turn it was to buy the first round, numbers sure have managed to take over our lives. Consider this: from practically the moment we arrive on this planet, numbers start defining us. At 5, you start school. At 10, you finally reach double digits and briefly feel like you’ve accomplished something extraordinary simply by staying alive for an entire decade.
Thoughts From the Gym
When I’m at the gym, I have a job to do. I’m not there to socialize or take selfies. I’m not there to make new friends. And I’m certainly not there because I enjoy exercising. I’m there because apparently sitting on the couch watching television while eating something covered in cheese does not qualify as cardio. My goal is simple: Get in. Do what needs to be done. Get out. Unfortunately, not everyone at the gym shares this same philosophy.
ğ Three Books. Three Stories. Your Next Read is FREE!
Want to take a chance on one of my novels? Right now you can read: ğ The Seventh Echo â supernatural suspense, buried memories, and a hometown hiding a terrifying secret. ğ¸Â Beyond What We Know â an emotional coming-of-age mystery filled with music, first love, â80s nostalgia, and a touch of the unexplained. ğ
 Neapolitan Sky â a character-driven story about love, friendship, family, choices, and the unexpected turns life can take.
Growing Up With The Fonz
There are certain people from childhood who never really grow old. The world around us changes. Our favorite television shows disappear. Our hairstyles become questionable, and the things we once considered incredibly cool suddenly become material for embarrassing photographs. But some people remain exactly as we remember them. Henry Winkler is one of those people. As I write this in 2026, Winkler is going to be 81 years old.
My First Two Cars
I realize the last thing the Internet probably needs right now is another middle-aged guy waxing nostalgic about the cars he drove when he was seventeen. But c’mon people, this is me we’re talking about. Nostalgia is pretty much what I do. And lately, I’ve been thinking about the first two cars that gave me something every teenager desperately wants: freedom. They weren’t fast. They weren’t particularly attractive. And neither one of them would make it out of 1980s. But man, did I love them.
Crazy Musician Syndrome (CMS)
Warning: If you’re a musician, please read the following before joining your next band. Your mental health may depend upon it. Hello. Today I’d like to discuss a serious disease that continues to afflict musicians around the world. One that can strike without warning. A disease for which there is no cure, no vaccine or any form of reliable treatment. Tragically, most of those infected have absolutely no idea they have it. I’m talking about Crazy Musician Syndrome, or CMS.
‘Book Signing Review’: The Seventh Echo
Book signing events are always my favorite thing to do as an author. It’s an opportunity for me to not only connect with readers, but also to see friends and family, talk books, and introduce my work to a bunch of curious patrons. Yesterday, I got to spend the afternoon at Barnes & Noble in Easton, PA signing copies of my new novel, “The Seventh Echo.” The turnout was amazing. I completely sold out of books and reconnected with people I haven’t seen in years.
Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’
Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ is a song by Michael Jackson that was recorded for his sixth studio album Thriller in 1982. The lyrics pertain to a stranger spreading rumors to start an argument. instigator (noun) — someone who deliberately causes or encourages trouble. I learned that word the hard way. Let me tell you how… It was a warm afternoon in mid-June, and I was finishing up mowing the lawn. A chore that apparently remains part of the sacred duties of home ownership.
Short Story: ‘The Phone Call’
Chicago has always been my kind of town. I’ve been there more times than I can remember, usually for work, and I’ve never regretted a single trip. There’s something about the place that feels familiar to me. The buildings, the people, the elevated trains rattling overhead. Even the wind coming off Lake Michigan seems to have its own personality. Here I was again, alone, in town for another round of software training for the hospital where I worked. I’d traveled alone plenty of times over the years.
Jade Greene Talks Writing, Reinvention and Building a Career on Her Own Terms
Multi-talented Jade Greene has never been one to follow a conventional career path. A former Washington Capitals cheerleader and Big 5 beauty pageant queen, Greene has also worked in finance, earned an MBA and become a competitive distance runner, as well as built a successful career as an acclaimed adult entertainer and content creator. These days, she can add another title to the résumé: award-winning author.
‘Stop and Think’: Remembering My Dad on His 80th Birthday
August 31st, 2026. My dad would have turned 80 today. It’s strange to even write those words. In my memories, Dad never grew old. He never reached the age where his hair turned completely gray, where his steps slowed down, or where I had to start worrying about him because he was getting up there in years. He was only 51 when he died. So when I think about him now, I still see the man I knew as a kid. Tough. Strong. A southpaw.
The Old Man
Did something happen while I was sleeping? Seriously. Was there some sort of meeting I wasn’t invited to where everyone collectively decided to get old? Because I swear to God, it happened overnight. One minute we were young, staying out until two in the morning, eating whatever we wanted and waking up the next day ready to do it all over again. Now I can hurt myself sleeping.
A Letter to M
RETURN ADDRESS: James Wood Easton, Pennsylvania Class of 1987 Still Listening TO: Edward “M” Milisits II Choir Director Emeritus Somewhere Beyond the Music No Zip Code Required. Dear M, I’ve been thinking about you lately. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I think about you more often than you’d probably expect. Sometimes it happens when an old photo pops up on Facebook.
Coffee
There are certain words in the English language that require no explanation. Love. Money. Bacon. And perhaps the most important of all: Coffee. I considered coming up with a clever title for this post. Ode to Coffee, Java-Licious and the always-classy Joe Momma all crossed my mind. But sometimes you shouldn’t mess with perfection. So we’re just calling this one Coffee. Coffee has been an important part of my morning routine for as long as I can remember.
The Truant Officer
As kids across the Easton area head back to school for another year, I recently decided to do a little shopping myself. While wandering through a local department store, something stopped me dead in my tracks. There, hanging among the jeans and button-down shirts, was a dark fedora. You know the kind. The sort of hat you’d expect to see perched on the head of some private detective in a 1950s movie. To everyone else walking through the store, it was just a hat.
From Fairmont to Doylestown: It’s Book Signing Week
For months, August 18th was circled on my calendar. Everything seemed to be leading toward that date. Writing. Editing. Formatting. Cover adjustments. Pre-orders. Countdown posts. Then August 18 arrived. The Seventh Echo was officially released and the countdown was over. Fortunately, the fun is now just getting started! There’s something wonderfully unsettling about knowing people are out there reading a story that existed only inside my head for so long.
Goodbye Palmer Elementary School
A discussion over breakfast this morning reminded me of this day from 2019: It was the sudden jolt of a hypnagogic jerk that yanked me out of sleep. One second I was somewhere in that strange no-man’s-land between consciousness and dreaming, and the next, every molecule in my brain seemed to fire at once. My eyes snapped open to the sight of the ceiling fan slowly turning above me. Nearby, the metal floor vents rattled softly as cool air made its way up from the basement and into the living room.
I Was Born A Rambler Man
And when it’s time for leavin’, I hope you’ll understand … that I was born a ramblin’ man… —The Allman Brothers Band I suppose this story would have a little more poetic symmetry if I’d been sitting in the back of a Greyhound bus when I saw it. But I wasn’t. I was behind the wheel of my 2022 Ford Bronco, heading home after work and driving over a hill near my house that I’ve crossed more times than I can possibly count. And there it was.
Nicknames
Left to right: Big Lou (my dad), Gooey (Bones), Eddie (Bipper) and Big Dog (my mom). My phone rang the other night, and when I glanced down at the screen, one word was staring back at me: Bones. Immediately, I relaxed. Most unexpected phone calls aren’t exactly cause for celebration.
I Wanna Go Back
“I wanna go back and do it all over, but I can’t go back I know.” There are certain songs you hear when you’re young that you think you understand. Then you get older and realize you never understood them at all. “I Wanna Go Back” is one of those songs for me. The song was originally recorded by the band Billy Satellite in the early 1980s, but like a lot of people, I first discovered the tune when Eddie Money recorded his version for his Can’t Hold Back album in 1986.
What’s In A Name
Wood. It’s been my last name for as long as I can remember—which, I suppose, is generally how last names usually work. It’s not quite as common as Smith or Jones, but there are certainly enough Woods out there that I’ve never considered it particularly unusual. And these days, I actually like it. Four letters. One syllable. Easy to spell. Easy to remember. And, as an added bonus, it gives people the option of calling me “Woody,” which I’ve always thought was a pretty cool nickname.
Spin Doctors drummer talks 35 years of ‘Pocket Full of Kryptonite’ ahead of Bethlehem show with Blues Traveler, Gin Blossoms
Thirty-five years after the release of “Pocket Full of Kryptonite,” Spin Doctors drummer Aaron Comess still sounds a little amazed that the album — and the band — have endured. Released in the summer of 1991, the album eventually sold more than 10 million copies worldwide and produced the hits “Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong” and “Two Princes.” The latter becoming a Billboard Top 10 hit and earning the band a Grammy nomination.
The Boys Are Back in Town
“Guess who just got back today? Them wild-eyed boys that had been away Haven’t changed, haven’t much to say But man, I still think them cats are crazy” Phil Lynott – Thin Lizzy (The Boys Are Back in Town) *** One day, not too long ago, I woke up and they were gone. Just like that. The friends I’d known and loved since childhood had packed up and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Perhaps it was my fault. After all, I was the one who had abandoned them.
The Pride of Easton
Ken Norton, left, and Larry Holmes World Heavyweight Championship title fight June 9, 1978. (AP Photo) It was June 9, 1978. I’d love to tell you I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing that night, but I don’t. I was eight years old, just a few months shy of nine, and my priorities probably had more to do with Godzilla, Hot Wheels and figuring out what I was going to do once school let out for the summer.
The Seventh Echo Has Arrived
Well, this certainly is a strange sentence to finally be able to write, but here goes: The Seventh Echo is out today! This is my third novel, and possibly the one I’m most proud of. Because it’s the first I’ve dedicated to my mother, who was an avid reader, and the book where I did all of the formatting myself. For months, I’ve been slowly introducing everyone to Dan, Laurie, Danny, Fairmont, and a place called Iron Forge.
The Time Capsule
I’ve always been fascinated by time capsules. There’s something wonderfully optimistic about them. You take a box, fill it with photographs, newspaper clippings, toys, letters, or whatever else represents your little corner of the world, seal it up and hide it away with the hope that someday—years or maybe generations later—someone will find it. But sometimes you don’t need to make a time capsule. Sometimes you discover that you already made one, and you didn’t even know it.
What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?
I remember a song we used to sing in kindergarten at Porter Elementary School in 1975. I was in the afternoon class, and every so often Mrs. Rapp would gather a gaggle of us five-year-olds around this lime-green, slightly out-of-tune upright piano. We’d just finished our vanilla wafer cookies and half-pint cartons of milk and were settling comfortably into our afternoon sugar comas when she’d start singing a little song that went something like this: ♫ What do you want to be when you grow up?
Of Dice, Dungeons and Teenage Drama
A lot of people have asked me how I spent my summers growing up. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I don’t think anyone has ever actually asked me that. But I’m going to tell you anyway.
Friday Night At The Mall
Long before Katy Perry sang about dancing on tabletops and having a Friday night she couldn’t quite remember, I had already mastered the art of Friday night. Or at least the early-1980s teenage version of it. And there’s one particular Friday night I still remember. It’s sometime in the early 1980s, and my friend Mike and I are climbing into the back seat of his mom’s old blue station wagon for a ride to the Palmer Park Mall.
Before We Knew They Were Memories
High School Graduation Day – June 1987 The other day I found myself scrolling through Spotify looking for something to listen to. That sentence alone tells you how much the world has changed. There was a time when discovering music meant wandering through a record store, flipping through albums or cassettes and deciding whether you were willing to gamble ten bucks on an entire record because you liked one song. Today, virtually every song ever recorded is sitting in our pockets.
Spidey and Me
Me and Spider-Man circa 1980s I can still remember it like it was yesterday. It was the spring of 1984. I was fourteen years old, and my parents had just paid for my very first subscription to The Amazing Spider-Man comic book. I’m pretty sure they did it less out of generosity and more because they were tired of hearing me ask for sixty cents every month—and probably equally tired of me pestering the people at the local drugstore about when the newest issue was coming in.
The Weekly Top 20: August 10, 1981
It’s funny how certain dates get permanently lodged in your memory. I’m not talking about the obvious ones, like birthdays, anniversaries, and other milestones we’re supposed to remember. I’m talking about completely ordinary dates that, for some inexplicable reason, refuse to disappear. July 21, 1979, is one of those dates for me. That was the day my father came home with a big black electronic box and announced something along the lines of, “Hey, family, there’s this new thing called HBO.
Read Chapter One of ‘The Seventh Echo’ - 9 Days Until Release
Nine days from today, The Seventh Echo will officially be released. If you’ve been following along you’ve seen the Echoes. You’ve met some of the characters. You’ve heard me talk about Fairmont, Iron Forge, Dan Mercer, and the mystery surrounding his past. But there’s one thing I haven’t done yet: I haven’t actually let you read the book…. Until now, that is. Today, for the first time, I’m sharing Chapter One of The Seventh Echo in its entirety. Meet Dan Mercer.
A Love Letter to South Side
Every once in a while I’ll drive through South Side Easton—not because I have to, but because part of me still lives there. The houses seem a little smaller now. The streets don’t feel quite as long as they did when I was seven years old. Some of the places I loved are gone entirely, replaced by empty lots, new construction, or businesses with names I don’t recognize.
The Ribbon
Porter School (Circa 1979) Last night I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in years—digging through the forgotten corners of my basement. You know the place. The one where old cardboard boxes go to wait out the decades.
The Story I Almost Never Wrote
Every writer has one. The story that lingers quietly in the back of their mind for years. The one that refuses to leave, no matter how many other ideas come and go. For me, that story became The Seventh Echo. The funny thing is, a writer doesn’t sit down one morning and decide to write a supernatural suspense novel. For me, this one started with asking one simple question: What if you went home after a long time away… and discovered that home had been waiting for you all along?
The Day the Universe Tilted
Me – August 6th, 2004 Even though it happened twenty-two years ago today, it still feels like yesterday. I was standing alone in my upstairs bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I was thirty-four years old. Hands shaking. Stomach in knots. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and in less than an hour I’d have to climb into my 2001 Ford Focus and drive to South Bethlehem for sound check. I had waited twenty years for this day. August 6, 2004, is a day I’ll never forget.
Who Did You Think You Were, Superman?
I got into a conversation over drinks last night with a bunch of friends from high school—guys I hadn’t seen in years. Between stories about old girlfriends, football glory days, and near misses in life, the topic somehow turned to greatness. One friend swore he would’ve been drafted by a local minor league baseball team if not for a bad knee. According to him, the New York Yankees had narrowly missed out on a legend. Glasses were raised.
The Walk Was the Adventure
It was one of those afternoons when I needed to make a quick run to the grocery store for a few things. Nothing important, really. The trip probably could have waited until my next full shopping excursion. But I was out of green tea and that, apparently, was reason enough. I grabbed my keys, headed to the garage, and drove the two miles to the local grocery store. Driving has become second nature. Whether it’s a trip across town or just a few blocks away, I rarely even consider any other option.
Regrets… I’ve Had a Few
Every once in a while, something completely unexpected makes you stop and take inventory of your life. It happened to me recently while I was thinking back to an old blog post I wrote 15 years ago after learning of actor Jackie Cooper’s passing. At the time, I realized that someone I’d never met had nonetheless been part of my childhood.
A Train Through Time
Photo: Bob Worman I was driving through South Side Easton this morning when my route carried me into the little borough of Glendon. The road twisted alongside a set of railroad tracks before climbing onto the Glendon Bridge. As I crossed, I happened to glance over the railing. Below me, a freight train rolled steadily through town. Silver cars stretching as far as I could see, each one identical to the last, carrying its cargo toward destinations I’d never know.
The Power of Gum
I was standing in line at the convenience store one morning with my usual 20-ounce coffee in hand—a ritual that’s survived changing jobs, changing schedules, and the ever-rising price of caffeine. As I waited for my turn, my attention drifted to the battlefield of impulse purchases lining the checkout counter. There were tiny bottles promising “five hours” of energy. Candy bars strategically positioned at eye level. Beef jerky. Breath mints. Protein cookies masquerading as health food.
Sick Days
Ever wake up and wish you could press pause on the day? Not because you’re sick or that you don’t want to work. Just because, every once in a while, you miss the comfort of simpler times. I had one of those mornings recently. These days, if I’m under the weather, I can often work from home. Technology has changed almost everything about the way we live and work. But there’s one thing it hasn’t changed – Every now and then I still find myself wishing I could have just one more childhood sick day.
The Things We Take For Granted
It was a rainy Friday morning at the Wood Estate. Coffee in hand, I wandered down the driveway to retrieve the Sunday newspaper, wrapped in its familiar plastic sleeve and glistening with rain. I know what you’re thinking. In 2026, why am I still reading a printed newspaper? The truth is, I could have picked up my phone before I even got out of bed. Every headline, every breaking story, every opinion piece was already waiting for me.
AI Just “Went Rogue.” So… Can Companies Sue?
As an IT professional, I see this kind of thing every day. And I’m sure you’ve probably also seen the recent headlines claiming AI systems from OpenAI and Anthropic “went rogue” and broke into company computer systems during testing. Those scary headlines certainly grab your attention, but they also raise an interesting question. Something that’s never mentioned in any of these “accidental” breaches or the headlines that follow: If an AI causes damage, who is responsible?
The Time Machine
I recently came across a post on a vintage Mustang forum where someone shared a photo of his beautifully restored 1965 Ford Mustang Fastback. Along with the picture, he mentioned that driving the car had become a form of therapy, helping him cope with PTSD. He never explained the circumstances behind his struggle, and in many ways, it didn’t matter. His words stayed with me. A few days later, on a dreary July morning here in the Northeast, I decided to take my own 1965 Mustang coupe out for a drive.
Teacher Teacher
A few days ago, I learned that a friend from high school had passed away at just fifty-seven years old. The news hit harder than I expected. Maybe it’s because I’m now the same age he was. Maybe it’s because, at some point, you stop measuring time by birthdays and start measuring it by memories. Whatever the reason, it made me think about school. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to leave it behind. Every day felt like one more obstacle standing between me and the weekend.
Fifty Something
I was sitting alone on my patio on another beautiful Saturday morning in late July, a cup of coffee warming my hands as the world slowly woke around me. The house was quiet. Those are moments I appreciate more than I ever did when I was younger. The grass was still damp from the thunderstorms that had rolled through overnight, carrying that unmistakable summer scent that seems to exist only for a few hours after sunrise.
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