To live in a world meant for other people

On Aug 3, I am featured in an author interview in  Waking Writer . Check it out! My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

...after the cherry blossoms fade and the petals fall to the ground, the allure remains, like a dusting of snow in the springtime, a final, memorable curtain call before the lights go out. My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

Another closing to a magical season in Tokyo, where the cherry blossoms dress up the city, a delicate and engaging gateway to springtime.     My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

More photos of Sakura along Kanda River in the Nishwaseda section of Tokyo, under a cloudy sky, just a day or two from full blossom. My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

Sakura in the twilight, a few days from peak. A magical time in Tokyo. My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

Sakura - night time in Tokyo. Still a few days away from full-blossom. Anticipation... My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

Because it is beautiful...along the Kanda River in the Nishiwaseda section of Tokyo, just outside my door. My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

A few days each year cherry blossoms fall from distant trees to float among the columns, to litter the surface with a softer edge, a more tenuous future. They are a reminder that one day these patterns too shall die and be replaced with something else. Meanwhile, below the surface, life changes unalterably. Syncopated Rhythm - James Halat My books on Amazon | Subscribe to this site | Contact me  

In many ways, Japan gets things exactly right. I moved here by accident a long time ago, and the country still surprises me. Before coming here, I accepted a lot of what I thought I knew about the world, only to discover that our man-made borders are tall and strong and act as walls to block the flow of general information. Of course, the internet helps to break down these walls, but so much information is buried in the avalanche we call social media, and the loudest voices seem to determine what we absorb. We simply can't sift through the rest. Time is just not on our side. But we do have a choice. The choice to look twice at things that come our way. Ask ourselves if what is in front of us makes sense or not. Ask ourselves if a different view might not explain things better. No matter where I live, I feel that I live in a world meant for other people. Truth be told, I feel no more foreign in Japan than I did in New York, New Jersey, Philadelphia, Los Angeles. I am always on t

The water is murky. By the looks of it without direct sunlight since several years before we land on the moon. Diffraction patterns cover the surface. They emanate from circles, intersections of concrete, water, air, and light. The patterns display symmetries. They reflect the steady hum of traffic above. I will see these patterns many times, but I will lose the hum of traffic, because I start to listen to music during my commutes. It helps keep my little madman from torturing me while my arms are pinned to my sides. The mood of the patterns changes with the music. A hand shackles nature’s gentle flow in a sunless room filled with stale air, and creates something alive and beautiful. A few days each year cherry blossoms fall from distant trees to float among the columns, to litter the surface with a softer edge, a more tenuous future. They are a reminder that one day these patterns too shall die and be replaced with something else. Meanwhile, below the surface, life changes unalte

Sometimes you find great art here Sometimes you find it in more unexpected places Places that don't exist anymore By someone you haven't seen in a while Read,  write,  paint,  pull out the camera,  take a look,  take a chance My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

Photos from the River Resort near Pakse, Laos along the Mekong River. It was built by a good friend of mine, designed by a Japanese architect with an eye for the environment. A great success, I think. Astonishing beauty. And a great place to write down words. Infinity Pool looking out onto the river A quiet moment (that's not me) A tree that seems to cast a long shadow   Rice fields anchor the resort   An afternoon cocktail (following a morning cocktail) River sunset My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

Once the stormy years of his early struggles were over, Dr. Juvenal Urbino had followed a set routine and achieved a respectability and prestige that had no equal in the province. He arose at the crack of dawn, when he began to take his secret medicines: potassium bromide to raise his spirits, salicylates for the ache in his bones when it rained, ergosterol drops for vertigo, belladonna for sound sleep. He took something every hour, always in secret, because in his long life as a doctor and teacher he had always opposed prescribing palliatives for old age: it was easier for him to bear other people’s pains than his own. In his pocket he always carried a little pad of camphor that he inhaled deeply when no one was watching to calm his fear of so many medicines mixed together. - Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

I discover this book after reading an article about it online a while back. At the time, I am aware of autism but don't really know what to think about it. I have no direct contact with any person with autism, or even with anyone who raises it as a personal topic. But now, after reading this book, I realize that for all the detachment I feel in my life, detachment that serves as a recurring theme in my writing, not once do I consider the idea of physical detachment.  My own detachment, of course, is emotional. But the boy in this book describes a normal 13 year-old boy, one who lives his life inside a captive shell, a shell that does not allow him to convey  even his most basic thoughts . Given all the times I try but fail to express myself in matters of a deeply  personal nature,  with the  concomitant storm of frustration, I wonder how my experience compares to what this boy must go through on a daily basis. Through arduous effort and a spirit I can only aspire to, he manage

She turned the light on and said, “Look at the baby.” My fears were so powerful I couldn't move to look at the center of the bed. She said again, “Look at the baby.” I didn't hear sadness in her voice, and that helped me to break the bonds of terror. The baby was no longer in the center of the bed. At first I thought he had moved. But after closer investigation I found that I was lying on my stomach with my arm bent at a right angle. Under the tent of blanket, which was poled by my elbow and forearm, the baby slept touching my side. Mother whispered, “See, you don't have to think about doing the right thing. If you're for the right thing, then you do it without thinking.” - Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

Syncopated Rhythm AnnLoretta’s Review 5 Star Review on Goodreads Jan 31, 2016 The most razor-sharp prose I’ve read in years. While I loved James Halat’s other two books, I wasn’t prepared for the art and beauty of Syncopated Rhythm. I work my way through the big books, the prize-listed books, the 600-page books, we all do, looking for a scintilla of the humanity Mr. Halat has produced in this (as far as I can tell) all-but-unknown work. The reader is given a main character unflinchingly self-aware, deeply perceptive of those around him, and descriptions of the world he moves through – textures, sounds, tastes, light, darkness – that are so perfect that I want more. But more would be too much. Somehow Mr. Halat knew that. I can’t recommend this book strongly enough, especially to a reader who may be running as fast as she or he can to read every book that comes along trying to find something real, something true. A character who lives his own life on his own term

It is hard for me to talk about my writing in an objective way. I suppose that's true for most writers. So I look to outside comments to get a sense of how my writing comes across to my readers. My books are recently published, but one common thread emerging from the comments I have received so far is that books about gay characters in situations that have to do with being gay apparently strike a chord with my non-gay readers. The experience of living in a world meant for other people transcends the borders society has drawn. I would like to thank my readers for sharing their thoughtful and encouraging comments, and I would like to share them with you here: "As a parent, it makes you consider the brave journey of our rainbow children/young adults. To help understand their inner struggle to normalize their feelings against a backdrop of the potential for unrealistic parental expectation." "Your book had great meaning to me. My stepson is gay and h

My friends ignore me. Can't say that I blame them. I write books that they think nobody wants to read. And maybe they're right. Who wants to read about living in a world meant for other people? Are my friends right? To tell you the truth, most of my friends haven't read my stuff. Only a few have ventured in. Three, to be precise. And of the three, they all like what they have read and encourage me to keep writing. My other friends continue to ignore me. Not a word is spoken about my books. Why am I telling you this? Because, with so many books out there, it is a daunting task to find an audience for mine. Even among my friends. I need to stand out somehow just to get readers to see that I have actually written books. And that's where you come in. I know. "You're gay. I'm not sure that I could be interested in or connect with what you write," you say.  And to that I say, "It doesn't matter. My books are ava

Click on picture to enlarge To fly the waters In search of a connection Words touch us Words keep us soaring Indie authors My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

The Story of Teddy and Eddie Diane's Review 5 Star Review on Goodreads Jan 16, 2016 This is So Good! It took a while for me to adjust to the way the author wove his way through the narrator's life as he revisited memories. I hated what happened to Michael... Why couldn't it have been Elaine?  I think I figured out why christmas is never capitalized throughout the story.  I loved Rosalie and wanted to throttle Mr. Santini.  Teddy and Eddie need to spend some time soaking up love and acceptance from Rosalie and Anthony.  College really was a time of self-discovery and this author delved into it superbly!  I'm looking forward to reading more by James Halat. I'm certain he has more to share and such a unique way of doing so! My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me