J. S. Wade
Bio
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Stories (245/0)
A.I. - To Be or Not To Be
In the rapidly developing world of Artificial Intelligence and many tools available to commercial enterprises and individuals, the question of what is ethical and what is deceptive has arisen. As a human writer and creator, this affects me personally, as well as my friends and fellow authors. To be or not to be whether technology will be allowed to intrude into a platform of human creators is the question.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Journal
As It Was
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky, and the Ogre sang to the masses below. His ethereal voice floated through the moonlit sky and entered every house in the village of Trenton. The people knew their master watched over them and revered him, though they didn’t know why.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Fiction
Homecoming. Top Story - March 2023.
Sergeant Roger, a German Shepherd, stared at the starless sky and finished his rawhide strip. He tossed the butt into the grass. The war veteran willed his shaking paw to stop quivering and lifted his leg for one last squirt on the bush before he entered the Veteran of Foreign Wars building. Talking about his service with the K-9 Corps and the war was a catch twenty-two. It helped, but it also hurt. Shepherds tended to withhold how they felt. In the ordinary world, this was a positive, but postwar, the buried trauma had led to a spike in the early deaths of many of his friends and fellow canine soldiers.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Travel Bag
Hole in the World - Eagles ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dust and soot swirled where the twin towers collapsed. Sirens screamed. Oceans of people stared into space; their minds were sucked into a vacuum of shock. Conspiracy theories abounded for who to blame. All I knew was one of the two thousand nine hundred and seventy-seven lives pummeled into the earth was my sweet Rachel. I stared down at my black boots that matched the dark void of my heart where our love for each other had resided.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Fiction
Little Mike’s Dream
Little Mike’s big dream. Character judged, not one’s skin.— Children! Live in love! *** *** *** Martin Luther King Jr. was born on January 15, 1929 as Michael Lewis King Jr. His father, a famous preacher, was Micheal Lewis King Sr. When he was a young child friends and family called the father Big Mike and the son Little Mike.
By J. S. Wadeabout a year ago in Poets
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