Fiction John Patrick Weiss Fiction John Patrick Weiss

Not Too Late

A short literary story about two estranged brothers, forgiveness, and finding the courage to make peace before it’s too late.

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Essay John Patrick Weiss Essay John Patrick Weiss

The Resurrected Eye

A retired police chief rediscovers his instinct for noticing through street photography, transforming an old survival skill into a new way of seeing art, empathy, and everyday human stories.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Bears Are Winning

An essay exploring rogue AI, Lake Tahoe's burglar bears, and the enduring importance of creativity, resilience, and human agency.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Beautiful Trap of an Immaculate Life

What happens after you finally arrive? A reflective essay on retirement, perfection, aging, and the quiet anxiety of achieving the life you always wanted.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Long Way Home

From years spent working Fourth of July parades as a police chief to celebrating with family in retirement, this personal essay reflects on patriotism, service, freedom, and the memories that matter most.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Quiet Choreography of Us

Sometimes the most beautiful things in life are unseen. A stranger's kindness. A familiar smile. A welcoming gesture that asks nothing in return. Through a series of black-and-white street photographs, this essay reflects on the quiet acts of grace that bind us together and reminds us that no one should be left sitting alone at life's grand ballroom.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

Every Leaving Is a Loss and a Possibility

One summer afternoon, my father took me to a cemetery and shared a lesson I wouldn't fully understand until years later. Through memories of family, loss, and the example of a good man, this essay reflects on the ways grief changes us. And how every leaving carries the possibility of becoming someone new.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

You Can’t Perfume a Text Message

In this age of digital screens and technological modernity, there are still vestiges of the old world. Alabaster sculptors and book lovers and people writing with fountain pens. A dwindling community holding onto the old ways.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

An Elegy for a Lost Life

Memories of our family’s chickens, the soul’s freedom, Mark Helprin’s novel “Elegy in Blue,” leaving Substack, childhood birthdays, and an elegy for a lost life.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

To Pierce the Veil of Selfish Consciousness

A bickering couple in San Francisco, pretending to be someone else at a cartoonist convention, Iris Murdoch on our “flat, relentless egos,” Pico Iyer on monastic retreats, and the peace of becoming yourself.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

Letters of Hope

A short story about residents of a small town receiving mysterious yet uplifting letters, but then they stop. The story originally appeared in John Patrick Weiss’s 2024 book of short stories, “The Morning Fox.”

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Place Where the Light Enters You

An essay about my abscessed tooth, my old dog’s dental surgery, pain and the wisdom of C. S. Lewis, Kent Haruf’s blessed McPheron brothers, the poet Rumi on pain, the suffering of Voltaire’s Candide, and a healing text from an old friend.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

She Was Beautiful

Elderly women, Akiko Busch and Virginia Woolf on the invisibility of older women, and why older women glow in the dark.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

The Ones Worth Suffering For

I drove to an old church in the town where I grew up, to visit an old friend whose mind was slipping into the fog of memory loss. And while he remembered me, he mostly repeated old memories. And on the drive home the thought, if we didn’t care, there’d be no sting of loss.

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John Patrick Weiss John Patrick Weiss

A Way of Keeping Yourself Alive

A dying grandmother, a train ride in the park, the importance of caring to stay alive inside, and how the time you give to others is never wasted.

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