About Me

 The Homestretch blog is curated by author Jim Yackel. He is the writer of the the Wayfarers Stories, which is fiction book series plotted around the biblical End-Times available in Kindle and paperback on Amazon. These tales of warning, revelation, dreams, visions, family, and perhaps a touch of romance are staged in upstate New York and center around the old Erie Canal and its towpath.

Jim enjoys fishing, music, radio as a means of communication, and watching world events that could portend the fulfillment of Biblical prophecy.



Popular posts from this blog

Sarah and the Crap Hole of a World

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She was affronted and a nerve was struck. The tuning fork of her anger hummed as she snapped a drag, inhaled deeply, and then argued “he wanted nothing to do with me until I got a letter from him just after he died! I wanted to be close to him, but he was always busy with False Walrus. He was a great dad when I was little, but once the band became his living his bass guitar was more important than me and mom, and that’s why she divorced him, you know?” Her eyes were narrowed as she took another drag, and her inhale was like a wet pan being set on a hot stove burner. “He abandoned us” she fumed before her quick, forceful exhale sounded as though she was blowing out a match. While a cloud of smoke hovered between them, she continued with “but I loved him and now I know that he loved me too and it’s too late! He’s home now and I’m stuck in this crap hole of a world trying to survive without him or mom while some evil nutjob who works for ALL is stalking me and blew my house up because he
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Stille Nacht and Little Drummer Boy

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  We join Sarah as she makes her way through Fayetteville, New York: Modest ranch houses lined North Burdick Street across from the shopping center. Several of them stood in defiance of Reconstruction Solstice and were splendidly decorated with Christmas lights. The postage stamp front yards of the homes featured nativity scenes and Santa in a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer. A fifteen-foot-tall pine tree in one yard was strung with red and green lights and featured a lighted silver and gold star at the top that managed to stay attached during the gusts of wind. The owner of another house had been the sound tech for False Walrus on their final tour. On a flatbed trailer with a plywood backing and roof he had set up a sound system with two speaker columns, each comprised of a 15” woofer, a 12” mid-range, and a horn for high-end. From an amplifier and mixing console in the living room he pushed music out at 1,600 watts while the lights arrayed around the outside of the home blinked in sy
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Quick-Tempered, Moody, and Taste Like an Ashtray

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  To assure herself of her desirability outside of the superlatives of one man’s description, she uttered “I’m blond-haired, blue-eyed, and small-boned. I’m pretty, and I’m physically fit from being a runner. I’m smart and witty, and I’m very loving. I’ve been told that I’m sexy. I’m a good singer, too!” After snapping another drag, she continued her self-interview with “why can’t I find a good guy to love me? Well, I know of one and I’ve been dreaming about him for years, but I guess it’s too late now, being the End Times and all.” “It’s not the End Times, it’s the Reconstruction” came the answer through the speaker in a quad-copter drone that lowered to a spot five feet in front of her, causing her to stop on a dime in sudden, shocked surprise. Its digitized androgynous voice wasn’t finished, and critiqued “you can’t find a partner because you’re quick-tempered, moody, and taste like an ashtray. And you act like you’re menstrual every day of the month.” “Lord Jesus, please help me” S
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