"And it blinds you into fear and consuming and fight."

[greygirlbeast]

And here it is November. My fifty-first November. My eighth in New England. The day is chilly, and the sky is a muddy shade of lead. This is death cracking down, winter letting its intentions be known. Autumn is only a shoddy opening act. It's only 57˚F out there, and all the smart-money birds have gone south

Comments

Happy Day After Halloween

[ext_1285666]

Death--remember where you were before you were born?

Anyway, glad Halloween was good. We actually had some trick or treaters. No tricks though.

[greygirlbeast]

I have to admit that I don't know what Vallejo is or who Jo is.

[mickalbrightjr]

Nice. It sounds like a cozy Halloween. I go through the dark thing too. It is very hard. I am intrigued that you do not fall back. I am not sure if that would work for me, though. Don't you still know it's dark regardless of the "when"? And the new novella sounds seriously bitchin.

[everville340]

Given that I don't believe consciousness survives death, this is, for me, fantasy in its purest form, and, indeed, what I'm actually doing is not writing a story about the "afterlife," but about the perception of time in the final seconds of life, as the brain dies.

This sentence is the only reason needed to have pre-ordered a copy. Thank you, it is a welcome thing to see your entries these past weeks.