The fog of it all.
The nights are cold and the days are warm. And so it goes, in this desert climate, that sometimes the night is so cold and the day so warm that the area finds itself shrouded in heavy fog. Last week, we were treated to such an event, one with the added benefit of a light snow. To say a hike up in the hills was eerie is—perhaps—a bit of an understatement. From above, the basin looked as though I wandered the outskirts of Silent Hill.
It’s easy to imagine ghosts in an environment like this, and that is what I did, for a spell. Came up with the barest bones of an interesting story during my jaunt and I suspect I will get around to writing the tale sometime next year. I have too many tales to tell.
But some of them are wrapping up and seeking the love of an editor that sees their worth. That’s all you can hope for when you’ve finished any piece, I suppose. Although, I guess I could self-publish something if I so desired. Maybe later.
The day I took these pictures, I finished a short story set during a winter storm. The weather hadn’t inspired me, truthfully, it was just a happy coincidence.
I’ve one more short story to finish before I go back to working on longer projects. And I’ve been reading in preparation. Nothing in particular, just stories that I like and that I feel are well-written. I almost always break in between projects so that I can read. I find that it helps flush out the previous story from the imaginative faculties.
And so, I find myself getting ready to write another tale that takes place in Alton, Illinois. The past, the present, the ugliness of violence and the specter of possession, all rolled into the question of whether or not you really know someone. I have high hopes for this piece, lofty expectations as far as the quality of the writing goes.
As always, whether or not I succeed remains to be seen. Of course, I am my first audience and I am always suspicious of the strengths of a given piece. Regardless of how I feel though, eventually the story will have to make its way before the eyes of others. That’s the real rub.
And so it goes.