Fall and Dark.

November. A time to write outlines and novels as the days die far too soon.

Writing in the dark is all I know how to do. Daylight burns away the divine, the imagination pilot light, with its work and worries and wars.

Leaves fall; light become rare.

Lack of light has always brought me the solitude I need to ignite the furnace of plots and characters and stories; to pop on the stage lights in my mind, in a way. No sense turning them on without darkness.

Could be why writing can be so dark in nature, too, I guess. It gets in.

Darkness. Worth embracing.

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