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.
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.