I may not exist

Is it a novel or is it a broken poem? I don’t know, all I know is that months of sweat and terror have culminated in completion and it can be foisted on the world soon. What I know for certain is that this is the good time. I feel clean. Started writing something new yesterday. It’s a big story. Sprawling. I’ve had the threads in my mind for most of a year and now I can do it. The title is a problem. These are the three I like:

Taking the Marleybone Coach
Horses and Dogs
Saucy Jack

None of those make sense, but they are what it suggests. Maybe I’ll come up with something better as it evolves.

My world is a scream that echoes into infinity.

Stygiophilia has started getting some Amazon reviews, and they seem to be mostly positive. I take that as a good sign.

I may not exist


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