I feel bad not updating this thing, but between novel and collection the writing section of my brain is full. So I figured I’d share a chunk of those words. So, here’s a small section that will probably make no sense out of context but I feel gives at least an impression of what will be the tone of the book. I guess you should know: John is our main character, Maggie is his girl who has recently left; Hephaestus is his new boss/father figure at a company that is more a philosophy than a business. Oh, and there’s a small subplot about brandy, you can ignore that I suppose. I guess that catches you up, enjoy if you want:

The labels have been acting out of character lately. The aspirin bottle speaks of reincarnation, the newspapers hold pictures of still bodies where smiling people should have been. He sits alone at his table, and stares, mostly, in a vague attempt to process what, on the surface, is un-processable. He reads about small mammals devouring a wedding where a restaurant review should exist. He concentrates to see words shifting, and gives up; sighing, he closes the paper and misses Maggie. He taps his foot and waits for the office to open, or to be tired enough to sleep. John wonders how much a bottle of brandy costs as he turns the television on. This was a moment of some small import. John was a fan of television, previously; John the younger, on the other hand, had never seen it before:
A frenetic blur of pictures and animal screech as the TV fades from black to alive. John falls back into his couch, sick, wishing for sleep or some other reprieve from this thing. Parallel to the chaos a smiling woman holds a box of drugs, smiling in front a pastoral scene. He sighs again, wiping invisible things from his eyes, a woman leaves the screen and a show comes back with flashing lights and screaming horrors. He turns it off, wishing Maggie was there. He decides, as is his way, to walk, to the hills, to find new paths and vistas. He will walk with an angle compassed wide enough to fit his misery, the geography of being alone.
And so he walks, with head tilted up, biting back tears. His new eyes had yet to take in the stars. Now, that they are full of the light of the bygone, the potential of what came before, his knees fail him to the dirt. He sees them dance in ways of destruction and creation, in swirling eddies of all things left behind, and yet to be. He stops twice to sit on grass, wet with dew, and glowing vibrant green. This is the world as promised by Hephaestus. This, he knows, is the truth of what must be done. A cosmos of light against the backdrop of dark, the perception of dark, the totality eclipsed by the smaller motions of life and the universe. This, he sees through watering eyes, is the love that was left when the world was how it used to be.
He bites back more tears as he lets himself think about showing this to Maggie. And again the pattern shifts from streaking white to swirling eddies of yellows and orange. The moon seems softly laid upon the ribbon work of the night air, the stars frenetic in their energy. John is soaked in them, taken with them, in sync with all their machinations and memories. Under those stars he knows that he is truly forgiven for what has come before. In those stars he knows his past is but a shadow trailing in the fading light. In those stars he walks to the hills; and in this revelry moves towards the site of his fracture, to the hill, and to the shadows at its apex. John is walking to the place of dead things, as known before, so it will be again.