K. Marvin Bruce

Autumn is the ideal time for writers.  At least in the opinion of this struggling author.  The mood is just right for inspiration.  Even the mention of Halloween brings delightfully creepy images to mind, and other doleful delicacies. This September, however, finds me in a tangle of non-fiction.  Hoping against hope to divine the correct alchemy to get creative writing published, I’ve been putting efforts toward my non-fiction tome.  It’s not a fall book.  It’s a quotidian book. Like all my work, it is built from scratch.  Watching the word count at the bottom of the page is like trying to watch and hour hand move on a clock with continuous motion.  I feel like I’ve said so much already, but the industry standard “book length” hasn’t yet been reached. Meanwhile, I’m itching, aching even, to write my usual gloomy autumnal fiction. How long is a book supposed to be?  There’s no right answer to that, of course.  A few...

I’ve started to feel it in the air.  Just a tiny bit.  Mostly when I’m outside in the early morning.  While we’re still getting days in the 90’s around here, I sense the slow approach of fall.  A moodiness comes over me that is melancholy and beautiful all at the same time. Ever since I was a child I’ve felt this.  My breath catches in my throat and a strange, sad rapture fills my chest.  Things look a little darker, more foreboding.  This is not violence, but perhaps the distant threat of it.  It’s subtle, poignant, and absolutely exquisite. I’ve stood outside and breathed deeply in the autumn and fleetingly thought that should I die at that moment there would be not the least regret.  It’s a little scary, yes, like Halloween, but not like a slasher movie.  This is the atmosphere I try to capture in many of my stories. Each person is different, I know.  There are those who enjoy the warmth and brightness of summer....