Returning to the Elsewhere

It's been eighteen months since Infernal made it's way into print and at that time I promised a new novel by the end of 2015. But that was before my heart attack and subsequent complications. Before the simple biopsy that almost ended my life. Before the mountain of debt that such things incur and the apathy (I hesitate to use the word depression) towards completing any of my projects, writing or otherwise, set in.

It seemed to me, for a very long time, that the road to the Elsewhere--the name my wife gave that place where my muse resides and where, upon entering, Joe simply ceases to exist and T. Joseph takes the wheel, careening madly through twilit streets and avenues like a homicidal motorist bent on wreaking havoc wherever the big dark engine powering this machine of my mind leads--was closed. The NO ENTRY sign was up. My muse was silent, unreachable. Locked miles away behind a blockaded road that hadn't seen service for what to me is an eternity.

And then...

Miraculously, the road opened. I'd almost given up on ever writing another coherent sentence, let alone another novel. I'm not sure exactly when it happened. Or why. But I happened upon that place in my mind that had grown quiet and still and saw the signs were gone. The roadblock removed. And there, on the right (or left if you prefer; direction has no meaning in the Elsewhere) was my muse. Beckoning me in that silky voice that sounds much like my own for me to turn down that road and go for a ride.

Cautiously, ever so cautiously, I did. And oh my, the dark things I saw there. The thrilling, fantastical, and yes, somewhat horrifying delights that await my fingers dance upon the keyboard to bring them to life. That thing I feared was lost forever had only been sleeping, waiting in the background for me to deal with my health and personal issues before speaking to me again. Before whispering in my ear as a lover does, telling me of fictions that may send a shiver of fear up the spine of all who dare read.

If you could hear what I hear...

I won't promise a when. Each and every time I've done so I've disappointed my editor and readers alike. But I will promise to steer down that road more frequently. To see the sights and take note of the oddities. The peculiarities. The horrors.

And you, should you pick up one these inspired sweet dark treats and read it, will not be disappointed.

My arm is extended, my hand open. Take it and follow me if you if you dare.