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It’s that time of year again, the tang of apple cider tastes like home on my lips, long walks in the woods energize and chilly nights become an adventure when a throw blanket comes outside with me on the porch at night.

I grew up on a farm in the Midwest where harvest and autumn was not just a season, but also a state of mind. It was the last hurrah before the winter ice and snow put the world to sleep, very much akin to the beloved fairy tale Sleeping Beauty. I liked to imagine the Winter Crone putting her spell on the forests, fields and meadows that surrounded us, the white-noise hush that almost pounds your ears, as the ground freezes and the geese fly away again until the earth is freed to awaken again.

It’s a brilliant time to cook hearty food, set out the feather duvet and light a fire in the fireplace to read and dream in front of. Although I live in the Deep South now and have for a long time, I miss this season the most of all. It’s similar to my writing in many ways. Darkness and light, feast or famine, fear and bliss.

The advice for writing is varied and some of it is terrific and some should be totally dismissed, but the one thing that I surely do is I write what I wish to read. I grew up on a steady diet of Jackson, Poe, DuMaurier and Bronte. The library in our house had a few titles, while the county library filled in the gaps.

The gothic leanings of these passionate and talented writers hooked me hard. I too once lived in a historic house on a hill and more often than not it felt malevolent and frightening. I saw and heard things that could not be explained away with any semblance of logic. For a time I thought I had an overactive imagination, but recently other people have stepped forward to share their memories, and now I know it wasn’t just me.

I don’t always write paranormal or supernatural stories, but when I do memories of my childhood easily fill in the blanks, because I’ve spent my life trying to understand the mysterious world that still is a powerful influence on my experience.

These strange events keep happening when I least expect them. Sometimes it’s a whiff of pipe smoke when I am in bed or an overwhelming, floral perfume when there are no flowers, other times it’s a man whistling in the dark and the screech of feral cats just afterwards in the alley behind my house, but when I go to see…there’s no one there.

If you enjoy atmospheric writing that takes you away from your daily life. You will love my work. Amazon Author Page Thanks in advance for your support and much love to The Literati my subscribers and book reading family.

Beware the Jabberwocky!

Until next time, find your Peace, Love, Hustle then Read or Write. Xox Bibiana


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