"For us, our house is not insentient matter—it has a heart, and a soul, and eyes to see us with; and approvals, and solicitudes, and deep sympathies; it is of us, and we are in its confidence, and live in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never come home from an absence that its face does not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome—and we can not enter it unmoved."
—Mark Twain, 1896
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Saturday, October 17, 2009

Percolations



While I am finishing up with The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, I am in anticipation of three new arrivals. Two, in the genre of my preferred choice: murderous intrigue. Where The Last Dickens is an historical fiction revolving around Charles Dickens’ unfinished novel (The Mystery of Edwin Drood); The Meaning of Night is the confession of a murder written in the first person. Both books take place in Victorian England.


Dark Harvest, on the other hand, is all about things that go bump in the night, and fits in quite snugly for this time of year. It’s about a boy who rises from the cornfields every Halloween, butcher knife in hand…… in a small Midwestern American town in 1963.

I am so looking forward to the thrill of these rides!





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