Every novel I’ve written has started as a NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month) project, but this […]
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From Joe's writing

Butchie prowled slowly through the grass, sniffing the wind. A cold front was coming, and it was going to rain tonight, but what he was hunting was far more elusive than weather; he was stalking death itself, had followed the trail halfway across town, through yards and across parks and highways, to this darkened road in the middle of the city.

— Memories of a Ghost, chapter 24