This blog entry has absolutely nothing to do with writing, so please feel free to ignore. […]
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From Joe's writing

He pushed tentatively against the rocks and dirt surrounding him, marveling as he felt the debris that had been his prison for so long fall way. He pushed again, harder, and felt his crypt give, and the spirit was soaring up through the dead branches and rocks and sediment that had surrounded him in his grave. And there it was; the sun, the glorious sun, beating down upon his fleshless body, filling his void with a raging furnace of heat.

— Memories of a Ghost, chapter 4