Dark stories these days, and I'm happier than I have ever been.

I dunno. I think I see the world out of the corner of my eye and through greasy windowpanes and under blood-soaked bandaids, over the hill and to your right, sir. There are saints and sinners lurking under pretty haircuts and suit jackets. Watch out for the guy with the scythe.

One of my critiquers this weekend says that often things don't come together in my stories until they fall apart, which he didn't mean at all negatively. I think.