I Still Sleep with the Light On

I still sleep with the light on. NO, it's not a metaphor.

It's not the dark that scares me. The blackness on the underside of my eyelids is worse than a moonless Halloween night an infinitely longer. What I'm afraid of is something much, much, worse. Because what I'm afraid of, is myself--what I might think up in the emptiness of a night with out the sun, or stars, or light bulbs. 

Spoiler Alert! I'm not exactly normal. Normal people don't write books about skeletons. Beautiful but horrible creatures. Sometimes they are nothing more than bags of brightly cover bones, all held together with bits of weak and stringy flesh. 

Or something. 

These are those books. These are my fears in blood and ink.

Normal people, don't write horror, thriller, paranormal--weird books for Christmas, or anytime.

Even when you think I have written a normal book--you should probably know, I don't write normal books. So, fair warning for all my  other books that aren't listed here. Just because they aren't about skeletons, doesn't mean they aren't about skeletons. 

Normal isn't breathing the life into villains with every bump in the night. Normal isn't terrible claws in darkened corners. Normal is never going to be me--but I wouldn't have much of a career if I was normal and I am totally OK with that.

This is one of those things you never think you will admit on the internet...where it will live forever and ever. But I had been thinking about for the passed couple of nights when I was sleeping alone and then last night...last night I sat in front of an open graphics editor and made the sign. The sign that says, I am not afraid of the dark. 

A lie that is very much the truth.