My collection of ninety one short stories, or story-ish prose pieces, called Melancholic Parables, is now published.
It is ironically appropriate that, on my book's publication date, the weather is rainy, and I am depressed. My current blues haven't got anything to do with publishing the book—they never really have a definable cause—but you can't release a book with "melancholic" right in the title and then go skipping through flowery meadows on your release date.
…is what I think my brain is telling me.
The book has its own page on this website: right here. If you're in the mood to buy it, you'll find links to the ebook on sites like Kobo, Barnes & Noble, and Apple Books.
If you, like me, love a deadtree book more, the paperback is available on Amazon.
If you ever antiself—which is to say, if you ever shrink from the succour of human company, joining the absurd kith of the lonesome, ill at ease to be known of, melancholic and unsuited to selving—then perhaps you will find the parables in this book to rhyme with you, or you with them.