The God of Crows

First of all, I'm really excited about the tens of visitors to this blog. Hey, it's getting more traffic than St. Corbinian's Bear, a Curious Entertainment for Catholic Ladies and Gentlemen of Discriminating Tastes, did at first. (See sidebar.)

Some may wonder what I'm up to. (Probably not, but let's pretend.)

While JA is still in editing, I have been hard at work on a sequel, working title, "Departed for a Season." This is how the King James Version describes the devil's retreat after tempting Jesus. A holy man once said something to the effect that, "You will struggle against sins of the flesh until the day you die. Even then you will struggle against them."

A little holy hyperbole, no doubt. I think he was Orthodox.

You never beat temptation. The devil may flee if you resist, but you can bet he'll be back, having only departed for a season.

The definition of an optimist is writing a sequel before the first book is even published. I'm an old Eagle Scout. I want to be prepared for JA sweeping the literary landscape like wildfire. And, in the absence of practicing law, I'm bored. It gives me the opportunity of rapping my cane against the wall and screaming at family members, "Be quiet! I'm working!"

The beginning of the sequel starts something like this.

The chapter title is The God of Crows.

The sun never set on America. 

This was true, but it was also true that the sun never set anywhere. 

A crow flapped beneath a dull orb that hung directly overhead in an eternal noon, shedding an endless twilight on a landscape drained of color. It was never light, nor was it ever dark. The sun - so called by convention, although it had other, private, names  -  shared the sky with no one. 

It was the way the sun preferred things. 

It was that, some whispered, that had caused all the trouble in the beginning.