Times are desperate.
I’m not talking about politics, your bank account or my backyard, even.
I’m talking about something else I care desperately about: good stories. Specifically, made-up ones told through words.
But I’m worried. I’m not happy with what I’m finding. Every novel I come across seems to require GPS and an invite-only fan forum to decode, or is a whiny diary entry set in New York or L.A. Maybe the novel really is officially dead.