Was out for my (hopefully soon to be reinstated) daily walk when it occurred to me that we’re likely to see a giant wave of post-apocalyptic, dystopian fiction. That is, you know, if we don’t start living it ourselves (and kill off the genre entirely.)

The dystopian stories from now on are likely to be a bit more realistic—oh, not in the action; I mean, a whole culture of couch potatoes isn’t exactly exciting, but in the feelings that such invisible danger and isolation engenders.

The best post-apocalyptic literature in the past—books like Earth Abides and Alas, Babylon—were able to evoke feelings of doom and hope which felt real.  

It’s brisk, windy day, a bit of hail, and a cold sprinkle. Dark clouds blowing overhead, a herd of twenty deer running across my path, the river flowing by, high and noisy, and it occurred to me that nature doesn’t give a damn about what happens to the human race.

If nothing else, this has made me much more introspective and reflective. So far, I’ve been spewing these ‘deep’ thoughts on Facebook, but I think I’m going to turn to this blog more often. I suspect I’ll be back to daily blog posts, probably more than one.

Anyway, maybe because I’m not writing fiction, I find myself doing these little essays instead. So here they are.

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