And then in my dream, I beheld the year 2020, and it came forth out of the sea as a great dragon with five heads and seven scrolls. And the heads of the beasts roared their five thoughts upon the seven scrolls, till the seas raced to the mountains, the mountains fled to the hills and the hills scampered unto the very ends of the earth and hid under the bed.

And the first scroll declared an ending unto ‘Quest of the Five Clans’. And in my dream I smiled, for this had been my first series, and the covers were pleasing unto me, if sales modest. And lo! This prophet knelt and vowed to the Throne that he would not begin another book; nay and nope, not till that great devouring Empire TBR was brought low as the meekest valley. But in the night came the Tempter unto me, whispering words of a comic supernatural YA thing, and I did yield, and began a new book: ‘Letters from the Well’.

And the second scroll was opened, and it behold! It was Jim Butcher’s legendary, mythical, imaginary ‘Peace Talks’. And in my dream I groused unto the Lord: “wherefore is this no longer pleasing unto us as before?” And the Lord spoke in a still and quiet voice that said ‘You’ve moved on. Harry hasn’t. Figure it out’.

And then oh, my soul and best beloved, I beheld a scarlet woman who whispered in the ear of the third dragon and said ‘wherefore have we not made an audio book?’ and her words were sweet, and the third dragon yielded. And behold: from the sky came cool online voice-folk to recite ‘Strawberry Fair’. And verily it was a blast, for to listen to strangers narrating words you writ at the kitchen table is the VIP elevator unto the seventh heaven itself.

And as the seas roared and waved unceasing, and the waves wore and waxed seething, there came a pale rider carrying pox; and it was not good. And we were sent home from work to fret and pace for lack of cubicle. And each man and woman hid in fox burrow and desert cave, lamenting unto the nations through Zoom and VPN. No more to hug or handshake. And for the multitude this was great sorrow and wailing, no joke.

And then in my dream I beheld the seas boil and rise as a hot tub when entered unto by a fat man. And forth from the terrible abyss known as TECH came a host of coding angels; SQL, Javascript, HTML, C# and some API protocol. And these creatures did plague this your Prophet till he whimpered with deadlines and impossible tasks. And this tribulation continued for seven times seven times seven years, seemingly.

Meanwhile, the fourth dragon head on the left read Butcher’s “Battle Ground” and shrugged. And all the earth trembled with the shrug, till stars shook from the sky to fall twinkling into the abyss, where there sounded much lamenting and a cry unto the Earth to cut the shit.

And then in my dream a Caesar fell, and many thousands perished. And a year was passed in sorrow and wonder and strange longing for things now passed, with much bickering between the dragon heads of plot and narrative structure. And it was done.

And then this prophet awoke; and lo! He sat at the kitchen table in the light of sunrise. And 2020 had passed as a dream. And fresh coffee was made and he set himself to finish ‘Letters from the Well’ as prophesied the 2nd dragon head on the left. Or the 3rd on the right. One of those.

And he saw that it was good.

And so it is written, so I now write: let the peace of morning shine through each dreamer’s window, each to their own heart’s ease. And from each heart to all hearts. So let it be. In 2021, at least.