In November of 2004, I didn’t write a novel. This is a series of excerpts from all the novels I didn’t write that month.

My gran used to say, “There’s only darkness until you open your eyes, but never stare directly at the sun.” But when I combined those two pieces of advice, I noticed that it was brighter staring at the sun with my eyes closed than keeping my eyes open after bedtime.

After visiting gran, my oldest brother would tell me that she was a senile old vampire. I would swear I didn’t believe him, but each time I saw gran, I would try to examine her papery skin and puzzle over the cloudy centres of her eyes without her noticing. My mother told me, after gran died, that gran was careful never to let on that she knew what I was doing.

But that was the memory. The one that triggered my reaction to Jason at the newstand the day before the eclipse. Try explaining that connection to the cops as a man is standing in front of you bleeding from the mouth.