There’s something about October that invites a slower kind of breath. The leaves don’t fall; they release. The light doesn’t fade; it softens. And in that hush, I find myself returning to the novel, not as its author, but as its witness.
This season, the story feels different. More tender. More earned.

The emotional arc of the book now mirrors the trees outside my window; what once burned bright now curls inward, asking to be held. If you’ve read it, you know the moment I'm referring to. That is a turning point. That quiet grief.

Promotions are coming, but they’ll be gentle. A $0.99 offering on Amazon for the e-book, timed with the waning moon from October 9th to October 13th. No urgency. Just an invitation to sit with the story as the world slows down.

Reader rituals matter more than metrics. I’ve been refining blurbs, bookmarks, and even ad copy to make them feel like a whisper rather than a shout. If you stumble across it, I want it to feel like fate.

If you’ve read the book, I’d love to know: What line stayed with you when the leaves began to turn? What moment felt like a mirror?

And if you haven’t yet, October is a good time to begin. The ember waits.