Years ago, I submitted a story called "Monochrome" to an anthology with the premise that suddenly all the color was leached out of the world and writers were asked to explore how that would affect them. "Monochrome" wasn't a great story and it didn't make the cut but I think of that story often when I see the apocalyptic chiaroscuro sunsets we get here in the Pacific Northwest.
Say what you will about the pollution in Los Angeles, it made for some extraordinary, Technicolor sunsets. Here we get sunsets in black and white--gorgeous dark blacks and whites like some heavenly cinematographer was shooting the world in black and white. It's another kind of beauty but it's taken some getting used to.
And I want to write a story about it.
Say what you will about the pollution in Los Angeles, it made for some extraordinary, Technicolor sunsets. Here we get sunsets in black and white--gorgeous dark blacks and whites like some heavenly cinematographer was shooting the world in black and white. It's another kind of beauty but it's taken some getting used to.
