Something about the fall makes me want to read more mysteries. And write more mysteries. It's true that any time is a good time for a detective novel (I'm currently making my way through Redbreast by Jo Nesbø). And nearly any story I write has a body show up somewhere. Still. The cold, the colors changing, the flora, it's suggestive somehow.
I wonder if we don't still sense the slightly more desperate circumstances that cold weather brings. That somehow it is harder to survive, more dangerous in the coming winter. We can sympathize with the danger faced by the protagonists more readily.
There's also something to be said about cold weather being reading weather. Winter is defined by thick books and steaming tea cups.
The ancient Celts were no strangers to long cold winters. The tradition of story telling was incredibly rich in the culture. They say the Celtic bards dedicated themselves to their craft and could tell a different story every winter night.
If you've read or heard any Celtic myths or lore, you'll know they were not strangers to betrayals, battles, and blood. So, perhaps not so very different from what we spend the winter amusing ourselves with today.
Do you find that you also read seasonally? Or perhaps escape into a sultry summer story in the depths of winter?