One of our strangest traditions here at the Piker Press, next to muttering "stupid squid" under our breaths and pantsing staffers Ed and Josh, is Mes de los Muertos. Every November, we dress up the Press in black and wallow in death -- horror stories, philosophical pieces, remembrances of dearly departed loved ones, chilling tales, silly farces. We take the Latin American holiday of Dia de los Muertos and let the calacas laugh all month long.
Partly because Death is such an enormous topic, and can be approached in so many ways, we don't have room in one issue to look at all its faces.
Partly because November is, liturgically, a good month for contemplating death.
Partly because most of our staff writers also indulge in NaNoWriMo, which leaves them dead to the world for the entire month.
Well. Those were the reasons I told the rest of the staff. But mostly we do Mes de los Muertos for an entire month because I love skeletons.