I am interviewed! On video, no less. Which is always an awkward experiment that I hesitate to punish you with — but there it is, just the same. I assume you’ll forgive me. Just stare into the beard. It makes all things better. Warmer. Fuzzier. Anyway. I talk about all kinds of stuff: traditional publishing versus self-publishing, metaphor, horror, outlining, porn. I round the bases. I cover all the essential elemental elements and essences. Thanks to Joanna Penn of The Creative Penn for having me. If you don’t want to... Read The Rest →
You can find the official WorldCon schedule here. But, if you’re a bonafide bonded-and-licensed Wendigo Hunter and you’re looking for me specifically, well, then, here’s your best bets for tracking me down this upcoming weekend in Chicago: Thursday, 8/30: I arrive in an ornithopter whose wings are formed from the skin of the Mighty Humbaba! Friday, 8/31: “The New Pulp” panel with me, Adam Christopher, and Stephen Blackmoore. Ideally, we’ll be drinking. Or talking about drinking. 10:30am to noon, McCormick. Friday, 8/31: Mockingbird launch and book signing with fellow Angry... Read The Rest →
And here, then, for your... erm, amusement and/or edification, the new "book trailer" for BLACKBIRDS and MOCKINGBIRD. I pulled out the profanity of the book, strung it together into a wall of vulgar gibberish, then I read it aloud. Here it is. I'm so sorry.
Time to wiggle my toes in the waters of Wuzza, Wooza, Wendig? Here’s what’s going on: Sabrina Ogden is one of the nicest and most genuine people I have ever encountered in this life (and likely in any other). She’s also a darling book blogger and an all-around wonderful human being. At present, Sabrina needs surgery on her jaw that health insurance will not pay for, and so a bunch of authors have joined an anthology to help her get what she needs. I’m in there, along with folks like... Read The Rest →
My father was a farmer, not a foodie. He ate and drank normal things most of the time, of course — steak a favorite, maybe a Beck’s beer. Or at night, a blackberry brandy. Or a blended Scotch like Dewar’s. But between the margins lived very curious choices of food. He’d eat whole cloves of garlic, raw. Munch, munch, munch. The resultant breath potent enough to punch a hole through a vampire’s breastbone and turn his heart to strongly-scented ash. Horseradish could be grated onto anything. He’d also eat that... Read The Rest →