Year: 2018 (page 25 of 32)

Let’s talk about Brussels sprouts.

And yes, it’s Brussels sprouts, not Brussel, because Brussel isn’t a thing, and Brussels is a real place in Belgium, and this is important, historically. Because it was in Brussels that, in 1815, an occultist named Amandine Olivier first conjured these tiny demon cabbages into existence. Amandine got drunk one night on a rare Belgian liqueur called Le Pipi du Diable, and then he cast a 9th-circle summoning spell which brought a woody stalk of sprouts — once used as Baphomet’s walking stick — over through the fontanelle separating our world and the Hell-world, and on this stalk were the first Brussels sprouts.

That’s important to know, because for a very long time, I thought Brussels sprouts were bullshit. I assumed, quite correctly, that they were little demon cabbages. I mean, I was right. They are. They’re like if you took a full-size cabbage, with all its implicit cabbageness, and then you used some kind of magic(k) to compress that cabbageness into something roughly the size of a golf ball. For a long time I had assumed that their best use was to freeze them and slingshot them at your enemies as they besieged your home. I also assumed that if you broke one open, angry fart ghosts would be released to wreak havoc on the world of the living.

But I have since learned that Brussels sprouts are not bullshit.

Well, not always. Most people don’t know how to cook them. I don’t know exactly why, but in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, people didn’t realize that sometimes the best way to treat a vegetable was to SCOURGE IT WITH FLAME, roasting those motherfuckers until they’re crispy and delicious. Instead people steamed vegetables, or worse, boiled them, and it is this latter preparation that plagued many of us, I assume, in our childhoods. Asparagus is a lovely spear of deliciousness, except when you boil it, in which case it becomes less a spear and more a fallen log long gone rotten in the woods. Veggies in this form become mushy, sad things — almost as if they have been pre-chewed in the mouth of a mournful widow.

Thing is, you can still roast Brussels sprouts and they can still turn out a hard, angry, bitter result. They can still emerge from your FIRE BOX still maintaining their demonic veneer. And so, many people — after long having learned to love difficult vegetables — still hold onto the belief that they do not, and will not, like Brussels sprouts.

Not in a box.

Not with a fox.

Not in some socks.

Not with the pox.

And I am here to change that.

And you will thank me.

You will lay a garland of laurels upon my brow, for I will be the champion who has rehabilitated the demon cabbages and given you a new FACE SENSATION inside your FACE. You will like it so much, you will try to send me money, and I will say nay, do not send me money, but buy my books, for I am a humble word-herder, nay, a simple and unassuming penmonkey seeking readers in this dark and tangled world.

Let us begin.

First, you need Brussels sprouts.

I suspect this is already where you resist.

DO NOT RESIST. Go. Get them. If you want the best, wait until the season where your local farmer’s market has them.

You want to buy ones that are not discolored and surly. They should be green and firm, not mushy or brown. They should also not have mouths and eyes. If they have mouths and eyes, the eggs have hatched, and now they are not merely sprouts, but rather, sproutlings, and they will bite off the tips of your fingers and thumbs because that is what they like most to eat.

Also, smaller sprouts are better.

Buy them.

Bring them home.

Show them your knife.

It is vital you show them the knife. You must hold the knife to them and let them know what’s coming. These are demon cabbages. Eggs from the devil’s own cloaca. They must be shown that humans control them — you have summoned them, and only the blade can truly tame them.

Now, cut off any stemmy bits. Up to a quarter inch into the sprout.

Then peel the outer leaves. The outer leaves are the exoskeleton. They are often tough and unpleasant and you must be rid of them. Get to the tender, soft leaf-meats within. One layer is usually good, but if they’re big-ass sprouts, maybe another layer down is necessary.

If the sprouts are small, bisect them.

If they’re larger — say, nearer to a golf ball size — then quarter them.

Scream at them as you cut them. Curse at them.

Then, let them sit and think about the horrors they have wrought.

Now, get your HELL BOX up to temperature.

I go 425, but if your oven runs cooler, go 450.

As the COALS OF HELL begin to fire, it’s time to make our sauce —

Whisk together:

4TB of real maple syrup

3TB of fish sauce

a blob of minced garlic

a bloop of minced ginger

the juice of half a lemon

the juice of half an orange

bit of salt

bit of pepper

four tears from a sad yeti

a bad dream

a good dream

and ten whispered promises that you will break

Already I feel you resisting.

It’s the fish sauce, I know. You’re thinking, why the fuck am I taking delicious maple syrup and mixing it with heinous fish sauce, and you’re right, fish sauce is heinous, if you go by the smell. The smell of fish sauce is like brined corpse-feet. Have you ever seen how they make it? Don’t. Don’t look. Spoiler warning: it’s dead fish. Left to get worse than dead fish already are. Left to break down into liquids. And then they just tap that briny death-keg and — ploomp — there’s your fish sauce. And I know, I know, Brussels sprouts are already bullshit, and now I’m asking you to put rotten fish slurry in there, too?

I am.

Your trust will be rewarded.

(Real-talk: fish sauce also kicks up soup. Chicken noodle soup is amazing with even one tablespoon of fish sauce into the pot. Failing your ability to use and possess fish sauce, you can instead use Worcestershire sauce. Which, ha ha ha sucker, is also fish sauce. But seriously: if you want to take nearly any soup or stew and kick it up a bit with an umami-bomb, use a little fish sauce and use a little sherry vinegar.)

Put this whisked concoction into a small saucepan.

BACK TO THE SPROUTS.

Get them in a bowl. Mix them with olive oil. Get them lubey, like they’re fooled into thinking they’re going to a vegetable orgy. Then, once sufficiently lubed, get them onto a cookie sheet onto some non-stick foil. Sprinkle salt over them.

Roast them for 20-30 minutes.

You want them brown and crispy, but not black and coal-like.

While the demon cabbages are being transformed by the fiery alchemy of your HELL BOX, get that saucepan on the stove, and turn it onto medium heat, and you want to reduce the sauce down — like, what, halfway? I dunno. You don’t want it loose and liquidy — you want it to become syrupy, like the maple syrup once was. Enough to coat the back of a spoon, but not so much that it, well, burns into some kind of napalm tar.

When the sprouts are out of the oven, get them in that bowl.

Then pour your reduced sauce over them.

Mixy mixy mix.

Then shove them into the BONE CAVE that is your MOUTH.

I mean, let them cool down first? Don’t just cram molten-hot Brussels sprouts in there, that’s fucked up, what’s wrong with you.

But once cool, eat them.

And then send me your infinite gratitude.

Oh! Here’s the other thing:

That sauce is also good on other roasted veggies — particularly other cruciferous veggies like broccoli. (They call these vegetables “cruciferous” because they crucified Jesus. It’s true, read your Bibles, kids.) If you want to mix other veggies in with the sprouts, you can: onions in there? Sure. Bacon in there? Sure. (Bacon is too a vegetable, shut up.) Note though that this does not require bacon — bacon, which I love, is also a cheat. You can stick bacon in a lot of terrible things and make them better. No, this recipe is good without it, and it is not required.

But it is nice.

(Last thought: this sauce also does well in fried rice.)

(And you can make it into fried breakfast rice with an egg overtop and Spam in there and okay fine bacon too, just shut up and make it.)

Go eat your vegetables.

And buy my books, thank you.

The epic first novel in the Dark Arts series.

On the eve of World War Two, Nazi sorcerers come gunning for Cade Martin but kill his family instead. His one path of vengeance is to become an apprentice of The Midnight Front — the Allies’ top-secret magickal warfare program — and become a sorcerer himself.

Unsure who will kill him first — his allies, his enemies, or the demons he has to use to wield magick — Cade fights his way through occupied Europe and enemy lines. But he learns too late the true price of revenge will be more terrible than just the loss of his soul, and that there’s no task harder than doing good with a power born of ultimate evil.

* * *

Don’t Be Afraid to Think Big

You’d think I’d have internalized this notion before trying to write a years-spanning World War II epic fantasy. But it wasn’t until I tried to craft something “epic” that I saw how hard it was.

In this case it meant trusting my instincts with regard to my supporting cast. There are sections of the novel that are unrelated to the main character’s mission. During development I worried that these might be seen as digressions. Now I think my multiple point-of-view characters are part of what gives the novel its “epic” quality — a broadened perspective on the war.

When I was younger and less confident, I might’ve cut all those secondary narratives. Instead, I chose to treat this book as an ensemble piece. Weaving all of its tales into a tapestry of causality made them all stronger and provided a foundation for my larger story universe.

Research Pays Off When You Least Expect It

One reason I’d never before tried to write historical fiction was that I’d been daunted by the degree of research it would entail. Though I felt as if I had a reasonable grasp of the World War II period in Europe, I knew that readers of historical fiction are quite demanding when it comes to accuracy. So I dug in and did my homework.

I spent over a year reading both online and in libraries. I visited the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C., and the National World War II Museum in New Orleans.

The great thing about researching a subject in such depth is that it’s like soaking your brain in smart juice. It works its way into your gray matter’s fatty squiggles and comes out when you least expect it.

Several such moments of serendipity graced my work on The Midnight Front. The most notable instance came late in the writing of the book.

While trying to write a pivotal sequence, I realized that Omaha Beach was, for many reasons, the wrong setting for the action I needed to depict. Then I remembered reading about Pointe du Hoc — a D-Day objective less often depicted but in some ways even more dramatic because of what the 2nd Ranger Battalion accomplished there. Once I transplanted my battle sequence to that location, one of the key sequences in my book came into focus.

Marinate your brain in facts and they’ll flavor your story in amazing ways.

In a Thriller, You’ve Got to Keep the Pressure On—Always

One note I received from my agent was to make sure that my heroes felt the pressure of the war at all times. Keep the heat on. Never let your characters feel free of peril. Always have a looming threat, an impending deadline, a ticking clock, a bundle of dynamite with a burning fuse.

This is one of the tricks to making certain the middle of a thriller doesn’t bog down. If you need to deliver exposition, have it happen while characters are under fire, on the run, or bleeding from an open wound. If you can’t find a way to do that, at least have them challenged by a conflict that can ruin some other aspect of their lives.

A scene in which no one has anything to lose is one for which a reader has no reason to care.

You Can Humanize Villains Without Forgiving Them

I wanted Kein Engel, the villain of The Midnight Front, to be as fully realized as the hero. I wanted his motives, if considered separately from his methods, to seem almost reasonable.

Consequently, I decided his plot was to save the world. Of course, what one person calls salvation another might call destruction. So I had Kein blame humanity’s ills on its embrace of technology before we as a species were ready to control such gifts. He argues that the wonders of science are a fast track to danger, environmental disaster, and economic slavery.

What the heroes can’t know in 1942 is that Kein is right—at least with regard to the threat posed by developing technologies faster than we can understand how those inventions might hurt the world. Where Kein goes off the rails, of course, is how he proposes to solve it. But this is why he can’t see himself as a bad guy. He’s willing to do terrible things to save the day … but what hero isn’t?

Ultimately, though his motives might be justifiable his actions are monstrous. We are judged by what we do, not by what we intend. Making Kein’s motive reasonable doesn’t absolve his evil actions. I was willing to give one of his minions a path toward future redemption, but I never let myself forget that Kein himself is a villain.

Adjectives Do Not an Epic Make

The first draft of The Midnight Front weighed in at around 200,000 words, and, according to my agent Lucienne Diver, there wasn’t “a single unmodified noun” to be found anywhere within its pages. My friend fellow author Kirsten Beyer observed, “You never wrote like this before.” This prompted her to ask, “So why would you start now?”

In my desire to craft something “epic,” I went overboard with adjectives (and, to a lesser degree, adverbs). This observation struck me as odd, since I’d thought I’d learned many years and many books earlier to use modifiers with care. But with my mind focused on other goals (“It must feel huge! Grand! Sweeping and majestic!”), I lost my focus on the basics.

With the help of a text-analysis application, I flagged every single adjective in my manuscript. During my rewrite, I cut more than 8,000 adjectives and nearly 4,000 adverbs. That one action improved my sentence structures, clarified my meanings, and strengthened my prose.

I am happy to report that I do not seem to have repeated this error in the writing of the series’ second book, The Iron Codex.

I have, no doubt, committed all-new errors.

* * *

David Mack is the award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels of science fiction, fantasy, and adventure, including the Star Trek Destiny and Cold Equations trilogies. Mack’s writing credits span several media, including television (for episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), film, short fiction, and comic books. His new novel The Midnight Front is available now from Tor Books. Excerpt here.

David Mack: Website | Twitter

The Midnight Front: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Indiebound | Powell’s

New macro photo there.

Is it good? No. Do I like it? Yes.

I’m noodling actually on getting a new macro lens — the MP-E 65mm, would let me do macros up to 5x (!) instead of 1x magnification, which is huge, but would also require greater technique, stability, light, and patience. There’s probably a metaphor in there for something but it’s Monday and it’s early and I’m not quite ready to snatch it, yet. Either way, be nice to up my macro game a wee bit.

Also, I’m now at a point where I don’t really have any deadlines? I mean, I do — but they’re a good ways off? And I’ve only got to write one book this year?

So, with that in mind, I went on a small adventure on Twitter.

Begin here.

Please enjoy.

Otherwise, I’m off to Austin at the end of the week to give a workshop to the wonderful ARWA, so that should be a blast and a half, because I’ll talk about characters and themes and, I dunno what else, probably Star Wars, and maybe spiders. Maybe it’ll just be eight hours on the Spiders of Star Wars. You don’t know. I’m unpredictable like that. Details here!

And that’s it.

Have a nice week, frandos!

This is a great Twitter account.

You should go to it — the Magic Realism Bot — and therein you’ll find an endless array of story prompts. I’ve no idea if they’re actually written by a person with intention or somehow cobbled together by a wise and weird neural network (I’d guess the former, but who knows?), but either way, I’d say use ’em.

Pick a prompt.

Write a story based on it.

Length: ~1000 words

Due by: Friday, March 23rd, noon EST

Write at your online space.

And link back so we can read it.

Now, a quick bit — I get emails sometimes where people say to me, “Hey, wait, what does that last part mean? Post to my online space and give a link?” It means you need to find somewhere online to host your work. Be that Tumblr, or WordPress, or some ancient Livejournal instance, you will need to find a place to post your words publicly so that you can then, after posting, grab a link and drop it into the comments below. K? K.

Go write.

A couple weeks ago, Mike Ryan put out a funny post at Uproxx that said he dared anyone to explain the Return of the Jedi “rescue Han Solo” plan that happens in the first act of the film.

He threw down the nerd gauntlet.

The Star Wars nerd gauntlet.

And so, here, on the day that The Last Jedi is released in digital video, I am picking up that gauntlet, and I am — wait, what do you do with a thrown gauntlet anyway? Is that even the right terminology? A thrown gauntlet? A gauntlet is an armored glove, so I guess it’s someone throwing their glove to the ground, but man, you shouldn’t throw that away, dear duelist — now your tender hand is exposed, like the tendon of Achilles.

Plus, this is Star Wars, where the chopping-of-hands is all-too-common.

Whatever.

Point is, who would I be if I did not defend this (erm, admittedly absurd) plan?

So, here’s the thing, as a kid, I never really questioned what was going on there. That’s not to say it’s plainly writ or sensibly told, and in fact is more chalk-uppable to the fact that I was, well, a kid. Things just make sense to you when you’re a kid because you have the critical thinking skills of a sea cucumber. It looked cool, and it ended with Luke Skywalker flipping off a desert diving board and then lightsabering some dudes into a giant tentacled butthole. It was great.  Logic? Who gives a shit about logic? Pssh.

And of course, Star Wars cares very little about rigorous logic. The books sometimes do, but the films? Nyeaaah, not so much. We’re not exactly talking about a methodical devotion to science or physics or any kind of common sense. Hyperspace moves at the speed of narrative. TIE fighters shriek like banshees despite the void of space. Droids are basically enslaved sentient beings but everybody’s like, “No no, it’s cool, we’re their makers, so basically they’re into it? I guess? Shut up.” The point of Star Wars isn’t exactly to turn your brain off, but it is to turn your heart on, and let that organ be the shepherd that guides you through all the stars and all the wars.

Just the same, nerd gauntlet.

So, here’s my explanation, loose and flabby as it may be, of the Return of the Jedi heist on Jabba’s palace — because, ultimately, that’s what it is: a heist.

Think of it as an Ocean’s Eleven slash Leverage style caper.

Before we begin, this is what you need to understand about this Skywalker Six heist — it’s not just a single-serving plan, but rather, a series of failsafe sub-plans that culminate in the kind of extraction and result you’d get if you were all sitting around a roleplaying game table trying to get your characters to perform any complicated task (robbing a bank, invading a country, scheduling and hosting a galactic orgy). It’s less a “finely-tuned machine” of a plan and more the “Millennium Falcon” plan — it’s a ship, once designed for a purpose and since re-purposed with spare parts and swaddling tape and lots and lots of hope. Probably some midichlorians. That’s right, the Falcon is a Jedi. You know it. I know it. Artoo and the Falcon are basically the masterminds behind the entire Star Wars series — and you can learn more in my upcoming novel, Artoo and the Falcon, coming out from Del Rey Star Wars in May, 2042.

Anyway.

Let’s do this.

Fresh out of the gate:

It’s Lando.

Lando has to go in first. He’s their scout. He hides in plain sight as a guard in the palace, and he’s just chilling there. One might ask, how does he get a job there, but you have to take for granted that he’s one of the galaxy’s greatest swindlers and con artists — if anybody can con his way into a job at the den of iniquity belonging to a greasy butt-slug, well, it’s Lando Motherfucking Calrissian. Plus, Jabba’s gang doesn’t seem to be particularly discerning in terms of its employment practices, do they? From blubbery rancor keepers to murderous Twi’lek dancers to crummy bounty hunters, Jabba keeps a pretty cruddy crew around. I don’t get the sense he’s really in charge of hiring practices, either. Whatever shitty LinkedIn variant they use, it isn’t working. Point being, Lando is there.

So, Lando knows what’s up.

He’s on the scene.

And he probably knows that Jabba needs a translator.

Because Jabba destroyed his last translator.

Enter the droids.

The droids are utility players. Luke offers them up as a “gift,” knowing that his threat against Jabba won’t work — Jabba’s not a pushover, he’s not going to be like, “Whoa, what, a couple of droids? For Han Solo? FUCKING SWEET. Boshuuuuda, motherfuckers, I hit the lottery. Somebody get Solo down off the wall. Dengar, you do it. Don’t give me that look, Dengar, you diaper-wearing scum, just do what I say or you’ll be rancor chum.”

And you can already see what Luke is doing here with this plan — he’s basically stacking the deck with his best players. He’s putting into play a number of critical assets, all hidden in plain sight, all able to be on-scene when the shit goes down. At any point, the plan could work and they could get Solo, and if that happens, it doesn’t end with barbecued Hutt-slug, but in place are also a series of failsafes — if the plan foils at Point A, they move to Plan B, and if that fails, then Plan C, and on and on, until, well, crispy strangled Hutt.

(Now, here you say: it seems foolish to waste their critical assets on this. Couldn’t they get someone else to do it? But to imagine that is to ignore the theme ever-present in Star Wars: a small group of characters eschewing the larger strategy to save their friends. Is it smart to rush into the Death Star to save Leia? Or wise to leave your Jedi training to help your pals on Cloud City? Han goes against the New Republic to help free Kashyyyk, and Leia goes against the New Republic to begin the Resistance — this is their whole schtick. Again, it’s a series of movies that is far more interested in following its heart rather than its head. Their devotion to one another is what stirs hope and what literally changes the galaxy time and time again.)

Okay! So, the droids get their roles. Artoo is on the barge, but also, he’s Artoo, master of wandering around and going wherever the fuck he wants to go (seriously, that’s kind of his entire modus operandi, isn’t it?), and Threepio is right on the dais with Jabba.

Enter Leia and Chewie.

Leia, dressed as now-dead bounty hunter Boushh.

Boushh, who needs a — wait for it — translator.

(Meaning, Threepio is essential to this part.)

She gives up Chewie, threatens everyone with a fucking hand grenade, Jabba is like HO HO HO I LIKE THE BALLS ON THIS MASKED WEIRDO, and everything is happy. Now Leia-as-Boushh sneakily sneaks to Solo, makes a lot of noise getting him down, unfreezes him and —

HO HO HO NAY WANNA WANGA

*the mad cackle of a monkey-lizard*

So, at this point, I think there was a very real chance she could’ve gotten away with it. I suspect it was intended that maybe, just maybe, she was going to go in, get Solo, and get the fuck out again — I mean, the exit to the palace is right there. You go up some stairs and the door is like, a hundred yards away. And here you might say, well, what’s the deal with Chewie and the droids? Fuck ’em? Remember, though: Lando is in the house. Wouldn’t take much for Lando to free Chewie in the chaos, and the droids are pretty crafty themselves — well, okay, Artoo is crafty. Threepio would basically just say ohhhh in a panicked, mournful voice as he spun around in a circle for an hour, but Artoo can save both their aluminum asses, as he does repeatedly.

But, it fails.

The curtain falls and somehow, Jabba has hidden himself in like a… a breakfast nook or whatever? (You wanna try to explain something, explain that: how exactly does Jabba and his entire cabal hide in what essentially looks like a walk-in closet?)

So, Leia’s now on Hutt-Slayer duty, and Solo is with Chewie (meaning Chewie works as a good support system for the blind smuggler when he’s released), and now it’s time for Luke to show up, all bad-ass and, let’s be clear, a little bit Dark Sidey.

(I mean, real talk: his first move is to Force Choke some Pig Dudes.)

From here on out, it’s Skywalker, the big gun, showing up and knowing he’s going to need his whole team for total extraction. And here the question might be, well, why doesn’t Luke just go in by himself right at the beginning? He could’ve, but that would leave him vulnerable at several steps along the way — getting Solo down and out is a task all unto itself. He needs assets in play. And the palace is stacked now with friendly faces. All of whom come into play at various points of the plan’s execution.

The rancor is an unexpected speedbump — though I figure he should’ve known, given Lando being in there, but maybe Lando forgot to mention that. Maybe Lando was in love with the rancor? Maybe they got up to some sexy times? We just don’t know.

Luke keeps his (new) lightsaber off him, expecting capture — and he keeps it in Artoo, knowing that Artoo has the Force and would clearly weave the narrative in such a way to ensure that Skywalker had access to his shiny new laser sword.

From there, he’s got that saber out, Lando’s on the scene, Artoo is going to free Leia, Leia is going to slay that gropey slime-worm, and so on and so forth. The players play their parts. They bring death to the Hutt’s regime. Huzzah and hooray.

So, to me, that’s it — that’s the plan. A kind of clumsy, “get everyone in and then work to get everyone out” heist, a heist that would work poorly with only one of them in there, but that works much better with several assets in play to support redundancies and failsafes.

Now, if someone wants to explain to me the plot of Attack of the Clones…

* * *

DAMN FINE STORY: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative

What do Luke Skywalker, John McClane, and a lonely dog on Ho’okipa Beach have in common? Simply put, we care about them.

Great storytelling is making readers care about your characters, the choices they make, and what happens to them. It’s making your audience feel the tension and emotion of a situation right alongside your protagonist. And to tell a damn fine story, you need to understand why and how that caring happens.

Whether you’re writing a novel, screenplay, video game, or comic, this funny and informative guide is chock-full of examples about the art and craft of storytelling–and how to write a damn fine story of your own.

Out now!

Indiebound | Amazon | B&N

We’re stuck in a repeated cycle of snow-thaw-snow-thaw, and today we’re getting… *checks weather* more snow? Whatever. Goddamnit, weather, get your shit together oh ha ha ha you can’t because the climate is drunk on our fumes.

ANYWHO, so what’s up everyone?

Here’s what’s up with me, real quick —

I’m back from ECCC — recap here.

I finished the third draft of WANDERERS, mostly just a quick polish to get the rest of my flavor-text snidbits in there at the fore of each of the 90-some chapters. The book is now (*coughs into hand*) 277,000 words, so it is pretty darn close to a bonafide bison bludgeoner of a book. It doesn’t come out for a WHOLE YEAR, basically, which is really weird for me? Because here I am, with… a huge expanse of 2018 where No Books Of Mine Come Out. It is the dark times. It’s arguably how a writer’s publishing schedule is supposed to look, but mine is usually more in the “one book every 4-5 months” department. So, we’re crossing over into weird territory for me. I also have only one book to write across the rest of this year, too.

This strange feeling tastes of both freedom and fear.

Now, I await edits on Vultures, the next (and last) Miriam Black book.

What else?

I have a cool comics thing I cannot yet announce, but I’m writing it this week.

My upcoming schedule is as follows:

March 24th, giving a Workshop for the Austin RWA — still a few slots open

April 7th, 4pm, Doylestown Bookshop, in Doylestown, PA — I’ll be joining Kevin Hearne and Fran Wilde on the release of Kevin’s latest and last Iron Druid book.

April 20-22, RavenCon in Williamsburg, VA

May 23-27th, Phoenix Comic Fest in Phoenix, AZ

And that’s it, folks.

That’s the jam.

Enjoy your week.

May you hit Monday in the face with a book.

Because then Monday is down and whimpering, and you still have a book.

FUCK MONDAY AND YAY BOOKS