A couple things

I was made on the street today, which is very unusual but not unheard of. It's Berkeley after all—a bookish college town where one actually has to work at not being a Local Character. Even more unusual: the fellow seemed excited to find out that we live in the same neighborhood. Mostly people see me move into town and start worrying about bedbugs. Sometimes in the night I hear cars peeling out of driveways and when I look outside, every house on the block is in flames. So that was exciting. (But not as exciting as all the "lightning" setting local buildings on fire.)

Nearly a year after its release, Lovecraft Unbound is still getting reviews. One, forthcoming, notes that my story "That of Which We Speak When We Speak of the Unspeakable" "has one of the best last lines I’ve seen in ages"— a sentiment which imago1 shares. And now, for your FREE READING pleasure, that line:

A shoggoth burned and shriveled in retreat, but then a few more came.

WRRRRRIITING! GEEN-YUS! THAUNK YAUH!