There’s a bit to cover this update, so I’ll get right to it.
First, I was lucky enough to sit in with 3Men2Souls for another of their podcasts earlier this month. We had a great time trying to figure out how the multiverse theory allows us to blame all possible problems on our friend Nick Brodie, as well as cracking each other up to no end. I don’t think we really discussed anything, but damn was it ever fun. You can find it, and many more of their episodes, here.
Next, The Rifter #64 is now available for pre-order on Palladium Books’ website! My story ‘A Cold Night, Dead Past’ will feature in this issue, and I couldn’t be more excited. Working with the fine folks at Palladium like Wayne Smith, as well as the legendary Kevin Siembedia, is a dream come true. I’ll post another update when the issue ships, but you can order yours now here!
I’ll be attending the Detroit Fanfare convention in Dearborn, MI this weekend (Oct. 26-7), so if you’re in the area send me an email and maybe I’ll see you there! Look for the Palladium Books booth, since I’ll most likely be nearby kissing Siembedia’s feet.
Finally, there’s a few new posts incoming over the next few weeks. I have a lot of work ahead of me and behind me, meaning sporadic updates are the name of the game right now. However, I’m really excited about some of the projects I’m currently working on, and can’t wait to share more of them with you as they develop. For now, I’ll just say that over the next month or so I’m tentatively planning to include:
- An article or articles regarding several shows and events in Toronto I’ve attended recently.
- A Movember marathon chronicling my soon-to-be-shorn beard’s triumphant return (after a moustachioed detour).
- Some music review/interviews with a couple of local Toronto artists
- Maybe even more…
part two here.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Jaima shifted slightly against her chair, feeling the whisper of fur across her neck. The heavy pelt she had draped over her shoulders warded off both the evening’s chill and the worst of Macabe’s melodramatic performance. Looking around, she could see that most of the people sharing her fire were considerably more entranced with the old man’s well-paced storytelling. She had to admit, he knew how to hold a captive audience; she also had to admit that she was more than a little interested, too.
part one here.
Jaima pushed the water cart from one small cluster of people to another, slowly making her way across the smooth concrete plane of the rooftop. The sun had already set, the grey stone screening the dancing shadows of the villagers amidst the orange glow of their fires. Night was coming earlier and earlier as winter approached, but the cheerful blazes pushed back the gloom of the cold season. She filled tin cups and glass bottles alike from a carafe, a peaceful smile on her face. The thankful nods of her elders warmed her heart even as the small flames they gathered around warmed their old bones. Her village was lucky; in some places, people didn’t live nearly as long as they usually did in Old Town.
The Wild Hunt
by Brett Caron
Three knocks at the door announced that the hunters had returned. Jaima’s heart began to beat faster. They had been gone too long; the sun had almost set. She had to make sure. Her back to the dingy apartment, she could hear the rest of her group in the other room. Green walls had turned a grey brown in the late afternoon light and faint moisture stains traced pathways down from the ceiling, black veins descending from dark wood. The bare hardwood floors hardly spoke under her passage as she silently padded across the room on soft soles and put her ear to the cold metal surface.