Part Two: The Big Damn Vampire Soap Opera
We return once more to the house of the moping, beautiful dead. If you’ll recall, last time our narrator Louis spent a great deal of time talking about how his maker (and ex) Lestat was SUCH A CALLOW, STUPID JERK AND WE SHOULD ALL HATE HIS ROTTEN GUTS, NO REALLY, and then he burned down the plantation where they were living in order to escape a scene chock full of such side-eye worthy lowkey racism that my skin wants to crawl directly off and hide in a corner.
In the interest of not taking a year to get through one book, the Friday schedule is getting tweaked a little, from 3:1 to 2:1. In other words, tonight will be a Vampire post, the next two weeks will be Gankutsuou, and so on. Shores up the gaps a little bit (and with the way Gankutsuou structures its arcs, it makes for some cleaner cuts as well).
BUT WHAT DID THAT KID DO.
When all is madness…
…there is no madness.
Is there wisdom in insanity? Enlightenment in blackest despair? Higher consciousness in the depths of chaos? These are the stories of the men and women who choose to cast off from the shores of our placid island of ignorance and sail the black seas of infinity beyond. Those who would dive into primeval consciousness in search of dark treasures. Those who would risk the Deadly Light for one reason: it is still light.
I’m pleased down to my meat-socks (feet, I believe one calls them) to announce my involvement in the Cthulhusattva: Tales of the Black Gnosis anthology. Longtime readers might’ve noticed a certain predilection toward cosmic horror around these parts, so it was a real treat to get a chance to play around with the concepts left behind by Lovecraft himself (the good ones; not so much with the xenophobia and misogyny).
My contribution, “Keys in Stranger Deserts,” starts with the attempted theft of the Necronomicon; turns into a road trip involving a con artist looking to make some of that sweet, sweet cult money and probably the only student to ever actually be expelled from Miskatonic without raising some unspeakable horror (and even then…), and ends…well, I wouldn’t want to spoil it.
You can get the book in physical or ebook versions, both on Martian Migraine Press and Amazon (and if you have Kindle Unlimited, you can read it for free!).
Venture on for a sneak preview of “Keys in Stranger Deserts.” Happy reading!
Okay, but what ELSE has Stan been throwing in there?
The intro is here.
I’m starting a very important Kickstarter dedicated to getting all these sad children hugs. But especially Franz though.
The question of “How Do I Feminism?” is something the media has grappled with for years. Too often the answer falls into the Strong Female Character, who can punch things really good and is an absolute asshole to everyone until the male Chosen One comes along to surpass her and also melt her stunted heart. While there’s nothing wrong with physical strength, the niggling problem of it all is, of course, diversity. Too often writers (mostly Straight White Men) mistake physical strength for depth and respectful treatment, creating a stopgap that lets themselves pat themselves on the back for their progress without having to actually examine their writing (see also the “writing the exact woman I, the writer, would like to sleep with over and over again” school that your Joss Whedons and Stephen Moffats tend to fall into).