To tell you the truth, my father wasn’t really that much different after he became a zombie.
If you piled the awards and nominations attributed to Gary A. Braunbeck, Jay Lake, Nick Mamatas, and Catherynne M. Valente on the interview table, it would surely implode under the weight of accolades. Suffice it to say, these are four writers at the top of their game.Read More
When Benjamin was a little boy he painted things. Mostly small things. Like tiny houses. Or dinosaur kits. Or invisible men. He liked using the small brushes. Painting tiny, intricate details.Read More
“Do you think Shawn’ll be gone for much longer?” Chris poked at the campfire with a stick, watching the sparks dance above the flames.Read More
I showed up at the 49th Street Annex prepared to take a verbal beating from Klein and the rest of the Weekday Obsessives—they go after relapses like dogs on dead pheasant. Normally, after I screwed up, it’d take the group a few sessions to figure it out, but this time I couldn’t hide what I’d done. There was no way. Read More
Bridget ducked behind the remains of a burned-out Impala, crouching low as the zap-zap-zap of blaster fire split the October night. The sound was already familiar enough to turn her stomach. Not just because it meant another survivor had been spotted—because there was nothing she could do to help whoever it was.Read More