Stage 3.

I have been in the village today for a little celebration. I would have taken Senga and Caligula but they were locked in mortal combat over lunch and I thought it better, and less painful, not to intervene.

So it was that I wandered into the Throat and Razor for a lunchtime pint of Jock McSquirty's Bowel Purger. As usual, the buzz of conversation I thought I heard from outside proved to be an illusion because as soon as I entered, I found the place to be silent. Must be a trick of the wind in the eaves. The pub was occupied only by those who stare morosely into glasses that are half empty.

I was surprised to see Tumbleguts McJoystick serving at the bar. It seems his video game business is not doing well because of a recession somewhere, so he's supplementing his income with odd jobs. I confess I have not bought a game from him since Deathmatch Golf in which I'm still working on my handicap. He told me of a new game he has in stock, Street Snitch, which could be interesting. It's based on real life, well, on life outside the swamp which is increasingly unreal. I'll call in and buy a copy when he's not working elsewhere.

On my return, it seemed that Senga had won the Lunch War and was deservedly ecstatic. So I decided to withhold my own news for the moment and save it for a time when she can properly appreciate it.

It is, after all my first ever acceptance of an entire novel by a publisher. It's not easy, this writing game. This acceptance took three attempts. Nevertheless, 'Jessica's Trap' now has all sorts of forms associated with it, which I will deal with over the weekend.

Perhaps the next one will be quicker.

A place to put the scary stuff.

I'll put this into the sidebar and make it a link. Its creator works like a demon and might well be one, so it's best not to annoy her.

Just as Alienskin closed, the Horror Zine appeared.

I have to wonder if there is a plan in there somewhere. A diabolical plan.

The best kind.