Book release day.

It's official. Jessica's Trap is now released upon the world. So now, to Senga's relief, I can stop talking about it and start talking about the next ones.

Samuel's Girl is just about ready to send. Well, it's probably been ready to send for over a year but I'm fussy. Norman's House is first-draft-complete and part-rewritten with more tension. Victor's Will is almost first-draft-complete. Demdike's Return is sketched, as is The Apocalypse Show, but that last one cannot go out for a long time. It's the end of something.

Ghosthunters, which is, paradoxically, the only one with nothing paranormal in it, is plodding along. I might use a different name for that one. It's very different to anything else in the pipeline.

Aside from proper publishing, there are the self-published stories and more of those are planned. There is the short story book on Lulu (in the sidebar) which someone suggested might be good on Kindle. First I want to put the published Blackthorn family tales along with some unpublished ones, and perhaps a few more, into a book of their own. I like the Blackthorns. We get along very well indeed. Here's a sample. And another. These won't be in the self-published book because they are in existing anthologies and I see no point in competing with myself. I might not win, and how embarrassing would that be? No matter. The Blackthorns are always busy so there's no shortage of new material.

The Alien Queen Mother once suggested I compile those Alienskin articles on horror-writing into a book. I've never done it. Perhaps I should. There are four years' worth of them, assuming I still have them all, and they might be useful to someone. Then there is the Chronicle of Dume which I have yet to compose. A host of half-finished, nearly-finished and merely outlined short stories that would make another book or maybe two. Oh, and of course, that children's book, Mirror-man, which might still work if I can reduce the death rate to less than three per chapter. Apparently modern children have gone soft and now object to wanton destruction and mayhem. Fortunately my own son, Caligula, is of old stock. That's why I won't be sending him to school. They'll only send him back.

Now that I think of it, I have noticed a sharp decline in the rat population here and Caligula has been very busy making little crucifixes. I must remember to quiz him about this.

Ah, I hear the little half-man, half-waste-disposal-unit howling. I'd better see what he wants.

I expect Underbed Monster has escaped again. If only Caligula wouldn't torment him so much he might stay where he's supposed to be.