I’m going to talk about my collection of short stories: There Are No Doors in Dark Places. It’s part of my trilogy of horror along with Giant Monsters Sing Sad Songs, and What Devours Always Hungers.
Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m doing with this blog. Seriously, angry rants about Covid-19 and black lives matter, or biographical sketches, philosophical questions, thinking out loud as to what I’d do with Doctor Who or Robin, or really obscure reviews, it’s whatever seems to occur to me at the moment.
I’m sure that there are other writers out there with blogs that are just laser focused on the exigencies of writing, or the cutting edges of techno-pop culture, or whatever the hell. There’s blogs full of deep insightful book reviews, sophisticated discussions of the going’s on of the book industry, or a niche about comics.
Me? Who the hell knows?
I just write about… Whatever.
I’m I don’t really have much of anyone reading this stuff. That’s kind of liberating. I write, compulsively. If it was a successful blog, readership and everything, regular followers, I would probably need to be more focused, more narrow. I’d have to get my shit together. But here, I just write whatever.
Some people talk or think in terms of their writing careers.
For me, writing is not so much a career, but more a personality disorder.