Haven’t read it yet? Click here.
My pal Leslie over at I Know I’m Not Normal Because… posted a review of my short horror story, Mr Buster’s Bodies, today.
“Mr. Buster, always “Mr” never “Jim” and never ever just “Buster” as the story will tell you, is an exceedingly well crafted character. His scheming and treachery will have you wrapped up in his twisted mind, start to finish.”
Continue reading at her new blog, then snoop around over there for a bit. She’s a funny girl.
Remember this?
I love(d) the Scream franchise: they’re just the right mix of jump-scare and dark humour.
Or if you’re in the mood for something lighter:
Was 1996 really sixteen years ago?
I found out that Heaven and Earth Designs is having a Father’s Day pattern sale. (For Father’s Day? Really? Whatever, I like bargains.) These folks publish some of the most intricate cross-stitch patterns I’ve ever seen, and once Marilyn Monroe is finished I’m itching to try one of these.
They’re beautiful patterns but for the most part they tend to be a little…pastel.
Lucky for those of us with darker tastes, I had some free time (and some obsessive tendencies). I waded in to the depths and found these:
“Sifter”
“Grove”
“Wrath”
I am completely in love with “Grove”, but C informs me that while I am free to stitch anything I want, I am not allowed to hang it anywhere that she can look at him.
(As always, click the pics if you want to purchase one. And check out HAED’s gallery of finished pieces to see why I’m so excited to try one of these.)
…even if no one else can see her.
Given the recent cannibal attacks, the Center for Disease Control has issued a response to those worried about the impending Zombie Apocalypse:
“CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms),” said agency spokesman David Daigle, to The Huffington Post.
Just in case, the CDC has published a Zombie Preparedness plan, available here.
(And make sure to reread your favourite zombie stories; you can never be too ready for Zombie Doom.)
Sundays are for crafting. In between rounds of laundry and cleaning and naps (another reason I don’t have children: these are MY naps), I like to make things. Something about the connection to all those women before me who sewed and knit and baked makes me feel peaceful.
Then this happened:
That’s my unfinished cross-stitch of Marilyn Monroe, in the drawer where I hide it from the cats. Somehow when I was working on it last, I failed to notice how disturbing she looks. At some point she’ll have eyes and lips, but in the meantime she looks like Leatherface got ahold of her.
Why hello there, little girl. Are you lost? Can I help — OH GOD JESUS NO.
The post that was supposed to go here was already written, and scheduled to go up later tonight. It’s a light-hearted one, good for a Friday.
I’m not in the mood for light-hearted right now.
I found out today that an old classmate of mine was murdered. They found him yesterday. He was shot to death not ten minutes from my house. The news said there’s been a lot of gang activity in the area. Neighbours reported hearing gunshots several times before; police had been called to investigate gunshots heard the same night he died. No one found him until the next morning.
He was shot and his body left right near an elementary school. I met him at my own elementary (in grade six? Seven?) He was tiny, and blonde, and quiet. He was smart, so we thought he was a nerd. Kids are stupid like that. He once took the mic at a dance in the gym, got down on one knee, rose in hand, and asked out a girl in front of everyone. Our own awkward adolescent brains didn’t realize what kind of guts that took.
I didn’t know much about him. He didn’t stand out, he wasn’t a trouble maker or a heartthrob. He was just there, a nice enough kid. I lost track of him after that.
I like to think of my city being a good one. When I think of “gangs” around here, I think of the boys who acted tough and formed cliques in high school. I don’t think of guns, and I especially don’t think of murders. The police haven’t said for sure whether they believe he was part of that scene, but does it matter? It matters that someone I knew has died violently. It matters that I didn’t know him better.
I’m sorry, Jon. Rest in peace, buddy.
sniderwriter 