Werewolves Out in the World, Part XXIII

I know, I know: been a while since one of these, yes? Thus this one being a long scroll. But, I mean, I’ve been writing a novel, and being in California for ten days, and being some other places too. I seem to vaguely recall an injury as well. Anyway, none of that matters, because here we are again, with people posting cool pics of the yellow book, proving once again and for always that werewolves are real and in the world—and? They have been for something like twenty-two previous issues of this particular digest: click to get the dropdown one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty twenty-one twenty-two And let’s hit the ground snuggled between F. Paul Wilson (I was on a panel with him once somewhere) and Brian Keene (we judged the Bizarro Gross-Out Contest together one year), with a lot more good friends/solid writers in this stack: Ah, thank you, Betty. Werewolves are meant to circulate: For the longest time (well, not like an ENDURING mystery, but a kind of fuddled bemusement for twenty seconds) I couldn’t figure how vivastory had snapped this pic. Then I realized: it’s a screencap of an image search. Cool. So I did again, here. Thanks for the tip: Yeah, this is one of the places I was: Tennessee, the plane landing through the smoke of arson-fires. But? Trees burning smells like trees burning, pretty much. I can’t get ‘arson’ from a whiff, anyway.  . . . → → →

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