Awash in the Weird

There's a tumor made of pages exploding out of my ribcage. There's a tickertape parade ravishing my skull. When I speak, all kinds of odd words come out of my mouth, handwritten in black ink on a long, narrow strip of vellum. Where's the beak doctor when you need him/her?

Don't expect too much around these here parts for awhile–just fits and starts. We're awash in weird reading for the Compendium of Weird Fiction and a typical day revolves around work on the Steampunk Bible interwoven with...