No Sleep ‘Til Portland

This time next week, I will be on the road somewhere between Boulder and Portland, on the second leg of my massive cross-country road trip to the H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival, where I’ll be a guest for my second year. Last year’s fest was probably my favorite con-going experience to date, and this time out I’m looking forward to catching up with all sorts of awesome people, some of them again, and some for the first time. There’s no full list of panels and other events yet, but I can tell you that I’m going to be moderating a panel with some very intimidating guests. I’ll also be signing books at the Carbload for Cthulhu author signing event, and I’ll be somewhere in the corner probably at the VIP party Friday night. Where else I’ll be is anybody’s guess.

In addition to Never Bet the Devil–and maybe some copies of Fungi, since my co-editor Silvia Moreno-Garcia will also be in attendance–there may even be a few copies of the Kickstarter-exclusive “lost” 13th issue of Strange Aeons Magazine floating undimensioned around the premises, which has an original story by me alongside an avalanche of more talented folks. I haven’t held a physical copy yet, but from what I’ve seen it’s a sharp-looking production, and well worth getting your squamous appendages on.

In all, it promises to be an amazing experience, and I’m looking forward to meeting anybody there who’s going to be there, though given how many people that is, I’m bound to miss someone. I’ll be leaving for the trip on Monday, April 7 and not coming back until sometime near the end of the following week. Before the festival, I’m driving out to Boulder to pick up Jesse Bullington for cross-country road trip shenanigans that will hopefully end with us in Portland, and not in some dingy back-country jail cell, or the larder of a cannibal family. After the festival is over, I’m driving up to Seattle to meet with some of my editors at Privateer Press and get my picture taken with the Fremont bridge troll like a tourist, before braving the dark and Barron-esque wilderness between there and here on my own. Presumably I will run out of gas somewhere in the mountains and then wander into a hollow tree, never to be seen again.

Whatever form my untimely demise takes, I’m looking forward to the trip, and I will endeavor to contact you from the other side, by whatever means I can muster.