Monthly Archives: December 2013

The Ten Best Ways to Identify a Writer

I used to think that the end of the year was about parties, spending time with family and friends, and considering how to improve oneself in the new year. But now I know the truth: the end of December is for making lists of things.

Normally I’d be doing a music-related post today. But since this is my last blogging day of 2013, I’m going to do a top ten list! And since I’m kind of new at this list thing, I’m going to stick to something I know about: Ten Ways to ID a Writer*.

Whether you’re at your local bookstore, or coffee shop, or even somewhere a writer wouldn’t normally be (like a social event), here are some totally legit ways to figure out if the weird person you just interacted with is a writer or just socially awkward (or both).

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Ug! Urg! Augh!

I done gone and messed up my website something awful.

Through a series of comically-misguided steps, I inadvertently deleted the entire thing.

And by “comically” I mean “seuifgoiuygweiluhqerguhiu.”

I think my subconscious is preventing me from grasping the enormity of what I’ve done, because I haven’t started crying, or banged my head against my desk, or just thrown my computer out the window yet.

I was supposed to post something about Imagine Dragons today, but I’ve been busy undoing my major error. So if I don’t come back for the rest of the week, it’s because I’m very upset with the Internet and I need a break.

Also maybe because a holiday is coming up. I forget what it’s called. You celebrate it by putting your lights outside and bringing trees inside. Then a fat guy wearing red breaks into your house, steals your sweets, and leaves stuff around the tree you have in your living room. It’s crazy, but I get free stuff, so… *shrug*.


Connor retreated to the entrance of the camp and stood with his hands in his pockets there. Ulrich joined him as soldiers from the 89th arrived and took in the gruesome sight before them. They had been ordered to leave the bodies where they lay, so the Nazi atrocities could be documented.

Ulrich lit a cigarette. “This place stinks,” he said.

Connor didn’t respond. He stared at the pile of bodies in the middle of the parade ground.

Ulrich took a drag and blew the smoke toward his friend. “Stop, Connor. You’ve seen bodies before, in worse shape than this.”

Connor shoved Ulrich half-heartedly. Ulrich hardly swayed. “Yeah, but this… this is horrible. They didn’t just kill them. They starved them and tortured them.”

“So?” Ulrich said. In a low voice, he added, “They’re just people, Connor.”

Connor’s Shirts

I’ve been writing my posts in advance and scheduling them for assigned days (which is something you do when you have small children–make time when you can!), and I scheduled this post for Dec 18, 2014. So this is a little bit late, but better late than never!

Connor, the protagonist of The Herxheim Chronicle, likes his T-shirts. And, whaddayaknow, so do I! Collecting interesting, strange, funny, or otherwise notable T-shirts is a hobby of mine. What’s that, you say? I’m too old to wear T-shirts with Godzilla on them? Or unicorns? NO! I’ll never be too old! I’ll wear a dinosaur shirt to my grave!


Anyway, all the shirts Connor wears are real. I either own them or I want to own them. There are two mentioned specifically in Vorator: a My Little Pony Tee and a Jigglypuff shirt.

And there they are.

What’s the best graphic tee that you’ve ever seen or owned?

Music Monday: The Joker

The roommate I had when I lived in England loved the Steve Miller Band and always played their music when we drove to work. Good thing, too, because this song is amazing!

But it’s hard to play on Guitar Hero (or Rock Band or whatever, I forget). It made Connor flip out. Poor guy has no ear for music.

The Myth in the Books: Wendigo

The Herxheim Chronicle: Vorator features a race of monsters that are kind of like vampires, kind of like werewolves, and kind of like neither. The first of their kind, a Neolithic man named Max, has been roaming around and slaughtering people for close to 7,000 years. There’s no way that a man like Max–who could shapeshift into a monstrous beast and wasn’t shy about traipsing into a village and laying waste to everything–would go unnoticed or un-spoken-of. But I wanted my Vorator to be unfamiliar to the majority of humankind.


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