Ed sent out this blast this morning:
I’m going to go read my story “Jihad Over Innsmouth” at 1:30 back to
back with Laird Barron, then mod the panel on Lovecraft’s
Contributions to SF at 5.
The Colour Out Of Spaghetti, or rather Dario Argento Out Of Space, or
whatever the hell I sat through last night, looked like a reinvented
wheel covered in bad special effects and every single bad horror
trope ever invented.
But that was the low point. Greg Lowney the Festival hatchet-man stood
Serena and I a wonderful dinner last night at Tony Starlight’s. Though
S.T. Joshi, Michael Shea and many of the other seasoned pros were
unable to stay for the full event, the energy and talent this year are
bleeding out of the walls, despite a much lower key schedule.
So far I saw William F. Nolan speak, and had one hell of a lot of fun
on the Humor In Horror panel with Marianne Snyder and Dark Horse
author Jemiah Jefferson. Was also thrilled to death to hear Dan
O’Bannon’s video commentary on Lovecraft when he was accepting the
Will publish any further notes if this wireless doesn’t keep going
out. In the streets, the foul things squeak and gibber, but they come
no nearer than the edge of the front yard. Yet. The cat is rustling
the curtain, must go and