Goth Chick News: Pursuing the Jinn
No, I can’t just go to Vegas like a normal person.
I’m pretty sure that by now connecting the word “normal” with anything you read here is no longer something you attempt to do. However, just in case there were lingering doubts, I’m stating my position for the record.
That out of the way, I can now tell you that during the two weeks since last we met I have been gleefully trudging through the sands of the Sahara in search of tasty paranormal tidbits to smuggle back through customs for you.
And rest assured, Morocco yielded a doozy.
In mid-October I boarded a flight from Chicago, connected through Rome and landed in Casablanca (yes, the one from the movie) where I kicked off a ten-day tour of the major cities of Morocco.
In addition to some really nice ceramic tiles and possibly a carpet (a flying one if I was really lucky), my goal was to collect stories of the paranormal in a culture governed by its religion. I tempered my expectations with the thought that a country full of devout Muslims may have no room in their beliefs for such things, and that even asking about them could be offensive.
Wrong on both accounts.
“Evil powers…disappear
Five years ago, my first novel, Poison Study was published. It came out in hardback with a beautiful red and gold cover that was loosely based on Vermeer’s painting The Girl with the Pearl Earring.
Back in 1995, I’m reading Orson Scott Card’s How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy – because I had written a bunch of short stories that were all soundly rejected and I was thinking perhaps I needed a few pointers (no comments on still having my short stories rejected).

As I write this, I am just now sitting down at my computer in my apartment after coming back home from the World Fantasy Convention in Columbus, OH. I’ve literally tossed down my suitcases on the bed moments ago. My lips are chapped. I am tired.
“Yesterday Was A Lie” is an indie film that indulges in experimental exposition right out of the gate.
Tonight, children go trick-or-treating, and many adults go to Halloween parties, thereby, perhaps, proving Ogden Nash’s line that children get more joy out of childhood than adults get out of adultery. For myself, though, I’ll be counting down the minutes to midnight, scrawling notes and making plans. Because at 12 AM, November 1,
The woman held in one hand a small cigarette-package-sized radio, its antenna quivering. From this sprang tiny copper wires which ended in a dainty cone plugged into her right ear. There she was, oblivious to man and dog, listening to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. This was not fiction.
