The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity for my fellow authors, especially the crimey-wimey ones, and it's all I can do to keep up with the news. End-of -semester activities usually prevent me from attending events like Malice Domestic of the Noir at the Bar Crawl, but I was able to pop into Barrelhouse's Conversations & Connections this year, if only to say howdy to Dave Housley and Erin Fitzgerald. Here they are tolerating "let's fall backward" approach to selfi

Even though people think I write some freaky shit*, I’m actually a classically repressed, can’t-high-five-without-cringing, Northern Ohioan when it comes to talking about “the realness.” But that doesn’t stop people from talking to me--or within obvious earshot--about everything. I mean, holy crap. Supposedly, Stephen King said he got the inspiration for IT when a cigarette-smoking clown sat next to him on an airplane. I think King referred to himself as a “weirdness magnet.”