And it looks like another shitbomb has exploded in the over-tight rectums of the SFF community.
A lame joke:
Not to be outdone, the horror fiction community is planning to get Russell Brand to emcee the Bram Stoker Awards . . . so they can abduct him and sacrifice him to the Great Old Ones.
"Yeah, we're tired of those SFF dudes grabbing all the publicity," a commentator for the Horror Author's Association said. "We're gonna grab Brand, shave his hair off, carve a pentagram into his scalp and then sacrifice him to Shub-Niggurath at the stroke of midnight. That'll show those SF snobs who the real crazy muthafuckas are."
And that'll be that on the subject.
I did have more written, but what's the point. I already know the community is toxic. It's what happens when hyper-sensitivity, self-righteousness and rigid inflexibility to other opinions all coalesce in a gigantic noxious turd. Better to stay the fuck away.
Outside starts to look not so bad when Inside is a slowly collapsing black hole full of sharks biting chunks out of each other. I suspect I'm not the only writer reaching this conclusion.
I'm going to stick to writing the best stories I can. It might take a while for word to filter through the outer void, but if the stories are good people will come to read them.
Outcast-Writer-And-Happy M.E. Hydra.
P.S. In happier, less-pitchfork'n'torch-mob news I returned to writing Succubus Summoning this week. Time to get Phil's adventures rolling again.