Howdy, folks (whoa, Writerghoulie went Cowboy there for a second. Yeee<murder music> hawww!). Just a quick note for today, since it is the day I came squawking into this world and I plan on doing next to diddly-squat … in fact, I will do what Diddly Squat does when he’s slacking right the fuck off. Won’t be nothing. In fact, since I’m blogging, I can claim I “worked today.” I’ll sound all productive and shit; meanwhile, my kids know I’m lounging with my feet up on the desk, listening to dubstep, creating a new Warcraft character, eating a breakfast I forced them to make me (granted, it’s an untoasted bagel half smeared with enough Nutella to murder someone with a cocoa allergy, and tea so strong I am expecting to use 3 Crest White Strips to remove the resulting stains…). But still! Blogging = writing = work. So there.

Anyhoo, yes, today’s release! Far less scream-inducing than my release from the womb, I assure you. Well, I guess that depends on how easily you scare. Cold Company is the first Marnie Baranuik “Between the Files” novella. I will warn regular readers: ’tis a tad darker than Touched and Death Rejoices have been. This does not mean that I am becoming a homicidal maniac. That happened decades ago. NO!! That’s not what I–hotdiggitydangit, there goes my oh-so-clever cover. What I mean is, Marnie (like most people, fictional or not) has her grim days and her goofy days, and in Cold Company she is absolutely less ridiculous than she has been in the past. The subject matter demanded that the silliness go poof, and while it didn’t entirely go poof, it did go splurf, accompanied by a barely audible pifft! As her author, I felt compelled to respect that slurf-pifft (what kind of an author would I be if I IGNORED the fuckin’ splurf-pifft?), and to follow the story where it wanted to take me.

As a kid, I lived next to a stretch of forest near the Welland Canal. Not, you know, in a ditch or a culvert or something, but with my family in a house. (Damn. The ditch would have been a great Writerghoulie backstory. I shouldn’t have dispelled that idea so quickly, I fear. But I digress.) My mother always told me not to follow strangers into the woods. I disregarded this wise warning on more than one occasion, as I am a fear junkie going way back. Part of me wants to take Marnie to darker, more serious places, although I suspect she’d make a royal mess of it and would wind up being goofy despite my intentions. As her author, it’s a strange crossroads for me to arrive at. Can I make my beloved ditsy dickjockey, like, a for-realsies super-pro?

*blinks*

*rereads that final sentence*

BA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *gasp, pant* ahahahahaha. Fear not: Marnie is a perpetual spaz, and her life is a non-stop parade of demon sock-puppetry, old lady crotch punches, and zombie goop; it would be impossible for her (or me, frankly) to remain serious for long. Now, I have slacking off to do.

I hope you enjoy Cold Company as much as I enjoyed dabbling with it.

-aj