dylan's blog

The cover says “Two heroes.

Sarah and I have been watching a genuinely unreasonable amount of Magnum PI.

As I’ve mentioned before, we now live in a world where creative people have to prove they created the thing they created.

It has been a dooooooozy of a month.

I want to be really clear about something because the internet has trained all of us to flinch: the catalog entries for The Cryptid Cataloger are free.

Sutton Attwater has a folklore PhD, a 1972 Volkswagen bus, and absolutely no chill about the possibility that the woods are full of things we haven’t named yet.

So here’s a confession that’s been sitting in my chest like a swallowed marble: I haven’t built a puppet in an embarrassingly long time.

There’s a story I wrote years ago.

So I gave my AI a day off.

The review was supposed to go up on the 26th.

People who play music well tend to play one thing well.

Quick status check from the part of the saga nobody warns you about: the long, boring, grinding middle.

I want to tell you about the hum.

Okay, housekeeping, because telling people about my own stuff is the single thing I am worst at as a person who makes stuff.

Here is a thing about me that I have made peace with: when you give me enough pain medication, I sing show tunes.

There is this amazing thing that exists in the indie dyer world: Advent Kits.

I need to talk about a pretzel.

Okay.

It’s live.

I want to start with the part that’s embarrassing, because if I start with the argument you won’t believe the argument.

When I first started writing fiction — roughly a hundred years ago — the plan was simple: publish on Amazon.

Here is how a typical evening used to go.

Twelve years ago I started a serial.

I have read a lot about writing, and I have read a lot about ADHD.

I learned to read on stolen property.