Ah, ’twas the moment I had been waiting for. The day my books came in the mail!

No writer should be denied this little moment in time where he gets out of his head and stops self-deprecating long enough to appreciate what his toil hath wrought.

Call me an old fashioned Luddite, but the e-copy just ain’t the same.

I got 25 copies which I will take with me to Rhode Island to NecronomiCon which should be an absolute blast. I will set up my little table and wear my silver Cthulu pendant that I ordered from Italy on Etsy and carnival bark all the weary travelers over to see my wares.

“Step right folks and get yer Demon O’ Montreal books! One for a half-penny, two for a shilling!”

Well, perhaps I should up the price.

In the old days they used to carnival bark all kinds of things on the streets of London. You had a lot of immigrants coming in there and they needed work. So, they found it in very odd ways. You had the mudlarks who dug in the Thames and found various objects washed up on shore from trade ships and sticking in the mud, which they would hawk on the street.

The penny dreadfuls which were a kind of newspaper with lurid headlines to shock you into buying wherein your would read all manner of half truths and outlandish rumors. Sold by urchins. Entertainment.

You had the ratters who ran the high stakes ratting dens where prize fighting dogs would take on a horde of rats, slaughtering them in a mad frenzy. Of course, inevitably the best dogs would fall sick and die after however many matches with rat hordes. Then they would taxidermy the head and put it on the wall with a plaque to honor it. Strange business.  But they had a lot of rats back then.

One of the most prominent tribes of the time were the Romany, or gypsies with their own brand of magick and legend.

So, in the tradition of 19th century London, carnival bark it up!