So, I’ve been able to get a couple of my writing projects temporarily off my plate and I’m taking a breather. I promised myself a little time today to read Sins of the Sirens. The mail is acting up and I haven’t gotten my copies yet, so I had to carefully read one of the copies The Frenchman bought for his family.

Holy. Fucking. SHIT! This is amazing.

A handful of the stories I’d read before — like Loren’s “Still Life in Broken Glass” and Christa’s “Firebird,” but it’s…everything! Just…everything! Take me out of this equation entirely for a moment: a book of these stories by just Loren, Christa and Bel is a beautiful thing. I sort of knew that intellectually, having long loved the work of them all. But to actually see it and experience one inky, blistering story flowing into another like the music on a kickass album is truly awe inspiring.

Women digging their slick stilettos, their tightly laced Doc Martins, their fuzzy slippers into the tar of horror and leaving monstrously deep footprints. It’s special. It’s different. It’s just…wow!

I hope someone notices.