Werewolves out in the World, Part VIII

For anybody just catching this broadcast on the digital shortwave, here’s installments one, two, three, four, five, six, and lucky number slevin.

Also? It kind of makes me sad that I had to actually think to title this one—I mean, think to Roman-numeral it Not that “VIII” is hard, or should be, but, man, when I was in elementary, I so prided myself on Roman numerals being on instant-rolodex. And I just now had to thin if “8” went above five or under ten (to my way of thinking). 

Guess I’m getting old. It happens, I suppose.

Mongrels, though, it’s still young, it’s still out there biting the world:

I believe there’ll be an interview coming soon, too, to go along with that write-up. Or: I did do a review. It’ll be live sooner or later.

And, wow, big wow: not just to get the Buzzfeed write-up, but to be one of their five picks from May? Amazing-cool. Thank you thank you:

And, here’s one of my editors wearing the RedBubble/trailer version of the Mongrels shirt, by Figbar Lonesome. Looks sharp, yes?

So excellent. Mongrels in Austinland. I know Kareem, too, and, since I strongly suspect he only hangs out with cool people, then I’m glad that Mongrels is finding the cool people:

This is the dream, pretty much. To spread a blanket over the world, and have there be an image of a werewolf on the top side of that blanket:

I know there’s not that many Joneses in the world, or on Twitter—what I’m saying is that me and Mark, here, we’re not related. So: completely unbiased opinion. Also? WERE he family, that in no way should mean that he would necessarily be kind to me or Mongrels . . .

You know, every reading I did where I read that part of Mongrels, it always came up in the Q&A. What I never said about it, though? It’s where I got it: pow-wows. Standing in line at the concession trailer, and the dude in front of me, and the dude behind me, and also everybody else, they’re buying what you can only call “blocks” of french fries, those being a whole fryer-basket stuff to capacity, then fried, and clumped out onto a paper plate and paper towels whole, so there’s this huge block of grease to eat your way through. Also? I’m not saying the guy between the guy in front of me and the guy behind me hasn’t bought that block. But I could tell that, whoah, wait a second here: this can’t be good for a person, can it? Or a wolf, as it turns out.

This. This this this. Those of y’all who have already burned through the hospital chapter of Mongrels, then you maybe thought I was making that up, about a certain statue on the porch of a certain liquor store. I kind of thought I was too. David Tromblay, though, he went out and found it:

And, what could be cooler than to be in the feed/on the wall  of another werewolf writer? 

I would say Mongrels is in good company there, but that would be an odd thing (for me) to say, I think. But, I WILL say that this is what werewolves do: sneak up on you while you’re all smiling from the camera. A flash is just an instant. A bite, though, that lasts forever.

Part VII had a birthday haul? Same birthday, here? Can’t click back to see or I’ll lose all this. I’ll pretend it’s a different birthday, though. Because werewolves, they like to go to all the parties, not just one.

And, so cool, here: the editor who acquired Mongrels, now wearing Mongrels-gear. More like a 720 than just full circle. Thanks, Kelly. For everything. For this. For Mongrels:

Dude, to get shuffled into a progression like this: thank you so much. Very cool:

If you’re a-wondering: yep, this is the same dude from the acknowledgements. Also, whenever I get back to Boulder, I believe I have one of the Lucy Jinxes waiting for me as well:

Y’all know I got to write about The Wolf Man’s 75th anniversary? I mean, I know you’re all celebrating in your own ways throughout the year—it’s only proper—but, maybe this can help in some small fashion:

And, a snap from a friend in the UK—Jay Slayton-Joslin (dude who keeps this website alive): 

Store’s called the Bull Moose.

Kind of puts me in mind of Erdrich’s Tracks.

And, dude, thank you:

I know Charles, too. For many years now, I believe. He once brought me a maple-and-bacon donut when I was reading at the downtown Powell’s. Or is the big Powell’s? That one that feels like Hogwarts, with all the stairs and levels and half-levels—that one. 

And, this only eight, right? I wouldn’t doubt if I’m back in here for the tenth.

Thanks again, twenty-seven times over, for all this. So cool, seeing Mongrels infect the world.