There’s no sensible way to weave every dark, cosmic idea into a book, and in fact it’d be a very odd sort of book if you tried. I thought it might be fun to blog some of them instead, from time to time. So:

Time is rot, and fate is an illusion. What lies before us is not purpose but erosion, grinding and patient.

After that weirdness, perhaps you’ll be pleased to know that I’m working on a new project. No Lovecraftian tentacles, this time: I’ve managed to escape from Arkham for a whi...