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Thanks, folks.

Actually, I think it flows fairly well until quite near the end … where it develops a ragged quality due to the excision of some (I thought) fairly mild observations. (Editors edit, I suppose, in much the same way that writers write. Probably just can't help themselves.) I restore the deletions here (in italics) because otherwise my concluding paragraphs seem to have missing punch lines.

Also because I always amuse the hell out of myself.

* * *

Ever been to a convention for horror writers? What's with all the tarot cards and crystal balls? Why must all the "writers" also be psychics? Please. Does this happen in other genres? Are science fiction writers all living out pathological fantasies in which they're in league with space aliens? Do mystery writers jump every time the phone rings, convinced it's bound to be Scotland Yard?

I think not. No, it's only horror that has opened welcoming arms to the lunatic fringe. Try to imagine just how much those folks appreciate being challenged by Art.

(How many people just thought, "Art who?" I want to see hands. Okay, you and you, kindly leave the room. Now.)

Having just come out in paperback for the first time, THE SHORE is already inciting equally intense reactions from both poles. Wild enthusiasm. Abject loathing. The first review to appear called it "the best book to come out of the horror genre in years." But the very next day, some erudite pedant advised the public that "Nobody should buy this book because Dunbar don't even know what horror is supposed to be like."

Poor dear. Must be so difficult, typing with a finger up one's nose. Never mind. As long as I can still stir them up like this, I'll keep swinging. I mean, what choice does a writer have? Breathing. Writing. Much the same. One only stops when the other does.