They’re kind of like monks, is what I usually tell people. They wear the brown robes, they pray four times a day, they bake bread. But this doesn’t say it all, not even close. It doesn’t say what they’re really about or who they are or what they mean to me–these guys in brown robes …

“Congratulations! You’re a bastard,” said the acceptance letter. This can mean only one thing: I have a new story out in Print Oriented Bastards, Issue #4. It’s called “The Missing Person.” A little taste for you: Long before she was my wife, Martine was my childhood babysitter, seven years older than me, and I’ve worshipped her since the first …