Big update: 12/4

For those of you who have been wondering what's up with my fiction:

It's official. 'The Burnham Society' will be under the 'Made of Fail' banner, as its first original-content audio drama. At present, there are four stories, one a familiar one to Burnham fans, and three new ones. I'm hoping to produce 6 over the coming year. MoF will provide space, promotion, and consultation, and I...

I have to produce audio dramas!

Wow! According to my core team, I have the tech on hand to do this. I'm now putting together my 'team' to make this happen. I'm going to need actors, directors, sound experts, musicians, and post-production. I know some of you have done this. Any help is appreciated.

Production will begin early next year. I need help crafting timetables. I look at this in project manager terms, but I don't know what I have to factor in, and what's realistic.

In return: Team members will get pie and food; Audience members will get regular follow-ups here, as well as new content. The Burnham Society is set to launch as a complete world, and readers here will get stories in addition to the ones in audio. There will be more tweets and drabbles as well. It's going to be quite a year.

Some Notes: On My Return From Milwaukee

Some notes: On my return from Milwaukee.

I know a pair of magicmakers up north who treasure their city as much as I do mine. We have a playful rivalry, but it's all in good fun. What surprised me was just the difference in impression I received from one city to the other.

Milwaukee still feels like a 19th century city. The buildings are big, but not oppressively big. There's a lot of use of the older buildings, and the theatre we toured, the Riverside, was restored time and again to the way it looked in 1928. The Brewers had apparantly won something significant that night, and the local drunks cheerfully waved at us while commenting on how nice the event was.

Clearly, there is something horribly wrong with the place.

Let's start with those wizards in question. Did you know you can get an arts grant in Milwaukee for sorcery? It has to do with Joseph Zilber's master plan. A plan that also involved restoring the city back to how it was in the 20's. And speaking of crazed fucknuttery...It's one thing to have a chapel dedicated to Joan of Arc. Another to have a replica of Joan's chapel on campus...BUT TO MOVE THE CHAPEL FROM FRANCE TO MILWAUKEE?!? Seriously? I walked into the chapel at Marquette to see if this was true. The teenage girl's voice imploring me to repent sealed it. I had to use all my effort to refrain from killing the nearest englishman.

Milwaukee is a place where the most oppressive feeling of haunting I have ever experienced came from a theater where NOBODY DIED. No murders, no rapacious orgies involving goats and Pabst Blue Ribbon, but which has children's voices on the empty fourth floor balcony, and a room-sized wooden refrigerator of great menace.

I know there is a fae contingent out there, but the few I know live out in the more wooded areas. In the city, I think there's too much beer and sausage to maintain a stable faerie population.

While there, I was introduced to the concepts of ghostlights and fear cages. Ghostlights are an early solution to dimming back in the day. If you wanted to dim a light, a corressponding light elsewhere had to brighten. Ghot rooms were full of such lights, rising and falling at the whims of those who needed control. The city feels like a ghost room. It rises and falls, never becoming too bright or too dim, with some faraway cousin providing the balance.

Fear cages also deal with electricty. In areas with strong magnetic fields, some sense within our bodies activates the fight or flight response. The problem is, we don't often rely on this sense. Other senses are then used to provide context. So the rattling of the washing machine becomes a sinister voice, the flashing of the flourescent light is manipulated by spectral powers, and the breeze of the wind against your ear contains malicious intent. You provide your own context for the fear you experience, all based on a pile of wires. A lot of 'supernatural experience' can be explained that way.

Except for the headless girl in the wooden refrigerator. Totally real.

Question of the Week.

Sorry for the delay. There was just something that -had- to be attended to in Milwaukee. I will never get used to ghostlights or wooden refrigerators. And fear cages need to be an amusement park attraction

That being said:

When dealing with faerie, what is the -last- thing you want to see them holding?

With the caveat that a pixie on meth is just funny.

Tery's Tweets Part 12

>Reading the Liddel correspondences. What Dodgson did was abominable, but nothing compared to what happened elsewhere. Plug the rabbit hole.

>Fear in my job is a healthy thing. It's why I can freely wander Graceland cemetery, but will never step foot in the Uptown theatre.

>You learn to be afraid of a lot of things. If you are willing to overcome 6 fears, you can get the best barbecue in town.

>I hate going to Arlington Heights. But there's a fox family on busse that makes insanely good oden.

>If your el train has started to grow a soft, downy coat for the winter...use your common sense and wait for the frostwyrm to seek other prey.

>Some years you're thankful that your soul isn't in someone else's jar.

>I’m not crying. The burst capillaries around my eyes are normal when I face the ghost of your mom.

>The thing under the stairs is moving to long island. I don't mind, but interviewing new things is turning out to be a pain. I hate my lease

>She says she's seelie. So long as she pays the rent, she could be a sea hag with a great glamour.

>I found a compass that points the way home. I'm so glad that the fire department doesn't suspect arson. I'm getting better at this.

>The sun always rises. A benediction for me, a threat to my vampire prisoner.

>And then it's quiet, save for the howl of the hungry wolves. I swear it's coming from Niles.

>Thank god for Starbuck's. Hot chocolate is the nemesis of the gingerbread army.

>All I want for Christmas is their front teeth.

>The winter is getting deeper. I saw this year's hopes migrating through the snow. I wanted to catch mine, but circle of life and all.

>She had no owner. I could feel the love resonating in her heart as I unlatched it from the casing. I prayed she wouldn't be built again

>The boss is giving me time off. Yesterday I gave the doll time 'off'. I hope it's not the same thing.

>In Indiana, there's a gingerbread house attached to a factory. Apparently the witch chose to industrialize.

>Mad tala is the faerie queen of winter for the city. You're not supposed to call her that, but it's the only name she gives. I screwed up.

>No...no. there are -coyotes- in the city. Not -Coyote-. Relax. We're safe for now.

Tery's Tweets Part 11

>'Make no small plans'. That's the first rule of the Burnham society. The second is 'don't get eaten'. My focus is mostly on the second.

>My dryad friend got pissed that I said she looked beautiful this time of year. Got a whole lecture on faunal pattern baldness.

>Thank god for Halloween. All the monsters think it's safe to come out.

>I have to learn to breathe again. The eyes it was nothing but eyes. The flare trick didn't work. It had more eyes.

>The term for someone losing their soul, and becoming a fish-beast in the service of an undead department store exec is called 'shedding'.

>Hiding from the storms. The sky is black and in the lightning are the shadows of stampeding horses. I should have taken a sick day.

>This really is my busy season. People think they have a right to be monsters. It's as awkward as being at a minstrel show in Bronzeville.

>The Lord of Summer rides the microbursts. It's his petty way of fucking with the autumn folk.

>I watched as the mausoleum doors were sealed, and only then understood the power of a contract.

>Awwww...the moral anguish of killing your zombie lover. Just remember the last time they reprogrammed your remote and take aim.

>There. My busy season is officially over until Christmas. If you think the season isn't a bitch: suicides, ice and repentant ghosts.

>Can't talk. The echoes are looking for me.

>I'm sure it's mice in her boxspring. But she's now in my bed, and I'm in her apartment with the holy water and the claymore.

>Last night I was unable to tell the difference between an imaginary friend and a ghost. The need, the loneliness, the harm...all the same.

>My shapeshifter friend broke up with me. Apparantly they changed into a form that saw I was a jerk.

>We're not the only society. We represent the worldview of one Architect, and our power stems from that view. The other views are

>Four faerie courts, one for each season. Their power is small, but their beauty is evident. Graceland, the Field, Wrigley, the lagoon.

>There's no such thing as a fire escape. It's always a ‘sticky bastard who pinched the container of my soul’ escape.

>I honestly can't tell anymore. Is the cultist wearing a mask and pirate shirt being ironic or retro? I swear the cobewbs are spray-on.

>The ogres left. They said it was our meddling, but I think it was the tax rate. Good luck, Naperville...

Question of the Week and a brief note.

What's your favorite local occult artifact?

In the question about Tery's sexuality: Please keep in mind, the actual issue is that Tery hasn't had a relationship with a -human being- since he joined the society. Some people like chains, some people like leather...Some people prefer the risk of being turned to stone while making love.

We all have our passions.

Tery's Tweets Part 10

>Every time I want anything, ned says he'll have to ask the board. Fine. I have a flashlight, a crowbar, and a shovel. Board meeting tonight.

>The faerie ring is itself a faerie. But it's not a door. It's a mouth.

>Talking with ogres about sauces is both cool and frightening. It has to be like a cow asking a chef about steak preparation.

>It's a dead man's party...seriously. not very active. Best to do is raid the guests for jewelry.

>All pebbles are now suspect.

>Obtaining a Hand of Glory from autoerotic asphyxiation doesn't diminish the power, but do you really want to touch that hand?

>My mom knows more than I realize. I have to accept what is strange and wonderful for some is a job without a health plan for others.

>Bridget sleeps beneath the river. She's still a young dragon, and so her dreams lack a past. I read her jk rowling. Don't know if it helps.

>What made Halloween less scary? Milk chocolate. Goblins cannot get enough of the stuff. Just remember: 'chocolatey' will get you killed.

>I would feel worse about the cook's suicide, but now the diner's chili is just perfect. Talk about putting your life in your work.

>There's a hybrid shapeshifter who is whatever it needs to be to fit in to a group. They feed off the isolation and insecurity of outsiders.

>I love the look on their face when some billionaire discovers what purchasing an eternal membership in the Burnham society entails.

>My shapeshifter friend went with me to a con. For something that spends their time -not- standing out, Experiencing cosplay was traumatic.

>Sister remains trapped in san fran. I sent her some crucifixes, some mandrake, and a shopping list. I want chocolate and sourdough.

>I had to explain to some friends the limited nature of 'coming out day'. Much of -their- pride flag colors are outside the visual spectrum.

>As pretty as the leaves are, watching the sprites die off for the winter is depressing.

>Fucking tourists. Don't get offended when my friends' concept of human beings is like your sesame street impression of monsters.

>Talked with an adult changeling last night, looking for the local Courts. I felt so mortal, and my problems so mundane. The wings were...wow

>There's a book. It gives Burnham's vision for the future of Chicago, layer by layer. Ned showed me the seven layers not in the book. Oh my.

>The Burnham society never blackballs anyone. If someone isn't liked, the noose and knife in the initiation ritual is quite useful.

Follow up: Notes on the Courts.

So let’s follow up.

On Labor Day, Chicago changed from Summer to Autumn. There was no progression, no development. The wall of sick heat transformed into a soft breezy chill. I take it as a good sign. The Courts aren’t having problems.

You may have heard mention of the Courts in Tery’s Tweets. They will appear again. It would be easy to say that they are the powers behind the powers, and that they pull the strings in the city. The Courts would love for me to say this as well. Their vanity is legendary. The power of the city, however, begins with the mortal families. They stole the land, they built the city, and it was their dreams and ambitions that brought the Courts over.

The Court (for back in the day, it was just one) is an immigrant culture. Thousands of years ago, it was an invading culture, which is a sort of forced immigration, I guess. But through force, through guile and through craft, we repelled these creatures, forcing them to retreat to deep woods, dark pits, and high mountains. Over time, the guilt of our victory turned into a nostalgia, and we came to cherish these creatures. Although many of the stories contained warnings.

They’re not local. I have to stress that. The local folk are still about, although in the states they’ve been nearly wiped out. The locals you see in the trees and in the streams are likely imports as well, coming with on the same boats that brought in people from Europe and china. But the Court was brought to Chicago as well as all the art and architecture, for one purpose. To make a slaughterhouse look pretty.

It worked well. From the late 19^th century to the 1930’s this city was flush with magic. The Schools of Sacred Architecture built the new towers, and crafted a city out of mist and imagination, bolstered by the raw natural power of the Court to hold it in place. The Columbia exposition was a bridge between realms for a time, and nothing felt out of place. Like any great magical endeavor, it was tremendous in both execution and destruction. Power enough to bring forth a dragon, but not to keep her chained.

The recriminations after the ashes of the white city fell were terrible. A School was deposed (as it had deposed another), and the factions of the court began to scheme and plot amongst themselves for complete control of the city. Daleys and Dillingers sought to aid them, with blood compounding on blood.

Sometime after Daley imposed his will, and mapped the city according to his own design, the courts sought a limited peace. There would be an ascendance each season. Each of the factions would have its time in the sun. Each staked a claim in places of focus for people’s spirits. Winter Spring, Summer, Fall. Tala, Math, Branwen, Eamon. The Field, The Wrigley, Lincoln Park, and Graceland. And they are with us still.

Autumn began on Labor Day.

Tery's Tweets Part 9

>If you can come up with a romantic term for a shapeshifter that doesn't imply gender or species, let me know.

>People think the scene is always at mausoleums. That's what those corpses want you to think. I know some unmarked graves that just rock.

>If -only- vampires exploded in goo when they got staked. If you see an aspect of vampirism that makes a hunter's job easier...it's wrong

>Shapeshifter bondage is unique. A little like bonsai, a little like shibari...and the end result is for all intents an ordinary person.

>It's rarely a haunting. Sometimes the mold just gets lonely.

>It's a problem of the job: a heightened fear of toys. From killer dolls to the legoplex. The truth behind rainbow brite would kill you.

>A couple I know said all the magic had gone out of their relationship. Ever since i gave them the grimoire, they stopped complaining… or talking

.> Most jobs have associations or unions. I have secret societies. Noose around my neck 4 times so far. Hanged twice. Buried once.

>There's someone in front of me on the train writing about the Hospital of Ghouls. Is my work bleeding out, or are there others in my job?

>Thursday, i'm flying out to see the shapeshifter's family. Hands up: who's surprised they're on the west coast? Open mind, open mind...

>I don't want to do this. A week with the magic folk. "I have horns!" "I summoned an elder god!" "I...have an art history BA."

>Evil fog...meet the blowdryer of great justice. God, people...I'm from -Chicago-. What else do you have?

>In a warehouse of ancient artifacts. I need an iphone, a sticker printer, a glock, and a sandwich. Sourdough please.

>Returning. Still alive, but the memories will linger into the next lifetime.

>Sample of killer fog, the sash of the emperor of America? No, what Ned was most happy to have? A sourdough loaf.

>There are viruses of the soul. Clawing hungry thoughtless illnesses of despair. The symptoms are visible through the eyes. It's autumn.

>I'm told not to question what's in the Aquarium. Not our job. I just find it offensive that a Whale Lord's carcass is hung from a ceiling.

>You would think a man that once held the reliquary of nikolai tesla would know to play a goddamned electric bill. Candles are not safe here!

>The fundraiser isn't for us to keep our jobs. That's built into the charter. The fundraiser is for the weapons we need to do our jobs.

>The courts have changed from summer to autumn. From racists with butterfly wings to the beasts that go bump in the night.

Tery's Tweets Part 8

>I hate the undead. It's like having your best friend break up with you. They're still there, it's really awkward, and you have to kill them.

>It's a very soggy invasion as the city submits to the sweltering tyranny of our sullen summer overlords. A missive has been sent to autumn.

>It's actually not so difficult to be a sorcerer. Like any skill, the basics take some time and the rest comes with passion and practice.

>No one sells their soul anymore. It's become a line of credit. Big lines of happiness and prosperity with easy terms on forgiveness.

>My shapeshifter friend stood me up. Didn't know until her best friend changed back while we were having dinner.

>That was counterproductive. When we talked to the ogre about his weight problem, he felt so bad he ate more babies. We were trying to help!

>When the selkies walk the streets in their own skins, it's a rainy day. The seafood, however, is fantastic.

>Whether or not a sorceress is right or wrong. Anyone who can turn you into a frog is always in the right. Upside: girls think I'm a prince.

>We only focus on the objects. Most of the ghosts of the exposition have long disintegrated. But sometimes an object holds a soul as well.

>Mom's coming to town. Gotta hide the porn and the sacred artifacts. Asked shapeshifter to pick a single form. That fight went all night.

>You put a leash on a naked man and take him for a walk, you get arrested. Full moon comes out, and everyone wants to pet the puppy. Bastard.

>You want to know why I'm not a doctor ma? I know the locations of the seven secret organs of man and what happens when they get cut.

>Ever seen a salamander dissolve? Wait for a hot humid dawn. Wait until he crawls out of his boiler, and then cover him in baking soda

>Have you experienced an all-consuming passion? John G Shedd did, and it consumed him, digested him, and crapped out a frog-eyed monster.

>I dreamt i was back in school when miss lupindo was telling me there was no such thing as monsters. She was killed with silver in 1993.

>My two year training period with the burnhams ends this week. Ned says i won't have a safety net anymore...there was a net?!?

>A pat on the back, a bulb of garlick, and a box of hollow-point rounds. I am now a fully vetted member of the Burnham Society. Fuck me.

>Where do all the souls go? Is there a separate train line or something? The pity in the old ghost's eyes was rather damning.

>If the monster you see is looking out at you from the mirror...U.V. shock first, then silver nitrate, then black paint. Stupid.

>Within the post office is a labyrinth that has no escape. Just the smell of kerosene, lye, and the screams of young women. Oh, Dr. Holmes...

Tery's Tweets Part 7

>This really is an elemental week. Niads aren,t the driest creatures about, but who decided to host a marathon of camille and titanic?

>I hate witches. Warty ones, hippy pagan ones, and underage ones in frilly dresses wanting to purge my demons. Seriously. Anime kills magic

>The weather's good. Going to spend my day imagining I'm not living in a world poisoned by sorcerous cults from the 1800s. Pet a selkie.

>I had a goblin child cry for his mommy because the big bad Tery was going to eat him for being bad. My heart broke and we got ice cream.

>Today I saw a fox with a leaf on his head. I gave him some tips on the modern era and gave him a copy of The Reader to wear instead.

>When attending a shapeshifter birth, it's imperative you don't make any noise that could 'name' the child. Poor 'Disgusting Bloodbag'...

>The cicadas offer a warning.

>Even shapeshifters get the blues. Far worse, though, are the ochres. I think something could use a cookie and a hug.

>Okay, yes the rumors are true. I'm dating a shapeshifter. S(h)e's an artist. Let me tell you, shapeshifter sculpture is quite transgressive.

>Nothing makes summer better than free ice cream. And pixies. God i love pixies. I don't have to believe in them. Because they're awesome.

>Have to see a man about a dream. They should really post an exchange rate.

>Ever tried to explain your job to your mom? It's like that only with death cults and a reliquary that was so cute, she just had to have it.

>Red, purple, yellow,orange, green, brown, blue, pink...there is a ninth line. It turns and turns, a spiral path going back to the beginning.

>It's not the heat; it's the things trying to kill you in your sleep.

>The posts are going to be fragmented over the next few days. I've had to lock my soul away for safekeeping.

>The magic words have been uttered and the documents filed. I am now a real boy. And eligible for retirement and dismemberment.

>Never offer to judge a beauty contest between mannequins.

>Hot, sticky, and the awareness that tendrils of malevolent razors spiral around the perimeters of your soul. How was your weekeend?

Tery's Tweets Part 6

>The Tree of Life can be used for a really entertaining boardgame. Winner can raise the dead.

>Some of my shapeshifter friends took me out last night, and showed me the tricks to identifying their kind. You are in for an ugly surprise.

>There is a second zoo deep beneath lincoln park. It hasn't been tended to in years, but there are still survivors. And they bred true.

>For all the mysteries in my job, the cat in the office is spectacularly ordinary. Dumb as a rock, but eats pixies. Can't be all bad.

>GAAAAAAAAAH! PIXIES! PIXIES! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

>We're bringing in exterminators. We use a 13 year old girl who's 'too cool' to believe in such silly things. She might get banned by Geneva.

>After several years of nonstop panic, I find that I get very little done unless faced with the prospect of being eaten by trolls.

>Align your spine one way, open your mind. Another opens a gateway to a higher consciousness. The third position opens a portal. Back soon.

>The best part about enlightenment: The universe. The worst part: The customs office on the way back.

>Every year we have to negotiate with the plants. You think this is silly? Look at detroit in summer.

>I found out that calling it SecondLife is a little bigoted. It's a little unsettling realizing that I'm Tery_Awesomelord's avatar instead.

>Its almost time for the Taste. Fatten up the tourists, and the trains will sleep all winter. Barbecue smell hides many sins.

>Ned told me that he feared nothing. When he introduced me to nothing, I learned to fear it as well. Nothing's wong. Nothing is watching you.

>When I was a child, I wanted a magic sword to protect me from all the bad things in the dark. At this point, I want a grenade. Magic or not.

>I saw a lonely ghost on the rails last night. Her tears kept sparking the track. She told me her story, and I wish we were more different.

>Mandrake grown in Chicago doesn't scream. But -boy- does it complain!

>Went to chinatown to get the most essential tool in a society member's disposal: a cleaver. Fine cutting, broad body, and speaking of bodies

>Grey day. Time to hide in the office, turn on NPR, do some filing and watch the skulls grow.

>Having a scar on your forehead doesn't make you chosen. If that were true, my scars would make me the greatest lover in history. Shut up.

>If you kill a salamander properly, you don't need to cook it. Its blood will barbecue the body from the inside. Good luck strangling it.

Tery's Tweets Part 5

>It's just a job. There are trolls under bridges. When they're killed, the bones need to be cleaned away. That's not my friend's bracelet.

>The goddess of Chicago has no face. This was done deliberately so she could not see what her followers do in her name. Who loves markers?

>She said she wanted another chance. This time it would be forever. I staked her heart and severed her head. I'm not big on commitment.

>I don't know if I can eat at 9 Demons noodles anymore. I've gotten over the ingredients issue, but coca-cola? HONESTLY?

>Ned's back. While he sorts out all my paperwork, I'll have a good book cuddle up with me. Histories are the most affectionate.

>'God hates...' Dude. Be glad God doesn't even notice we're -here-. Because otherwise it's teeth, tentacles, and blood puppets. Look it up.

>I found out that death benefits aren't what I thought. On the upside, I have a lot more time for things. Downside? I'll never leave this job

> The soul of the Automatic Girl is a melody in a brass resonance chamber. I thought it would be fun to sample it. The remix tried to kill me.

>I'm losing the moon. Full moons only have werewolves. What comes forth when there is no light left to watch...Isn't pleasant.

>The only link between the assaults was the fact that each perp had an arrow in their back and chalk candy on their lips. Cupid's returned.

>There's something in my bed. Big warm, and affectionate. I'm sure if I open my eyes, the fear will kill me, but I could use a good cuddle.

>'Mad' scientist is relative. Oppenheimer was sane and he blew up the world. I took in someone who was trying to convert lead into velveeta.

>It's time to go to market. Red beans, chocolate, garlic, rosemary (for remembrance) and kitten souls. Can't forget the kitten souls.

>People who say it's hard to say goodbye have never summoned an elder god.

>Ned recommended alternative therapies to dealing with my faerie phobia. Upon reflection, ecstacy should not have been my first choice.

>I was told that a phoenix egg would make me immortal. But I looked up its cholesterol level on Weight Watchers, and I'm not so certain.

>We don't get a lot of fox spirits in the city. It's kind of like finding coyotes in the suburbs, except with more murder-suicides.

>Hunted down someone whom I thought was wearing the mark of a dangerous cult of child rapists. Turns out it was just Ash Wednesday.

>I'm in the archives today. I expected to find the cafe. However, you can find the entire faerie court between 929 and 945. Might not be back

>I now know why the noses are missing from ancient statues. For god's sake, people. Honestly.

Tery's Tweets Part 4

>Some days you just want a leather mask, some chicken scissors, and nylon cord.

>Every 4th that Bridget remains asleep is a good 4th. You haven't seen fireworks until you've met a dragon

>And as the fold gathered to listen to the Messiah speak on the mount, he realized at that moment he was bigger than John Lennon.

>Mermaid sashimi...*sigh* It shouldn't be this delicious.

>Apparantly the Burnham Society is only 38% hetero. What is it about a pair of male retro-adventurers fighting the supernatural that feels gay?

>The Everleigh Slipper. The greatest artifact I'll never be able to admit to finding.

>Ned didn't like the research proposal. I wanted to do an impact study of bullets upon the soft parts of ogres. My hypothesis was great.

>The Devil thought I was crazy for selling my soul for a hot dog combo. Upon ordering the duck fries, however, he agreed it was worth it.

>We both came into it for the wrong reasons. I wanted a sexy vampire girlfriend, she needed a fix who would take her to the movies.

>I'm getting reviewed. Pros: slew my first dragon. Cons: endangered. I'm sorry, but if you can eat me, I am not the one endangering you.

>Clap and bring a fairy to life. Clap again and smash it. Repeat as desired.

>You know you're jaded when you realize you're only dealing with a serial murderer with a paperback necronomicon and some mommy issues.

>I am getting -really- sick of psychics. It does make my job easier, however. If they don't have a seizure at the sight of me, they're fake.

>The pickpocket's ghost ran rampant. The objects were still where they'd belonged, he'd just stolen their value.

>Girlfriend tried to get back together last night. Said she's incomplete without me. Curse my rare blood type.

>Hold a thought. Give it to the person to your left. See how it feels. If it's gooshy, that's not a thought. Kill the zombie to your right.

>Rule: Grimoires are not to be scanned into the computer. The information tends to...wander off.

>I learned today that Basilisks are stored in mirrored cages. Who knew? Oleg didn't. But now we have new office art. Silver lining and all...

>You read Gaiman and Chesterton, and you believe that what lies beneath cities is a wonderland of danger and adventure. Not dragon poo.

>I introduced a Gamer to a real Mage today. I don't think they understood each other. The Gamer said he was level 80. The Mage ate his soul.

Question of the Week

What mythic beast would you want from Take-out? How is it prepared?

Tery's Tweets Part 3

>The ferris wheel has a car that disappears at the top and reappears at the bottom. I haven't had the nerve to see the view.

>Never get into an argument with two of the three sisters. The third will come to you in dreams. Yes, I'd love some coffee.

>Sometimes it's important to remember that the magic is within you...Growing..twitching...feeding.

>Why can't the scraping in the walls just be mice?

>"I don't really care for death" Is not a conversation starter.

>Made my pitch last night. The response was...unexpected. I don't know if I'm getting my 5% increase, or I'm the new King of Garfield Park.

>I hate exorcising phantom limbs.

>Tonight, going to see my favorite play. Not supposed to name it out loud, I just call it: William Shakespeare's 'Fate's a Bitch'.

>Waiting for body to heal. Hate doing body part inventories, but you never know who's going to use what for which spell...

>Life is a period. Immortality is a series of ellipses. The undead are l335sp34k. Seriously. Zombies are the PWN3D of life.

>I really need to learn how to empty my mind. Without a revolver.

>Edward Gorey was a Prophet

>26 dead children. This is -not- what I signed up for. I'm now afraid of patterned wallpaper.

>I saw a Rat King made up of people.

>I learned today that the dead never stop paying.

>She replaced his coffin with a tanning bed. I'm never going to get that image out of my head.

>My boss took today. I'm going to be spending all of wednesday chasing after him for it.

>I now understand the Hatter's punishment. I fucking hate tea.

>Everybody buys a salamander in -winter-. I just wish they would take summer responsiblity. Dredging the river is sad.

>Apparantly it's not murder-suicide if both parties can reincarnate. Ned says it's just called 'blowing off steam'.

And now we take a moment.

Over the past few days, there's been a lot of activity here, and from tonight on, there's going to be more, so I thought I'd take a moment and look at what's going on.

Most of you reading this actually know me. Several of you haven't yet seen me face to face, but 5+ years of mails, messages, posts, tweets...Has anyone else noticed that the content delivery systems just get smaller and smaller? I feel like the comics section of a newspaper...has made an impression I like to consider friendship. You know me, and you basically know what these worlds are.

For the others...Hello! Hi! Come on in! Please! Tell me a little about yourself! How did you find this place? I love your hair! Come in!

You know my name, and let me tell you the other names you might see bandied about in the comments, or in some of the posts:

-Rowan Bristol. This was the name I wrote under, and in many ways still live under. It blends two of my favorite memories into one name. Back when I didn't like the me I was, this was the shield. Now, it's just me as is. I respond to both Steve and Rowan.

-Romuel. The name I had on Gaia Online when I ran a community there. The nickname was Rommy. The gaia community, although I retired from it after 7 years, is still going. Who knew?

About me. I'm in early middle age, living in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago with my boyfriend, and a friend. That friend was the early inspiration for one of the characters in the Burnham Society stories. I work for a large medical advocacy group, keeping track of criminals and dead people. Seriously.

I've been a performer, and a storyteller. I now aid in producing theatre. I work with a local director, and a company out in Milwaukee. They are the most awesome folks I know. You'll hear about them quite often in the course of this journal.

As a storyteller, and with most of my theatre training in improv, many of my stories just came up out of the fly. It's easy for me to just step into the worlds in my head, and ramble about things that have happened there, as if we were discussing your sick cousin. How is she, by the way?

A few years ago, some friends got -really- sick of the extreme 'ramble-to-printed-word' ratio, and I signed on with a good writing group that metamorphosed into another writing group that I think is now a game development company. But I wrote some stories, and learned the value of writing over rambling. However, if you spot me, I am more than willing to ramble again.

The bulk of the stories for now will reflect the Chicago I see on the train every day, which I've put under the umbrella of 'The Burnham Society'. The Burnham Society stories are a gateway to the mythic side of Chicago; a world both as wonderful and as ordinary as the many neighborhoods Chicago has. Our tour guides are Ned Grenier and Tery Lee, the current and sole members of the Occult wing of a secret society that has long since transformed into a 'dinner party and charitable donation' type of club. Ned is very much a reflection of what the city was, or what it imagined itself to be; Tery is quite rooted in the present and the future. I find their tales funny, and full of the beliefs and concepts I used to love in telling fairy tales and arthurian romances.

There may be other stories. Some non-genre stuff, more than a few fairy tales, and maybe a romance or two that requires some dusting off. There may be more media. I am a massive podcast fan, and am really curious about the techniques. There's already going to be t-shirts. Seriously.

So, welcome! Feel free to comment, ask questions (I love questions!) and riff with me. Please spread the stories around.

And let's talk about that.

The stories contained within are presented under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivitaves license. Share it; but don't change it or sell it. Spread my stories, and I'll be more than happy to spread yours.

Love the hat.

Tery's Tweets Part 2

>The worst part of working for a secret occult society: Taxes. Best part? T-shirts.

>Say what you will about foxes. They do make the best noodles.

>At this point, I'm going to make a list of places that -DON'T- have secret cults devoted to monstrosities. Oddly, the Shriners count.

>Bridget's gassy. Some dragons shouldn't be eating what comes out of the river. Back to the emergency room.

>The basement's flooded. Guess how many things down there will come to life. Winner gets eaten.

>The Grail, or a raise? Gotta go with my 4 percent.

>It's all in good fun until someone loses their soul.

>Everyone else gets to talk like Shakespeare today. Me? I get chewed out by Oberon. And yes, he -does- talk like that. All the TIME.

>The trains are shackled to their rails. However, they know all our names.

>Found the mask. I know I'll never find the body.

>Found a grimoire today. It's not good when a curse mentions your ex by name.

>Have been abducted by fairies from Milwaukee. Do not send help. Repeat do -not- send help. I will return with cookies.

>Home again. The cat brings omens.

>Blame it on the rain...Because that's where the evidence leads.

>Thought I was on a diplomatic mission to Alfheim. Turned out I had just passed out in the bathroom stall.

>"The only way I do a resurrection is if I get a call". I really need to not eavesdrop in other cubicles.

>I don't care if she's stealing my essence. She paid for a great lunch.

>I can't tell if a stray cat has walked in the office, or the new temp's arrived. I put out a saucer of energy drink to be on the safe side

>Say what you will about the job. The trade magazines are excellent.

>Invisible things still smell.

Tery's Tweets Part 1.

As Ned himself will tell you, the Burnham Society is like any other job. Clock in, Do your job, clean the grates of basilisks, clock out. It's actually very mundane. This is because he has an assistant. Someone to handle the nightmares, atrocities, and general weirdness. And he has a Twitter account.

I did these tweets daily as a means of keeping the idea alive while I was in college. They provide a window into the world, and what the Burnham Society is like as a day job. More to come.

>I shouldn't have been surprised that gryphon would turn out to be a very gamey meat. I mean, it's two predators in one!

>Quick! How many dangerous occult items are imbedded in the Tribune building? Answer: 5.

>There's only one place to eat a Billy Goat Cheeseburger. The other places don't contain the souls of journalists.

>My landlord says I can't use my shower. I suspect Elder Gods.

>I've held Excalibur in my hands, and yet I can't convince my boss to use a relational database. *sigh*

>According to my lunchbuddy, being immortal doesn't mean you live forever. It just feels like it.

>Boss says that we're archivists. Show of hands: How many archivists are presently in the sewer with a revolver?

>I'm told I can only go to the Mausoleum in the off-hours. I suspect my workload is just about to double.

>For insurance reasons, I had to get an estimate on my soul. The results were depressing.

>I think I made a wrong turn. Clearly I am in Wednesday.

>Best cure for being lost in time? Patience.

>Had to explain to a coven exactly who they were invoking. Neither side was pleased.

>It honestly sounded like marbles falling down the stairs.

>Day off. Research at last. And maybe I'll go to the river to just hang back, relax, and feed the selkies.

>There are kinksters amongst the faerie court. Just not in the way we understand the term. Immortality is a poison.

>Someone talked. I'm on inventory. Those who forget history are doomed to be eaten by it.

>Several staffers at the Society got the axe today. I was stuck cleaning the axe.

>Rented out the safety deposit box. Reliquary, Glock, $6,000, and Mr. Snugglebear. Don't judge me.

>Had my performance review. I still don't believe past lives should count.

>Received weaponized faith from the remains of a zombie jihad in the Sudan. We need more Society folk at customs.

In The Mouth of Milwaukee

This next bit of Ned and Tery stemmed from a bit of a rivalry. I am -very- passionate about my home town. I have friends who are very passionate about theirs. Mistakenly so. Ron always promised a retaliation. I still look forward to it.



“One, two three four five six seven eight. Shlemeel! Schlemazel! Hasenfeffer Incorporated!

We’re gonna do it!”

Terry Lee tried to puzzle what he was seeing as he opened the door. Frogs and microwaves came to mind; with the microwave being a studio off of Bryn Mawr, and the frog being its occupant. The walls and ceiling were dripping with the crimson remnants of a human being. Covered in gore, the television continued to blare ‘Laverne and Shirley’ reruns. Tery wondered which was more horrific; the exploded remnants of a person, or Penny Marshall’s nasal whine.

“You’re sweating”, said Ned Grenier behind him his voice quavering with revulsion. Terry shook his head. Although Ned Grenier had a long and storied career within the Burnham Society for the Preservation of the Columbia Exposition, he could be surprisingly squeamish.

“It’s summer,” said Tery, clad from head to foot in university sweat clothes. “Besides, you said this would be messy.”

“I heard the explosion over the phone. It had a wet sound…”

“And you called me. Can’t sully your delicate hands with this…”

“Terry, be fair. Look at this place. There’s nowhere I can walk without getting my shoes messy. Even the ceiling’s coated.”

“Which is why you have a grunt.”

“Apprentice, Terry. One day you too will ascend the great heights of the society…”

“But first I have to plumb the depths. Right,” Terry took off his sweats and shoes, revealing a latex bodysuit that completely covered him from neck to feet. Ned lowered his shades curiously.

“What on earth…”

“Last I saw, the Society didn’t have a HAZMAT suit.”

“We don’t have the budget for that sort of thing. Which makes me wonder…”

Terry angrily raised a finger “Just tell me what I need to find, there’s a hose outside. It had better be ready.” His tone was unusually harsh, but Ned nodded, and offered the list.

Terry walked into the gore. There –had- to be a better way to earn health insurance.


An hour later, Terry and Ned were in the back garden of the apartment building, Ned hosing the gore off his employee’s body. In the distance police sirens were heard. Ned had sworn up and down he had the ability to cloud men’s minds, so Terry wasn’t as concerned at how the police would react to a fop dressed for a Raymond Chandler revival giving an impromptu shower to a latex-clad college student covered in liquefied human.

“So who was this?” asked Tery, turning to get as much water on him as possible.

“Professor Tom McNulty. Historian by trade.”

“Is he one of us?” Terry had become quickly used to the nature of his work with the Burnham Society. Ordinary people got shot, or had heart attacks. It was only the elite that ended up with sabers in the eyes or eaten by elder gods.

“Sort of. Tom did research on the magical histories of other cities. His work on the Gary Monstrosity was invaluable. I hadn’t heard from him in months. And then he just calls out of the blue. He didn’t sound like himself. He was really frightened.”

“Seems like he had good reason.” Terry looked up. The force of his explosion had blown out the windows of the good professor’s apartment.

“What did you find?”

“Your friend was a serious alcoholic. Aside from bones, meat and blood, there were a lot of beer cans everywhere. Hundreds. I’d have suspected kidney failure, but I found one of them intact in the kitchenette, and it looked fine. Really cheap beer, too.”

“How cheap?”

“Unemployed College Student. I also found DVD’s of every single episode of Happy Days, and half of Laverne and Shirley.”

Ned frowned even more. “Which half?”

“Pre-Burbank. Do you know something?”

Ned turned off the hose, staring at his employee. “I have to ask…”

“You really don’t, Ned. What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s just not in my experience that someone –has- an outfit…”

Terry snapped. “Do you recall where you left me last month? You had me Squiring for CRATE! I was up to my ass in paranormal filth! You know what –else- a phoenix does every thousand years? It’s just as explosive and ten times as rancid!”

“It still doesn’t explain…Who –has- this much rubber in their closet?”

“Do I ask what you do on Thursday nights?”

Ned paled, dropping the hose. “I’ll…drop the subject…”

“Thank you. Now…what aren’t you telling me?”

“What else did you find?”

“Old Bucks tickets, a ball cap, and some internet cards…”

“Internet cards?”

“Yeah…” He pulled them out of the pile. “See? There’s a number value, and a smiley. A colon and a parentheses.”

Ned shook his head. “That’s not what you think it is.”

“Oh?”

“They’re passes…To Summerfest.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Of course not. The Taste of Chicago was crafted solely to counter its malign influence. It’s a bacchanal of dark desperation and weak alcohol. I know what our professor was exploring, and we can’t be part of it. I’m certain now that the unholy combination of influences within that enclosed space forced poor Tom to eject himself from this world in the most violent way.”

“Ned. Laverne and Shirley never killed anyone…”

“Not exclusively my friend. But look at the symbols.” He pulled the tickets, arranging them on the ground. In the center, he’d placed the ball cap. Wiping the gore from the logo revealed what appeared to be a combination of letters and a catcher’s mitt. He placed the passes down, completing a strange tarot.

“This is the shadow. The nightmare.” Ned said ominously.

“Cheap beer, and bad sports teams?”

“Combined with a festival that showcases the depth of human suffering. Think, Terry. Do you believe people listen to Three Dog Night and Blondie willingly? No, this is the emptiness. I feared this time would come. That this would rear its ugly head.”

“I don’t understand.” Terry knelt, trying to puzzle the pattern, a sense of unease crawling in his stomach.

“There…is a shadow realm to our city. A pale imitation of our own. Its populace is a wasted ruin, fed watered alcohol to keep them docile. Unspeakable horrors grow and fester within, and our only mission is to keep its vile influence from our shores. We drink Old Style to keep its wretched name from our lips. My friend gazed into the abyss…and we lost him to its malevolence.”

“This…” The patterns of unholy mediocrity swam in Terry’s eyes, forcing him to look away. Ned forced his head back to face the pattern.

“Yes, Terry. Gaze into the mouth of Milwaukee. May God have mercy on our souls.”