To whom it may concern

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Cobb-On the Winged Tiger:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Lambticore the Manticore:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Chick Two the Cockatrice:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Chick Three, the three-headed Cockatrice:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Grifford the Cerberus:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Crooner the Chupacabra:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Wheeto:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet the Chonky Scrombler:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Bearterr, a big strong Cerberus:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Goldie Horn the Cerberus:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, meet Flufftiles, a horned half-snake half-dog:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, I'd like to share Bunneleon the Centaur:

Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

This week, I'd like to share Gunga Dinn, my first ever attempt at a Cerberus.









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New year, new challenge! Weekends are traditionally when we do those hobbies that take a little more time (and generate a little more mess!) than can comfortably fit into a weekday evening. With that in mind, pour yourself your beverage of choice, pull up a pew,and share what crafty projects you've got on the go.

To kick things off, I'm sharing my first ever mix-and-match Frankenbeanie, Orange Flops the Jackalope:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Rj the Aesthetic Griffin:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Alligator Loki:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Roland Boz, the Tales from the Gas Station-inspired raccoon-dragon hybrid

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Himb the Chupacabra:

It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Birberus:

Marshall Teller accepted the damp washcloth with ill humour and a distinct lack of gratitude, and used it to clean the worst of the blood from his face and hands.

"What," he said, spitting the words out alongside a decent amount of gore, none of which was his own, "Was that?"

The Mayor looked at him, considering.

"Comforting lie?" he asked, "Or ugly truth?"

"Truth," said Marshall.

"I don't know."

Marshall winced.

"Comforting lie, then."

"A creature entirely under the control of the City Council, which everyone knows about and that you'll never be able to prove exists."

Marshall scowled.

"How would that have been comforting?"

The Mayor shrugged.

"I was working on the assumption that that's a familiar scenario for you," he said. "Less than ideal, possibly a little frustrating, but something you're used to."

Marshall didn't respond right away, mostly because the response he wanted to give would have been considered vulgar in all polite societies, and even a few of the impolite ones would have raised an eyebrow at the language he had in mind.

Then the import of the Mayor's words hit home, and politeness went out the window.

"Fuck," he said.

The Mayor nodded sagely.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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At 3:33 a.m. on a wet Wednesday morning in June, every church bell in Eerie began to chime.

In the Eerie Cemetery, stiff-necked corpses rolled over in their coffins, moaning in protest and pressing skeletal hands over shrivelled ears while beneath Lake Eerie, things with tentacles and gills and other, less-easily described attributes clutched tight to crucifixes made from driftwood and barnacles. Janet Donner pulled her coverlet over her head, ears straining for the tell-tale clink of milk bottles, and Melanie Monroe awoke shrieking out a scream that only she could hear.

Mary B. Carter was getting married. Again.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Ongoing Verse: The Children

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Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Euclid

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The man from the Eerie Dairy stared into the chocolate-brown eyes of the calf that stood unsteadily on the other side of the fence. A little way off, Cloud Sheep bobbed uneasily on tethers of glittering twine that was all that kept them anchored to the earth.

"He belongs to us," he said. "The Dairy has dominion over all milk-related products, and that includes mysteriously glowing green cows made from mint ice-cream."

"Does it," said Farmer Ephraim Chambers, his tone studiedly neutral. "Got a precedent for this, have you?"

The man from the Eerie Dairy smiled.

"We will, in time."

Ongoing Verse: Milkman

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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It's Thursday, the day we dedicate to Simon's absolute best boy, Sparky the Hellhound.

This week, meet Chip:

Far overhead, lost in the cavernous spaces of the Bureau's high and dusty ceilings, electric lights flickered. They brightened, blinked, dimmed to nearly nothing, then burst into almost incandescent radiance before expiring with a muffled pop and, somewhere too close for comfort, the tinkling sound of falling glass.

Lodgepoole sat in the newly-dark office, listening to the diminuendo scream of something complex and mechanical slowly winding down in the shadows above him. No doubt there was a circuit breaker somewhere in these winding corridors, but as with so many things down here, it's exact location had been lost long ago.

Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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The fog hung in the air like unravelling skeins of cotton wool, an almost-solid thing too heavy to be stirred by the chill November breeze that rattled bare branches overhead and threatened loose roof tiles as it passed.

Marshall Teller pulled out his torch, more out of a sense of obligation than from any real belief that it would help. The light was a warm gold, and the beam made shining yellow circles against the roiling mass of white that pressed in all around him.

He clicked it off again, stowed it away.

"Okay," he said. "Fine. And now what?"

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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