Hey, Rob!

Some people will tell you that there are two Americas: the bright and shining daylight country where normal people live their lives and count their blessings, and a second, darker place, a place where men with hooks haunt Lover's Lane and scarecrows walk on moonlit nights. Those people are full of shit. There are a lot more than just two Americas, because every inch of ground on this planet is a palimpsest, scraped clean and overwritten a million times, leaving behind just as many ghosts. Sure, that daylight America exists, and so do a thousand others just like it, but the midnight Americas outnumber them a thousand-fold, and people who aren't careful...people who aren't careful run the risk of slipping into the cracks between the countries.

There's a secret language written across the length and breadth of North America, etched out in highways and embellished in side roads. It sweeps from Canada all the way to the tip of Mexico, telling the story too big and too old for any living soul to understand. There just isn't time. You'd need to ride those roads for fifty years or more, just listening, just learning, before you'd start to have a clue. Even then, you wouldn't really know. You'd just be a little bit less ignorant. Me, I've been running these roads since 1945, and I'm still not sure what some of the side roads and interchanges are trying to tell me. I do know enough to understand that every story starts in more than one place, driving anchors into the flesh of the ghostside where stories are born, digging in its claws and screaming for the right to live.

-- "Good Girls go to Heaven," by Seanan McGuire

Also I believe I recognize the name of one of the other authors on that site, so all of this is very pleasing to me. (Well, a couple of them, but really I mean Ivan.) Gotta love some synchronicity, baby.

Yeah, I'm in full-fledged happy to find a new author mode right now.