All posts by Sean Hoade

The Excellent Lovecraft Mythos panel at Phoenix Comicon 2015!

Friends, take a look-see at the entertaining and informative panel on “H.P. Lovecraft and the Cthulhu Mythos” panel at this past weekend’s Phoenix Comicon 2015. Great stuff with Yours Truly on the left in the ginormous beard!

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Cold Air: A Bit of Lovecraftian Erotica

We hope you enjoy this dirty little Mythos tale. Read with the door locked and maybe have a tissue or two handy. BECAUSE YOU MIGHT BE SO SCARED, YOU MIGHT CRY, OKAY? Perverts.

You would’ve done it too. She looked like a cross between Dita Von Teese and what you picture when you masturbate about WWII bomber pinup nose art. Lips the color of a spicy tamale, skin so creamy white you could paint a Bob Ross mountaintop with it, eyes like a police sketch artist would draw if you only said, “smoky bedroom with a touch of startled arousal.” And her voice, oh, that voice that sounded like a panther purring while being spanked with a leather strop.

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YES!!! I shall be a guest author at NecronomiCon Providence 2015!

Hi. May I just say one quick thing?


Ahem. Thank you. To discover the source of my excitement, please check out the screenshot of the NecronomiCon “Guests” Web page. A subtle arrow has been added to direct you (you’re welcome). Continue reading »

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Will I be “Riding the Dog” to NecronomiCon?

Although the concepts are related, there is a wide gulf between embarrassment and shame. Embarrassment is when you are seen getting stuck outside your hotel room stark naked. Shame is when you are seen getting stuck outside your hotel room totally starkers except for a condom and a Hitler mask.

hitler baby

At least you were using protection.

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Finally, a serious fiction workshop for writers not in college

Hey, this is Sean Hoade, the “new meat” at I will consider all Weird stories or novellas produced in my workshop for these very pages. (Of course, I will also consider Weird stuff not created in my workshop.) Have a look:

Friends and aspiring writers: You might be interested in a graduate-level-style fiction workshop taught by Yours Truly, just like the workshops I held at the University. It will run 13 weeks, and people would bring in a story for the class three times to be critiqued. You could do different stories or chapters from a WIP novel or novella.

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Only Pain Is Real

“A cigarette holder and a Martini do not make the neurasthenic man,” Les Esseintes was saying, flicking an ash and taking a sip. “Nor do the tuxedo or the moustache.”

“No, the true decadent is on the inside,” Miss Satin added with a smirk. Then she sipped her own Martini to punctuate her sentence. “Of course, it’s easier for a billionaire to get away with having both.”

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La Fée Verte, le Monstre Vert


Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness;
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!
          ― Charles Baudelaire, “Autumn Song”


It is 1859. Where has his strength gone? His arms are like brooms held at arms’ length to disturb a hornets’ nest, only his are joined at his shoulders. Numb, barely under his control. It is l’automne now, the time of dying, when the hornets die off or disappear to hide with their Queen. Baudelaire’s deadened broomstick arms serve no purpose now except to take the louched glass of absinthe once the sugar lump has been dissolved by dripping ice water.

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