Well…we’ve never done THIS before. Book Eight is finished, over, done. This is not yet Book Nine. Internally, we’re calling it Book 8.5, but it’s not that either. It is neither prologue nor epilogue; it’s…something between. It’s an interlude. It’s something we needed to do.
(Of course, we have to choose whether to tag it as one or the other for the sake of the archives. BOO. If it has to be one or the other, I guess it’s Book Eight. But it’s not Book Eight.)
DUDE. Are you people watching Stranger Things???
I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that Stranger Things, more than almost any show currently on the air, is what I was hoping TV (if not LIFE) for adults would be like when I was a twelve-year old in 1983. It is the show that Stephen King never wrote but probably should have, directed by the Steven Spielberg that was kicking around between Close Encounters of the Third Kind and The Goonies. (I know, he didn’t direct The Goonies. But he did produce it, and did any non-Spielberg film ever feel more like a Spielberg film?)
I only signed up for because of Daredevil, but in terms of original programming, this is the best thing I’ve seen on Netflix. (Admittedly, that’s only Daredevil, Jessica Jones, House of Cards, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, and Frankie and Grace.)
Best of all, Stranger Things is a spiritual cousin to Hunter Black: it would never have happened without some adult nerds who used to play D&D. Nice to see the greatest RPG of all time shown as the influence it is.
(I still have X-Men #134. That makes sense if you watch the show.)