greygirlbeast: (Default)
I'm glad Lindsay Lohan's community service gig at the LA County Morgue is working out so well, because it doesn't seem like jail's willing to keep her even five hours. But, really, here's my thing: who gives a shit? Everywhere I go on the goddamn internet this morning, there's Lindsay Lohan skulking about, and it's not like I felt so fucking great when I woke up. I have to get Lindsay "I don't want to classify myself" Lohan, too?

Hell in a handbasket.

Yesterday, I sat here and tried to think of an idea for a 10k-plus word short story/novelette/novella sort of a thing (requests welcome), and....nothing. People think writers are bottomless wells of Ideas. And maybe some writers are. But speaking as an insanely productive author, occasionally you go to the well and there's nothing down there but dust and old spiderwebs. So, I sat and I stared at the screen, and I typed in a title, stolen from Milton, that I almost certainly won't use. It just sounded good. And there is not a single spare day this month (those so-called weekends) included for me to be not writing. Today, though it's in the list of the Last Ten Things I Want To Be Doing, I'll sit here and stare at this fucking screen again. How hard can it be? It's not like real work, right?

Speaking of which, I finally gave up about 5:30 p.m. (CaST) and loaded the van with about a hundred pounds (no, really; I checked) of books, mostly my comp copies of Two Worlds and In Between and carted them away to Pawtucket, to our second, and supposedly temporary, storage unit. The place was like a fucking icebox.

Please, I know it's hard to believe...

And I'm not even going to get started on how I couldn't get my fountain pen to work.

Last night, we read more of House of Leaves, to that wonderful line where Karen Navidson screams. I read more of The Log From the Sea of Cortez. I might have slept, because I might have dreamt. And fuck you, LJ, for not knowing how to spell dreamt.

Also, please, if you pre-ordered your copy of Two Worlds and In Between and you've not yet received your book, understand that telling me won't help. The book will come. I can't speak for, a company that's making a mint ripping people off (authors included), but I can speak for Subterranean Press. You will get your book. Be patient. Pre-ordering doesn't mean you get a book early, or at the same time as everyone (or anyone) else; it means you'll get a book.

Not Daring To Hope For a Better Day,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (starbuck1)
Yesterday was actually a very good writing day, the sort of writing day I wish I had more often. The fourteenth and final section of "Bainbridge" came out easy as you please. I'd thought it would only be two or three hundred words long, but it had other ideas. So I did 1,358 words on the story yesterday and finished (which you already know from last night's addendum). I suppose it really is a novella (or novelette) now instead of a "mere" short story. The word count stands at 15,598, which comes out to a whopping 70 typescript pages. This morning, I need to send it out to a couple of my "first" readers and to Ted, so he can get started on the last of the Alabaster illustrations. But it's still a little rough 'round the edges, and when I come back from my two days off (which begin as soon as I deal with e-mail), I'll read through it and make whatever changes need making. They're very minor. I don't write true first drafts, not usually. Once the polish is done, it may be a hundred words longer or a hundred words shorter, but essentially the same. I very much like how this story has turned out — I think. The beginning of The Larger Story, which will fall at the end of the collection, which makes my inner anti-linear narrator jump for joy.

All of January I shall edit. "Bainbridge" and the rest of Alabaster. And Daughter of Hounds. Sigh.

There's still confusion over this business with offering Murder of Angels for $4.99. Despite what my editor was told yesterday by Amazon — that no one has been able to buy it for that price — [ profile] the_final_woman reports that she did. This morning, the "Bargain" price page is showing no copies remaining for sale at $4.99, but if you search for MoA, a second page comes up, wherein the book is listed at its actual price ($11.20 after Amazon's discount). So, it's like this. Click here to go to the screwed up page that shouldn't exist, or click here to go to the genuine page. Someday, all this will make sense. And pigs will fly.

Instead of letting me collapse on my face last night and peacefully drown in my own drool, Spooky lured me into the living room by waving Season Two of Battlestar Galactica beneath my nose. Nothing brings me back to life like good space opera. And that's what Battlestar Galactica is, despite what the creators might say from fear of the wrath of Bonnie Hammer and the SFC suits. It's very, very good space opera. We made it through the first four episodes, and I was in no way disappointed (though there was that one short scene lifted almost shot for shot from the opening of Apocalypse Now, but we'll just call that homage). The series' willingness to get down and dirty, to let the blood flow and put the hurting on characters you've come to care about is commendable. Never in a zillion years would I have believed that the rebirth of Battlestar Galactica would be a good thing, which just goes to show me that I don't yet know everything. I do think, though, that there's a curious and fundamental difference between the new Battlestar Galactica and my dear, departed Farscape. I would argue that Farscape was character driven (and sometimes seemed a bit confused about story), while Battlestar Galactica is story driven. At least, this was the case with Season One. In the four episodes last night, I think the writers finally began to open the characters up a little more. For example (SPOILER), the scene where "Sharon" dies in the Chief's arms — wow. Beautifully, beautifully done. We shall watch the next four episodes tonight (along with Project Runway, of course).

Oh, and I just have to give you this link to a National Geographic article which recounts how the new Cretaceous Australian monotreme, Kryoryctes cadburyi, got its species name. It involves a cubic meter of chocolate.

Okay. Now I take care of e-mail. Then I go to the aquarium and spend the day at the bottom of the sea...
greygirlbeast: (slytherin)
At about 6 p.m. (Caitlín Standard Time), I finally finished the first draft of "Bainbridge." It is done. Now, I get a couple of days off, the first real days-off I've had in weeks. Spooky's taking me to the Georgia Aquarium tomorrow (you'll recall that I didn't get to go on Xmas). There will be fish. And squids. And stuff. My thanks to everyone who has so far offered their advice regarding a possible move to Salem, MA, especially [ profile] kambriel, who has very kindly promised to introduce us to the city firsthand. Now I'm gonna go lie on my face. Literally. Tonight, I may drown in my own drool.

Oh, and that weirdness with supposedly selling Murder of Angels for only $4.99 was a screw-up on Amazon's part, the best one they've pulled on me since they claimed that I wrote Neil's book Stardust. I e-mailed my editor today, who, equally baffled, e-mailed the Amazon rep, who said it was all a big mistake. So. Apologies. No $4.99 copies of MoA. It still has all that "bargain price" nonsense up, but trust me, it lies. I have been assured that this will not negatively impact sales. What sales? Ha, ha, ha, ha...oh, whatever.

Oh, and here's the link to letter X of Frog Toes and Tentacles and its sumptuous "cozy." Have a look. Crushed velvet and red silk. Oooooooooooo.


greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

    1 234
56 7 891011


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 21st, 2017 03:55 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios