greygirlbeast: (Eli2)
I seem to be developing a new loathing for "weekends" (id est, Friday night-Sunday), and I begin to guess why.

Comments would be good today, if anyone still reads LJ on Saturday.

Today, I have to get back to writing "Sexing the Weird," which I truly need to finish by tomorrow evening. Yes, it's about sex, and the weird, and weird sex. But maybe not how you think. Or maybe exactly as you think.

The only work yesterday were a couple of last minute corrections to the galley pages of The Drowning Girl. Then we had to rush out to the UPS place at Wayland Square to be sure the thing would be back in NYC on Monday morning. Forty-two dollars and some number of cents to get it there by then.

Anyway, after that we wondered...er, wandered (though I wonder a lot) about Providence for a little while, as late afternoon faded to twilight, just watching the last remnants of the day and the last remnants of autumn. I'm beginning to realize that autumn will never cease to make me melancholy. Doesn't matter if it's beautiful, but that should be obvious to anyone who stops and thinks about it. Indeed, the beauty of autumn may lie near the heart of why it inspires a sense of melancholy in me.

We drove up to Blackstone Park, but it was too cold to walk through the woods. We'd not dressed for that much cold. We took the road that leads south (well, we were going south; the other lane leads north), between the Seekonk River and York Pond. I glanced over at the shadows darkening the still waters of the pond, and spotted a lump moving across the surface that I first mistook for a large turtle (despite the chill), but soon realized was a beaver. Oh, before Blackstone Park, we stopped in at Myopic Books, which is next door to the UPS Place. My favorite used bookstore in Rhode Island. I was good. All I got was an 1883 book on the sea, Ocean Wonders: Our Summer at the Seashore and Lakes by William E. Damon (D. Appleton & Co.; New York; the book is inscribed in a beautiful, looping hand, "Lotie H. Palmer 1884") and a much less old children's book on horseshoe crabs, The Crab That Crawled Out of the Past by Lorus and Margery Milne (1966, Atheneum; New York). Looking at these books now, I think, gods, remember when there were innumerable publishers in Manhattan. Now there are about six. To the detriment of almost all authors. Anyway, I was good, as I said, and didn't get a couple of pricey books on the evolution of birds that I also wanted.

We got dinner from Mama Kim's Korean food truck. It was parked in the usual spot, near the corner of Thayer and George. It was almost dark. Spooky went to get the food (I had three gochujang sliders), and I sat on a bench, smoking and thinking about the ancient buildings around me. The silhouette of some Brown University tower was visible to the northwest. Spooky's still sad she didn't get the little fish-shaped, sweet-bean pancakes. They seem too peculiarly reminiscent of something Xtian for my comfort.

Later, too much freaking Rift. But we were finally able to "buy" the cool cold-weather outfits at Chancel of Labors.

Later still, we watched an odd film, Daniel Myrick's The Objective (2007). It was almost pretty good. Well, it probably was pretty good. But there was this horrid voice over, which felt tacked on, whether it was added in post production or was part of the original screenplay. It seemed to exist to a) tell us the plainly obvious and b) make the film seem more like Apocalypse Now. Anyway, voice over aside, great idea and some nicely unnerving imagery, especially the final shot. Then I finished reading John Steinbeck's The Log From the Sea of Cortez, because I only had twenty pages to go, and I was determined to finish (even if it did mean staying up until almost five ayem). Wonderful, wonderful book. Then there were the dreams, some oddly, disturbingly sexy, others oddly, pleasantly disturbing, and still others just odd.

Here are a couple of photos, the The Drowning Girl (+ cat hair!) and the 1883 book:

Covers )


Oddly,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (white2)
It's dratted Sunday, kittens. COMMENT! I was up until after four ayem, and didn't wake up until fucking noon, so this is going to be very goddamn brief. Weekends are for pussies:

1) Yesterday I managed to write only a little better than a thousand words on "Ex Libris," because I spent over an hour trying to figure out exactly when a particular Providence church burned (I know the exact date on which it was demolished, after the fire).

2) I woke grateful that this was Monday, only to discover that it isn't.

3) For Sirenia Digest #72, I want to do another "Question @ Hand" feature, as we haven't done one in quite a while, and I actually have fun with them. Yeah, fun. Imagine that. Anyway, I'm taking requests. That is, it would be great if people had suggestions, as I'm drawing a blank. So, you know, something along the lines of "What if you had me alone for twenty-four hours with nothing but a spork and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and I was hogtied, and no one would ever know what you did, what would you do to me?" Only more imaginative. That sort of thing, in keeping with the flavor of the digest, which means none of that "I just want to read to you (or let you write) and make you a cup of tea" nonsense. Get your hands dirty. I do it every day.

4) Sunny and chilly here in Providence. "We are shrouded all about with the hideous folds of autumn's death shroud!" See, I can still write bad goth poetry.

5) With any luck, "Ex Libris" isn't only me reworking "The Bone's Prayer" and "Sanderlings." This thought occurred to me yesterday.

6) Today, it has been six years since the day I completed Daughter of Hounds.

7) And, finally, you ought have a look at Sonya Taaffe's ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) new poetry collection, A Mayse-Bikhl. Check out her blog entry on the chapbook. Meanwhile:

You walk on, with dybbuks in you, even when they are yourself. You don't believe in the Messiah, but you keep looking to the east. The life of the world to come feels a lot like this one. You talk to yourself, because someone should always be telling the story. The only person who can take that word off your forehead is you.

Looking East,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Bjorkdroid)
Yes, weird, wet weather. And here we all are, in the aftermath of this somewhat unusual nor'easter. We're lucky; we didn't lose power, though a lot of Rhode Island did (~20,000 as of 7 ayem this morning; power is being restored). Though, honestly, I don't think I've found it as disturbing as have many who've lived here a long time, who seem to perceive it as a singularly peculiar storm. Maybe, this is simply because I don't know the local weather patterns. It was odd seeing the snow on green leaves, and the wind was very loud, and now the ground is strewn with a carpet of dead green leaves; we got possibly two or three inches of wet snow, almost all of which has now melted. Oh, and the worse thing about this storm? The coining of the obnoxious neologism "snowtober."

And my head is in about seventy-five places at the moment.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,131 words on a new piece, "Latitude 41°21'45.89"N, Longitude 71°29'0.62"W." It's a sort of mad tumble, trip-over-itself style. I'm enjoying it, and trying to resist subjecting the finished story to a "cut up" technique before it appears in the Digest. I'm also fascinated that a piece of erotica can bear a longitude and latitude designation as a title (Harlan did this before me, of course, with "Adrift Just Off the Islets of Langerhans: Latitude 38° 54' N, Longitude 77° 00' 13" W") and now I want to see the human body drawn with lines of both, mathematically precise, that any point on any given body can be pinpointed. All is need is for a model (who will model nude of course), a geographer, and a mathematician to volunteer. Anyway, this is the story Vince will be illustrating this month, by the way. And again, my apologies that this issue, #71, will be so late.

---

Bitter cold is coming tonight. Forecasts of 26˚ Fahrenheit for Providence. I'm thinking a lot about the Occupy Wall Street protesters, and their resolve, and how they have weathered this. How I'm sure various cities hope the cold will end the occupations:

From the ows website:

It's been dumping snow here in NYC all day, high winds and 3 inches of slush on the ground. With the NYPD and FDNY confiscating six generators on Friday and this unprecedented October snow, those occupying Liberty Plaza in downtown NYC are in need of emergency supplies crucial for cold weather survival (and occupation).

Please note the list of winter donation needs provided. I would be there myself if my health allowed. Fuck the career. I would be there if I would be anything more than a burden. So, from a distance, to quote Peter Gabriel, "I will do what I can do." And, of course, we have the horror stories coming out of Oakland and Denver.

---

Heard new Kate Bush last night. The jury is still out. Mother and I are still collating. Also, we watched the first episode of NBC's Grimm, and as I said of Twitter last night, it is almost not awful. Maybe, in time, it will even be...less almost not awful.

I think that's all for now. I almost fell asleep last night reading The Log from the Sea of Cortez (1951). A wonderful book.

Amid Weird Autumn Weather,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Yesterday, I wrote 1,020 words on "The Prayer of Ninety Cats."

Very cold morning here in Providence. I dreamt of snow last night. Well, not last night, but, rather, this morning. The insomnia had me awake until about 5 ayem. It finally took Sonata for me to find sleep.

Not enough milk for the coffee this morning, so it's sort of blackish. And I hate black coffee. Mostly, I hate coffee, but milk (or, preferably, half and half) makes it bearable. Anyway, there would have been enough milk, but we made pumpkin muffins last night. Not that I'm that fond of pumpkin muffins.

Last night, Spooky read me Kelly Link's "The Constable of Abal," which is another amazing story. It's like this woman is incapable of getting it wrong. There's a passage I want to quote:

You could kill a man and you could lie and steal as Zilla had done, and if you lit enough candles at the temples, you could be forgiven. But someone who ate little devils and caught ghosts with ribbons and charms was a witch, and witches were damned.

Which pretty much sums up my sentiments on the hypocrisy of...well, lots of stuff.

Right now, winter is a stone about my neck.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
I have this quote from yesterday, from Aleister Crowley's autobiography (1929):

As long as sexual relations are complicated by religious, social, and financial considerations, so long will they cause all kinds of cowardly, dishonourable, and disgusting behaviour.

---

Happy 50th birthday to Neil, and I'm really sorry I couldn't make it down to New Orleans for the party to end all parties, but I'm there in spirit, as they say. My spirit will get shitfaced and roam Bourbon Street looking for trouble. At least my body won't have to feel the hangover. Today is also Holly Black's birthday, so have a good one, Holly.

---

Cold and cloudy here in Providence, just like yesterday, and the day before.

But, I did finally leave the House yesterday. So, that's only nine days indoors (my record, set this past winter, is fourteen). Yesterday, I went to the Athenaeum to read and think about the story I need to begin today. But first we went to the Bell Gallery at Brown University, to see the Pictures from the Hay exhibit, a display of books celebrating the 100th anniversary of the John Hay Library at Brown University. The exhibit is a veritable orgy for book sluts. I read Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain!" written in Whitman's own hand (from 1887). I saw needlepoint from 1802, and a Brown diploma from 1769. There was an amazing accordion book by Angela Lorenz (1999)— etching, watercolor, letterpress, and mica —titled The Theater of Nature, or Curiosity Filled the Cabinet. I saw an original Arthur Rackham illustration, "Where is Peaseblossom," from Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare (1889) and thought of [livejournal.com profile] nineweaving. There was a schematic from a book on fireworks dating to 1635, detailing "How to represent St. George fighting the dragon." I saw Crimean War photos from 1855, a clay Iraqi cuneiform tablet from Uruk (now Warka) dating back to 1850-1800 BCE, and French editions of Poe from the 1920s. Paper dolls from 1811, titled The Protean Figure and Metamorphic Costumes. Andreas Vesalius' De Humani Corporis Fabrica (1543), plates from Mark Catesby's The Bahama Islands: containing the figures of birds, beasts, fishes, serpents, insects, and plants (1729-1747). So much amazement in a single room. Does anyone seriously believe that three hundred years from now people will marvel at Kindles and the layout and typography of eBooks? Books have almost (but not quite) ceased to be objects of art in and of themselves, and merely become shoddy information and entertainment delivery devices. Their artistic and archival importance is all but lost.

It was a blustery late autumn day on Benefit Street, not too cold if you were dressed for it. Bradbury weather. We left the Athenaeum about five p.m. (CaST, = EDT + 1 hour), stopped by Eastside Market, then headed back across the river and home again.

---

We have almost everything we need to assemble the Dancy Box. This is a box that Dancy carried with her from the cabin in Shrove Wood to the sanitarium in Tallahassee, where it was confiscated. She never got it back. At least, that's how it seems right now. It'll be going up on eBay as soon as we're done, along with one of the lettered editions of the book, an edition that was not offered to the public (they were split between Bill Shafer and myself). This has gone from a lark to a pretty obsessive piece of...what? It's an artifact from a fiction, a prop from a movie that will never be made, a multi-media sculpture.

---

There's not much to say about Monday. After seven consecutive days of writing like a fiend, and the insomnia on top of that, I ended up spending much of Monday in bed. We watched the second episode of The Walking Dead (still promising) and also Daniel Alfredson's Flickan som lekte med elden (2009). Last night, we saw Paul Scheuring's The Experiment (2010), with Adrien Brody and Forest Whitaker. I've been reading Richard Kaczynski's biography of Aleister Crowley. The rp in CoX has taken a turn for the very weird, with Erzsébetta's future self (become more faerie than vampire) traveling back from 258 years in the future to try to stop Something Awful, something that's her fault. Sekhmet has deemed her "...the worst thing that ever happened to the world." The rp has been especially cathartic, and it's sort of wonderful acting it out in an absurdist milieu of supervillains, because nothing's too ridiculous to ring true.

Today...I have to try again to write "Romeo and Juliet Go to Mars," a story I tried to write last fall and shelved. But I want to do it. It's a story I need to do. So, we'll see.

Here are the photos from yesterday:

9 November 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
The weather has finally turned genuinely cold here in Providence.

I suppose I can write the entry I meant to write yesterday, given I have not yet today been jabbed in the eye with the pointy stick of a homophobic "review." Maybe that happens later, late this afternoon, or tonight.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, which include Study #2 for Yellow. [This entry was just interrupted by the discovery of a mouse in Spooky's workroom...time for humane traps, as the mice are bold and apparently the cats can't be bothered].

Two good nights sleep in a row, so I suppose only getting four hours last night was to be expected.

Yesterday, I wrote an impressive 1,664 words on Chapter One of The Drowning Girl. This is the first time I've had the nerve to go back to work on the novel since August 4th. I scrapped everything I wrote this summer and started over again. But, I think I have finally found the voice of this novel. It's a new voice, another first-person narrative, but quite distinct from Sarah Crowe (though India Phelps is another goddamn lesbian, so buyer beware). Anyway, here's hoping the third or fourth time's the charm, because I've gotten the third extension of this novel's deadline, and I need to have something coherent for my publisher come March. I have set a goal of writing at least 1,500 words a day, every day, at least for the next month, a thing I've not attempted since early 2007, and which I swore I'd never inflict upon myself again.

Sirenia Digest #59 went out to subscribers last night. Two new stories, which I hope readers will enjoy.



---

A fine Halloween this year. I worked on the digest, but afterwards I read the first volume of Kirkman and Moore's The Walking Dead ("Days Gone Bye"). I followed that with Thomas Ligotti's "The Medusa." As we'd declared Sunday night a Kid Night, we had hot dogs and candy (too much candy) and watched "scary" movies (I use the quotations because I rarely find "scary" movies scary, which is okay, because I enjoy them on many other levels). In fact, we made is a quadruple feature! We began with Jon Harris' The Descent: Part 2 (2009), which wasn't as good as the first film (not as atmospheric, and we see the monsters far too clearly this time), but was still a decent sequel. There are some interesting parallels between The Descent/The Descent: Part 2 and Alien/Aliens. Next up, we watched Jim Mickle's Mulberry Street (2006), a surprisingly effective low-budget affair which did a much better job of portraying NYC than most big budget films set in NYC manage. We followed that with Mark A. Lewis' The Thaw (2009), which was better than it should have been, given how much it borrows from Carpenter's The Thing and a particular episode of The X-Files ("Ice," Season 1, Episode 8). Finally, we finished up with the astoundingly ridiculous Vampires: Los Muertos, directed by Tommy Lee Wallace (2002). John Bon Jovi is a freelance vampire hunter with a surf board; the only thing this film really had going for it was Arly Jover's performance as a blue-eyed, sexy vampire (Jover also played a vampire in 1998's Blade). So, yeah. A pretty damn good Halloween.

---

Last night, we saw the first episode of AMC's The Walking Dead, adapted from the aforementioned graphic novel of the same name. I was impressed. Not only was the first episode extremely faithful to the source material, it brought a new depth to the story. And it's pretty cool seeing a post-apocalyptic Atlanta. However, I will say that I'm dangerously near total burnout on zombie films, good or bad or otherwise. I think we've reach that point with zombies that we reached with vampires in the early '90s. I fear it's time to step away from the zombies for a while (though, of course, the cultural fascination at work here is rife with potential insight).

---

After The Walking Dead, I played CoX, and got Erzsébetta from Level 29 to Level 38. Plus, there was some good rp.

Okay. Time to write.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Yesterday, I finished Study #2 for Yellow. I'll post photographs of it tomorrow. While I was working on this painting, I didn't let myself look at images of Study #1 for Yellow. So, I was sort of astounded when I finally did yesterday, and saw how much better the second painting is than the first. This one will go up on eBay, but I have a feeling I won't be offering another painting for a while. The next couple, I'm going to want to hang onto. It's not like selling a short story or a novel. You're not really giving anything away. These days, I don't even send an editor a hard copy of a manuscript. The paintings are solid, tangible, and they go away, and they're gone.

I emailed Vince notes about his illustration for "At the Reef" (to appear in Sirenia Digest #59).

Then we took advantage of what will likely be the last warm day this year. It was 74F Outside, so, we left the House and drove south and east to Conanicut Island and Beavertail. On the way down, we listened to Throwing Muses and I read two Thomas Ligotti stories, "Drink to Me Only With Labyrinthine Eyes" and "The Glamour." By the time we reached the shore, the sun was low. And it felt about twenty degrees cooler by the sea. The surf was unexpectedly rough, and there was an enormous fog bank rolling in from the east. We watched it swallow Newport and Aquidneck Island. It was neither grey nor blue, and moved swiftly over the water. We sat on the rocks and listened to the foghorn. There was a flock of cormorants drifting out beyond the breakers, and a few gulls perched on the boulders, eyeing the bay as though it had betrayed their expectations. A flock of eider ducks flew past. The air was salty and cold and I didn't want to come home.

There a photos below, behind the cut.

---

I'm wondering if I can "crowdsource" two relatively simple tattoos. Am I even using the portmanteau correctly? Anyway, I've been thinking, as I cannot currently afford the back and sleeve work I want done, I could settle for one word on each wrist. On my left would be the word House (in blue) and on my right wrist would be the word Tree (in red). Both would be inked in Courier. I'd probably have it done at Artfreek on Wickenden Street. Two words that have had such significance for me.

---

Tomorrow night, I will be reading (and signing) at the Brown University Bookstore on Thayer Street. Costumes optional. Reading starts at 6 p.m. You should come, if you can. I hate reading to empty rooms. I will probably be reading something from The Ammonite Violin & Others.

---

The platypus compels you to have a look at the current eBay auctions. Also, the platypus compels me to remind you that all the cool Halloween-related creations in Spooky's Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries Etsy shop will go away on November 1st, so act now. The platypus is a compelling beast.

I think that's all for now. Except for the photographs. I have to write.

Last Warm Day, 28 October 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
There's cold air on the way, but this early afternoon it's 74F and sunny, and my office window is open.

The comments from yesterday's post were a little overwhelming, and I didn't reply to all the ones I ought to have replied to, I know. The kind words are appreciated, but I was left feeling as though I were fishing for compliments...or something. Which isn't at all what I was doing. Anyway, whatever. Thank you. I think my favorite comment came from [livejournal.com profile] catconley, who asked, "Does the tweeter also think that Stephen Hawking is a computer?" Brava.

Seeing there was no hope of working yesterday, I left the House, and we went to What Cheer (Wayland Square) and the Curious Mermaid (Wickenden Street), looking for the things that will be making up the Dancy box. The things we aren't making. Little religious tchotchkes, a black plastic dog, an old postcard. This started out as just something extra to offer with a lettered copy of Alabaster (letter X). But now it's grown into a piece of art in its own right. Spooky's cousin Ben is sending us the perfect cigar box from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. It was a warm, drizzly day Outside, and I spent most of it sorting through postcards from the forties and fifties and sixties.

Jada sent us voodoo dolls for Halloween.

---

Mixed feelings about last night's episode of Glee. On the one hand, it was neat. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a huge part of my life long ago. Somewhere there are photos of me as Magenta. Oh, here they are (thank you Spooky):




"The Time Warp"



"Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me"



Anyway, I'm perplexed at the word "transsexual" having been replaced with "sensational." And they somehow managed to do the whole thing without cross-dressing, which is sort of like doing Doctor Zhivago without Russians. Maybe I'm not perplexed. Maybe I'm only disappointed. Oh, and saw the new Caprica, but I did so immediately after getting the news that "SyFy" has canceled the show, and that the final five episodes won't air until early 2011. May I call this SyFyail? The show was too smart, and too off-beat, and the money can be better spent making shitty movies and reality shows, I'm sure. Caprica will go down after only a single season.

---

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thanks.

Sometimes, my heart's just not in an entry. Like now.
greygirlbeast: (Eli1)
Yesterday was warm, and the night before ferociously windy. Night before last, I sat at my desk with the window open, and the wind blowing the world around Outside. There was sun yesterday, though it was still chilly in the shadows. Today, it's still warm, 70F at the moment, still warm, but cloudy. There must be something wrong with the commas in that last sentence. Anyway, I left the House yesterday, but the junk shop we wanted to scour is closed on Tuesday, and we didn't know. Still, it got me Outside. Last night, I was so tired I slept almost nine hours.

Back home, I all but finished the newest painting, Study #2 for Yellow. I'm much happier with it than I was with Study #1 for Yellow. I tweeted yesterday, "I am painting a convulsion." This morning, looking at the painting, I see it was an accurate description.

---

Back to the subject of my doing podcasts, and my discomfort with my voice, and how it follows from being transgendered. Back to being very weary of how so much of the world perceives gender. Back to vocal dysphoria (from Greek δύσφορος [dysphoros], from δυσ-, difficult, and φέρειν, to bear). Day before yesterday, the following was tweeted:

Um...Is Caitlin R. Kiernan a tranny, or just a really deep voiced woman? :/

Yeah, the witty emoticon was part of the post. A few minutes later, there was a second tweet, by the same person:

I'm STILL not sure if Caitlin R. Kiernan was born as a woman with a deep voice, or what. Apparently she's/he's an expert on H.P. Lovecraft.

To which I replied:

What the hell's the difference? Does gender, or birth gender, make one a better scholar or author?

I received this reply (and it's clear that the person asking these question didn't know I was, well, me, the person about whom he seemed so intensely curious...and yes, it's a he...I checked, because clearly gender is germane to all such discussions):

No, not at all! It's just hard for me to react to something my brain can't categorize. It's not a problem with her.

So...he cannot react (which he apparently must do) to something I've said unless he's capable of pegging my gender. Or sex. Or both. And, of course, it's more than that. My birth sex must be pegged, so that he can categorize, then react. A few minutes later, he tweeted:

@greygirlbeast For the record I have no problem with anyone's sexuality--it's just a first reaction to something like that to say 'Huh?".

To say "Huh?" Note, he doesn't say, "it's my reaction," but implies the reaction is universal (and it may well be). Anyway, I suppose I should be relieved. After all the hateful comments people made at YouTube when Frank Woodward posted an outtake from my interview for Lovecraft: Fear of the Unknown (which I almost didn't do, because I hate my voice), this is kid stuff. The "tweeter," was, by the way, an actual kid. This, of course, excuses nothing.

But it should serve as an illustration to those who simply seem unable to grasp the source of my discomfort. Not because there's actually anything wrong with women having deeper voices, or with being a transsexual. But because it wears me out. It exhausts me. Seeing this shit after all these years. My gender will always be a reason for many people to dismiss me out of hand. Or to hate me. Or to spew transphobic and homophobic vitriol. Or whatever. I know that. I accepted that ages ago. But it still wears me out. I always expect it, and yet it comes when I least expect it. It almost always blindsides me.

That someone must know my gender before he can "react" to my comments. And it hardly matters that there are better, smarter, more tolerant people in the world. It matters not one whit. Sometimes, I get tired of fighting the good fight. I've been fighting it my whole life. But, here I am still fighting, because I don't know how to stop.

I'm talking in circles. I just wanted to put this out there, as a case in point. This is why I dislike my voice, and this is why I am hesitant to do podcasts, or live interviews, or cons, or public readings. I'd like to move through the world being treated no differently than other women, those women who happen to be cisgendered. The lucky women who've never had anyone doubt their identity.

And if I've revealed anything here you didn't already know, well...either you haven't been paying attention, or you're too good and intelligent a person to give a shit. Or both. However, should it make you think less of me, in any way, you can go fuck yourself with a rusty corkscrew. I'll even help, if you can't figure out how that works.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Argh. Up much too late last night. Not even insomnia, just too dumb to go to bed. Just too unwilling to sleep. I resent that we sleep half our lives away. Or a third. Or what the hell ever. I resent it. Add in the time we spend sitting on toilets...it's depressing as fuck. But, on the other hand, only one seizure in the past couple of months.

I also hate how having a psychiatrist appointment at 4:30 p.m. makes it impossible for me to get any work done beforehand. I did try to work on the interview, but only made it through one question (on magick). I may soon refuse to give interviews for a while. My answers are becoming too angry, too combative.

I fell asleep with a new painting in my head. Black Ships Ate the Sky. Yeah, inspired by the Current 93 album. And other things. I can see the painting clearly. And I know this one will be too personal to sell.

Just before sunset yesterday the light over Providence was amazing. I wish I'd had the camera with me. It was just...brilliant. The soft orange autumn light, the deep blue-gray clouds , the darkening sky showing in between, the brick buildings on College Hill glowing like hot embers. At Whole Foods, Spooky picked up a second pumpkin, because we're having two jack-o'-lanterns this year. Sea gulls were black silhouettes above the river.

I found a new favorite band yesterday, and they're right here in Rhode Island. Have a listen to Brown Bird. Actually, it was Spooky who found them, then pointed me towards them.

But I know that who I was is who I'm not and I will never be again.

Ebay auctions continue, because taxes were paid. There's also Spooky's Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries Etsy shop. Cool Halloween stuff that goes away on November 1st.

Angry this morning over parents who try to force their gay or transgendered children to be straight or cisgendered. Or, hell. Parents who force children who wear blue socks when they want to wear green socks. What the hell ever. Parents who hold their love hostage, who dangle it like a carrot on a stick. So, this is my message for the day, in case anything is listening: Love is not conditional. No, not ever. And what is conditional is not love.

Same rules apply to so-called "loving" gods.

Oh, a good thing from yesterday. A package arrived from Robin in Massachusetts. A fourth printing of the edition of Lovecraft's Dagon, and Other Macabre Tales (Arkham House, 1965), with the Lee Brown Coye cover I spoke of in my keynote speech at the Lovecraft Film Festival. Before this, I only had a much later Arkham House edition (1986, corrected text), but this is the edition that brought me to HPL, way back in 1981, so thank you.

Hello, Natasha.

Everyone who expressed an interest in joining Eyes of Sylvanas, Spooky and I will be doing the Alterac Valley battlefield tonight (and maybe tomorrow night, too), because it's Call to Arms this weekend, and Shaharrazad and Suraa need more epic gear. If you're level 80, feel free to join the team. And to all those who are not yet Level 80, we'll arrange some sort of meet up...somewhere. Just send one of us a pm inworld.

The platypus says shut the hell up. So, see you tomorrow. Today, I've got to finish "At the Reef."
greygirlbeast: (Default)
My adoration of the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, is pretty much legendary. Yes, here I am being the worst sort of dork. The most annoying breed of nerd. But it's true. She's one of the truly cool things about the lore of the World of Warcraft, and finally there's an action figure. And it's on my wish list at Amazon.com, at the very top, and the first person who buys it for me, thereby assuaging my insatiable nerd-lust, will receive a token of my appreciation. I don't know what yet, but I'll think of something. The giver of this gift of this graven image of my Dark Lady will win my eternal gratitude. Yes, I am being shameless. No, I don't care. It's Sylvanas freakin' Windrunner.***

***Update (2:45 p.m.): A kind soul has done the deed, and while I can imagine decorating the house with dozens of idols of Lady Sylvanas, Spooky would likely kill me if I did. So, thank you. Wish fulfilled.

---

Yesterday felt like things were finally getting back on track, writing wise. I did 1,019 words on a new vignette (though it's actually sort of a quasi-vignette, as many of my vignettes are, interweaving several scenes). I'm calling it "...Of the Cloud That Took the Form..." I think I'm going to like it. It has eastern Connecticut and aliens in the Jovian atmosphere. With luck, I might even finish it today. Then I'll need to begin the next piece for Sirenia Digest #59.

My thanks for all the suggestions yesterday. More are always welcome.

I also had to answer a few questions from the CE who's copyediting "The Maltese Unicorn," which will be appearing in Ellen Datlow's Supernatural Noir anthology. And Ellen tells me that Naked City: Tales of Urban Fantasy will be out before very much longer. It includes my story "The Collier's Venus (1893)."

And here are ten photographs from our drive through southeastern Massachusetts on Sunday. They include the World's Cutest Jumping Spider EVER. We may try another leaf-watching drive (hopefully with better results) this coming weekend, some place farther north:

17 September 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (newest chi)
I'm going to do my best to make this short, as I don't need to spend energy on this entry that ought to be spent writing.

I've gotten nothing much written since we returned home on October 5th. And now I have to push to get Sirenia Digest out on time. I only need two good ideas. It's a lot harder than it looks. Especially the part where you take the ideas and make them into story. Oh, and suggestions are always welcome, but keep in mind we're talking vignettes under 3,000 words, so don't go getting expansive.

Someday I'll compile a chapbook devoted entirely to absurd, degrading, and insulting writing gigs I've been offered and turned down. Most recently, referred to, in a veiled manner, in the entries of September 28th and 29th. An offer to write graphic novel tie-ins to a Big Name Paranormal Romance Writer's crappy novels. Mostly, when I realized what the job actually was, I was dumbfounded. Have I not made it excruciatingly clear that I want nothing to do with trashy paranormal romance novels? Have I not also made it clear I consider them a blight on fantasy and dark fiction, a disease that I hope will pass very soon? More importantly, who could possibly read my fiction, and claim to be a fan, and then imagine I'd consider working anywhere near that wretched subgenre? It makes my head spin, the absence of logical connections at work in a scenario like this. Anyway, I said no, which was fairly easy, because the pay rate was abominably low, with no royalties whatsoever, and I'd have had to set aside real work, and kowtow to the whims of the author in question and her editor while scripting inane stories from inane outlines, because of all this..and have I mentioned how I feel about paranormal romance?

And no, I do not care how many books you've sold. It's not that I'm above whoring, but I'm not a cheap whore. Nor am I an undiscerning whore. And if what I've said here offends you as a writer, write better books. If it offends you as a reader, read better books.

Really guys. Ducks in a row, please.

No, Caitlín that was not particularly politic.

Remember what they say,
There`s no shortcut to a dream.
It`s all blood and sweat,
And life is what you manage in between.


---

Yesterday afternoon, hoping to see some fall foliage, we drove to north to Woonsocket, then into Massachusetts, through Millville, Uxbridge, Northridge, Whitinsville, Saundersville, Sutton, and Millbury. But we chose our route very poorly, and were never able to clear the quasi-rural, but really sort of suburban, sprawl that lies south of Worcester and west of Boston. About the only good part of the day was returning to Rolling Dam in the Blackstone River Gorge, in Millville, which we first visited back on July 16th. We should have just stayed there, instead of seeking leaves between the patches of squalor. Anyway, I have photos, but I'm going to wait until tomorrow to post them.

---

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thanks. Also, Spooky has listed her Halloween-related wares in her Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries shop, but they will only be up until November 1st. So, check that out, as well.

---

On Saturday, I searched for ideas for vignettes. I worked on a long interview. I read two stories in Haunted Legends (I'm beginning to make an effort to read the anthologies my stories appear in). One by Jeffery Ford, and one by Joe R. Landsdale. I think I liked the former more than the latter, and it had some odd resonances with The Red Tree. Before I fell asleep, Spooky read "The Haunter in the Dark" to me.

Okay...the platypus says this entry stops HERE.
greygirlbeast: (Walter1)
A blustery, cold day today. The sky is that shade of blue. Better I be in here, though I want to be out there. But, tomorrow I will be leaving the House for an autumn foliage excursion to parts north. I only hope that this wind has left a few leaves on the trees.

I find it hard to sleep on windy nights. I always find it hard to sleep, but the sound of wind has always made me restless. I've always been this way, all my life. The wind's fine so long as I'm Outside.

Yesterday was not so much productive as the other thing. Then again, it wasn't entirely counterproductive. Perhaps it was only frustrating. Having set aside "There Will Be Kisses For Us All," I need a couple of good ideas for vignettes to write for Sirenia Digest #59. And it seemed reasonable to do some editing for Two Worlds and In Between while I tried to think of stuff. I did a little layout on the manuscript, and then I read "Persephone" and "Two Worlds and In Between." And I could not resist editing and rewriting on both. I tried. I truly tried. "Two Worlds and In Between" was easier on me than getting through "Persephone." But both now have a couple of hundred red marks each. I'm not yet sure whether I'm actually going to make the edits. I'm tempted to yank both stories, because, truthfully, in 1993 and early '94 I was still just figuring out what it was I was trying to do. I read until dark, and it left me shaken and confused. Do these stories belong in a "best of" collection? They're an honest look back at the beginning, that's true, but they are surely not my best. They are, I suppose, the best I was capable of seventeen years ago.

Anyway, besides email and a phone meeting regarding the Secret, that was yesterday. Oh, and I had to sign the income tax forms, and send away more than thousand dollars to help fund wars against countries that have done me no wrong. And Sméagol has some odd ailment of his right nostril, and Spooky has to take him to the vet today. So...money flying out the window. Even though the windows are shut. Money flies, regardless. So, my great thanks to everyone who bid on the recent round of eBay auctions, and especially to the winner of the "napovel." I was stunned, genuinely stunned, at what it went for. I really do kind of love you guys.

Slowly, I'm trying to clean and bring order to my office.

Last night, we watched the new episodes of Fringe and Project Runway. And then I played CoX late into the night, or early into the morning, or both.

I have what I think is the final set of photos from the HPLFF trip. It's a random lot, stuff I probably should have included elsewhere, but didn't. Ergo, there's a legend for each one. They date from September 30th through October 4th. My mind is very, very scattered. I think the festival was so marvelous that it's left me off balance. Again, I say, I don't know how authors who travel for writerly travel ever manage to get anything written.

H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival, Part the Last, Part 9 )


I am very annoyed there's no photo of me with S. T. Joshi and Wilum Pugmire. Finally meeting Wilum in person was one of the high points of the festival.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Here in Providence, autumn seems to have come to stay. Trees are going red and yellow. Spooky and I are talking about driving up the Blackstone River valley in a couple of weeks, into Massachusetts, and maybe as far as Vermont, just to see the trees. And, by the way, I'm guessing there aren't many people who dream about finding the axis (2nd) vertebra of a Triceratops, but I did last night.

No writing yesterday. On Monday, I went back to "There Will Be Kisses For Us All," abandoned in December 2008, and began from scratch. I did only 646 words. The prose is dense. And I spent a great deal of time with research. Like becoming obsessed with Romanian words for "whore" and "lover" and "wife." And whether Castle Poenari is on the north or south bank of the River Arges. And Rome's role in shaping the culture of Moldovan and Wallachian culture in the 15th Century. So, that was Monday. Today, I need to screw up my courage (an odd turn of phrase) and go back to work on the piece. But it's as intimidating as it was two years ago.

Only two days remain on the "napoval" auction. One of a kind, people. One of a kind. A piece of my personal history. Also, there are the other eBay auctions.

---

The winner of the signed copy of Silk, commemorating seventeen years since I began writing it on October 11th, 1993, is [livejournal.com profile] ashlyme. The winner was determined by rolling polyhedral dice. If you are the winner, please send you snail-mail address to Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com, and we'll get it in the mail to you. My thanks to everyone who left comments on Monday. They were great, all those stories about first encounters with the novel. Oh, and also, we're a little behind shipping eBay packages, what with the HPLFF and the taxes and everything else, but they'll be going out very soon, promise.

---

Yesterday, for the first time since coming home from the airport on October 5th, I left the House. We drove down to Warwick for a matinée of David Fincher's The Social Network. It's a brilliant film, and Fincher deserves an Oscar nomination this year. Wonderful performances all the way 'round. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' score (which I downloaded weeks ago) is superb. Parallels are being drawn between this film and Citizen Kane. They're not inappropriate. Highly recommended.

---

Ahem.

Spooky and I have been eagerly awaiting World of Warcraft's next expansion, "Cataclysm," due out December 7th. Yesterday, Blizzard rolled out patch 4.0, and we were excited about that, too. But my excitement came crashing down when I discovered that, among many other inexplicable and fundamental changes to gameplay (some of which I knew were being implemented), most warlocks have lost most of their minions, and had them replaced with...well...impostors. That is, Shaharrazad's succubus, Drusneth is now some hooven slut named Angxia. And her imp, Volyal, has been replaced with a much less agreeable imp named Voltuk. And her beloved felhound Greezun (who was the Reason) has been replaced by some mutt named Bheethun. Only her voidwalker, Zhar'los, was spared the purge. I'd had those minions for two years. Some players had the same minions for five years. And...gods...by the sword of my Dark Lady...I'm pissed about this. There was no sense in it. None at all. It's almost enough to make me give up on WoW. Yes, I know this sounds bloody ridiculous to all you non-warlock, non-WoW addicts. But there you go. The WoW bulletin boards are awash in 'lock sorrow, as we all join in grieving for our stolen minions, and as we futilely beg Blizzard to give us back our rightful minions, to whom we were soulbound. There's this poem, posted last night by a fellow Sin'dorei warlock, Myri (Sisters of Elune):

Ode to a Lost Voidwalker

Twas the night before Cata
and all through the land
Not a player was stirring,
their realms all unmanned.
The warlocks were nestled in Stormwind and Org,
Dreaming of chaos bolts, corruption and more!
Their minions all banish'd, soul shards fully stocked
waiting for Deathwing and his dragon flock.
Then suddenly, out of the gloom came a cry!
Our demons are missing! We have to know why!
In their places are strangers, our friends can't be found
From Icecrown to Stratholme we've scoured the ground.
They left us no messages, no clues to follow
and here we are lost, feeling lonely and hollow.
Oh where have they gone, our faithful fel pets...
A better companion, we haven't found yet.
So begone, all you mages and your elementals
Death knights and ghouls? Hardly sentimental.
The warlocks all sigh, downcast, brokenhearted
For a lock and her demon should never be parted.


---

Fortunately, I have a new MMORPG obsession, City of Heroes and Villains. In fact, I have become so obsessed with the game that, after last night, I'm forcing myself to step back from it for a couple of days. But...my magic corrupter, a vampire named Erzsébetta Bathory (yes, you read that correctly), has reached Level 23 and earned her first cape...and I just adore the game. Yeah, the controls suck, badly. But the game is still sort of wonderful, and almost everyone actually fucking roleplays. That's a fact I can't seem to get over. What I did not find in Second Life and WoW I have found in CoX. But I've played about twenty-one hours over the last three nights alone, and that's far too much, so I'm giving myself a short time out. Just until Friday.

---

And now...another set of photographs from the trip. While wandering the empty Minneapolis airport on the night of the 4th and the wee hours of the 5th, we happened across a number of stone-inlay murals set into the airport floor. I have yet to determine when or by whom they were created, but they are beautiful. Photos below. Oh, and we also discovered that portions of the airport floor are paved with Solnhofen Limestone (from whence comes Archaeopteryx), from the Jurassic of Bavaria, including the floor around the murals. Spooky and I spotted fossil sponges and ammonites in polished cross-section. I imagine few of the tens of millions of people who pass through the airport ever how often tens of millions of people pass through the airport ever realize they tread on the remains of ancient reefs and lagoons. Anyway, photos:

H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival, Part 6, Floor Murals )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Spooky and I just made a deal, that we would never again both smile at the same time. It was just all kinds of wrong. And we weren't even really smiling. We were sort of grimacing. So, we're really agreeing never again to bare our teeth like that at the same time.

Kind of muggy and sticky and too warm here in Providence.

I just got the artwork from Vince for Sirenia Digest #58 (and I love it). But it seems very unlikely that I'll be able to find time to get the issue out before we leave for Portland. Again I apologize. I hate being late with anything, ever. Tardiness just irks me. I am a punctual beast.

As for yesterday's interesting email from my agent, let's just say that not all unexpected opportunites are good, and so we move on.

I'm trying to be higgledy-piggledy without the --- dividers. Seems more honest.

Still much too much to get done before we leave in the morning. I have a very long list. Yesterday, we drove to South County, to Spooky's parents' place. We have a housesitter for the days we'll be away, but Spooky's mom will be coming up to give Sméagol the malt-flavored prednisone he takes for his plasma cell pododermatitis. So, we took her a key. On the farm, wild grapes and ferns were going yellow with autumn, and there were autumnal bursts of red in a few trees. It was raining and windy, and I thought about the much worse weather in New York and New Jersey and Connecticut. I visited the steamsquid, who's getting along quite well, a year and a half after we rescued himherit. Afterwards, we drove to Warwick, and I looked for a couple of pairs of pants at the thrift store. I have developed an almost religious enthusiasm for thrift stores of late (in spite of garish overhead lighting). Anyway, I found two pairs, including an absurdly large pair of brown corduroys. I almost got a pair of seersucker pants, but it's late in the year for seersucker.

I read two more stories in Haunted Legends, Steven Pirie's "The Spring Heel" and Laird Barron's "The Redfield Girls." I liked both, but found the Pirie story especially effective. And we finished Kristin Hersh's Rat Girl last night, which is truly excellent, and which I strongly recommend.

I also finished Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age late last night, when I should have been asleep, but was, instead, awake. My opinion at the end is pretty much the same as it was halfway through the novel. Wonderful worldbuilding, an intriguing (if far-fetched) future, an interesting quasi-Dickens pastiche, but not a single act of characterization in sight. The novel is actually more like a long outline for a novel. It's a great mountain of plot and ideas. This happened, and this happened, and this happened. But...we are never allowed to see into the people to whom all this plot is happening. Sometimes, we're told how someone feels, but we're pretty much never shown. Which makes this only one half of a good novel; I can't even consider it finished. It's sort of amazing, that a book can be so devoid of characterization. Anyway, I think I'll read the new China Miéville next. And probably a bunch of other stuff, because I seem unable to read only one book at a time.

This will be my last entry until after Portland, and I feel like I'm forgetting shit.

I read "Pickman's Other Model" aloud last night. It's the piece I want to use for my reading on Sunday. The reading's an hour long, and reading the story at a leisurely pace, it came in at about fifty-five minutes. So, I don't know. I'll either read it, or something from The Ammonite Violin & Others. Oh, and DO NOT FORGET. This weekend is be kind to Spooky weekend. Oak moss and voodoo donuts. I'm serious. Just don't try to hug her, because she bites.

And while I won't be tweeting, or blogging, or facebooking (???) on this trip, I will be taking tons of photos, and will post a bunch of them afterwards.

Now, I think I need a bath.

Oh, fuck! It's National Coffee Day!
greygirlbeast: (talks to wolves)
I'm not even gonna talk about the insomnia. The attention just encourages it.

Finally, a good fucking writing day yesterday. I did 1,426 words on my piece (I'm not sure it has a title yet) for the The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities. At this point, I'm only about 5,000 words behind for September.

I'm not sure I have anything else to say today.

In one week, Providence seems to have gone from summer to autumn. Outside, it's 64F and cloudy. You know, like June in Providence.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions.

Someone had to explain to me yesterday what "Oh snap" is meant to signify (I won't say "mean"). And I just looked it up online. And I still think the expression's dumb as hell. And this isn't just one of those "kids these days" things. There are lots of idiotic turns of phrase from the 70s and 80s and 90s I always refused to use.

These are random thoughts. Feel free to jump right in.

This isn't funny anymore.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Nine years have come and gone. And we have our memories of the horror of that day. And we have the legacy of that day, which is not only our memories of the horror of that day, and our memories of those who died.

We have war in Afghanistan. We have war in Iraq. We have the Patriot Act. We have Islamophobia.

Everything has changed.
For in truth, it's the beginning of nothing,
And nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
For in truth, it's the beginning of an end,
And nothing has changed.
And everything has changed. -- (David Bowie, "Sunday")


---

My piece for The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities has been coming along slowly. At the moment, it is entirely epistolary. I did 430 words on Thursday, and 1,092 yesterday.

We've begun a new round of eBay auctions. Please have a look. Thanks.

The weather has turned cool, but I probably mentioned that already.

Ramadan has ended. Eid al-Fitr is underway.
greygirlbeast: (white)
Well, at least I slept. Something like eight hours. Oh, and there was a short nap yesterday, while Spooky made dinner.

The weather's turned cooler. Highs in the low 70sF. Lows in the mid 50sF. I do not think I have ever before in all my life been this eager for autumn. The summer was that bad.

Yesterday, I wrote a somewhat measly 573 words, though several hours were required to write them. My piece for The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities, it's one of those things I've been looking at for months, and thinking, Oh, that will be easy and fun. I can save it for the last minute and it'll still be a breeze. And by now I ought know better. Those are the pieces that always decide they're going to be hard, instead.

There was research on numerous peculiar and varied subjects yesterday: bog mummies, Castleblakeney (Ireland), skeleton keys, both New and Old World monkeys, and the Iron Age in Northern Europe.

I accidentally wrote millimeters every time I meant to write centimeters.

It was just that sort of a day.

After dinner, there was WoW (Spooky and I are trying to get the "Loremaster of Kalimdor" achievement, which mostly means going back and doing all the tedious fucking goblin quests we skipped the first time, to gain a total of 685 quests completed in Kalimdor). I also did some Insilico. We read more of Kristin Hersh's Rat Girl.

And now I go forth to grope the fetlocks of a new day.
greygirlbeast: (white)
One cannot genuinely hate a season, but autumn instills in me a deep uneasiness. Yesterday and today, it feels like autumn here in Providence. That carnivorous blue sky, low humidity, temperatures in the seventies Fahrenheit. I'm glad for the break from the heat, but not glad that means a splash of autumn in July.

Dreamsickness this morning for the first time in a couple of months. I have a pill to stop that now, but something nasty wriggled in under the pharmacological wire.

Every bit of yesterday was spent editing "The Maltese Unicorn." No, that's not quite true. Only the hours spent working. And I didn't finish the editing. It sprawls over into today, and maybe also into tomorrow. Did I write anything new yesterday? Yes, but I don't think there was any net gain. I would write a paragraph, which would take half an hour or an hour, and then I would erase it.

Please do have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thanks very much.

When the editing was done for the day yesterday, I watched an episode of American Experience about the Dust Bowl (Spooky had gone to the market). I found a curious parallel. During the 1930s, during a time of great economic hardship, the nation is suffering a man-made ecological disaster, an agrocalamity. Short-sighted farming techniques in the Southern Plains led to conditions in which a layer of topsoil that had taken a thousand years to form was blown away in a few minutes. Anyway, now, in a time of economic hardship, the nation has suffered a man-made ecological disaster, an petrocalamity. Short-sighted use of fossil fuels, combined with greed and carelessness, is threatening a gulf ecosystem that has taken many tens of millions of years to evolve. In the episode of American Experience, a number of people who had been children during the Dust Bowl were interviewed. There are two I would like to quote:

Melt White, Dalhart, Texas: "It looked like the greatest thing would never end. So they abused the land. They abused it somethin’ terrible. They raped it. They got everything out they could. And we don’t think. We don’t think. Except for ourselves and it comes down to greed. We’re selfish and we want what we want and we don’t even think of what the end results might be."

J.R. Davison, Texhoma, Oklahoma: "I think that most of those people thought this is just what we might say 'hog heaven’. It’ll always be this way. So they kept breaking this country out and they plowed up a lot of country that should never have been plowed up. They got the whole country plowed up nearly and, ah, that’s about the time it turned off terribly dry."

Change a few words here and there, and this could be an interview in, say, 2075, of people who were children during this year, recalling the spring and summer the seafloor of the Gulf of Mexico bled crude oil and methane.

And now I have to edit.
greygirlbeast: (white)
There was a heavy dusting of snow last night. Nothing to speak of, not for Providence, but our first snow of the year. It's mostly melted away now. Cold out there, though.

Yesterday was spent checking copy-edits (I can get no consensus on whether it ought to be copy-edits or copyedits, and hence no consensus on whether I ought use copy-editor or copyeditor; personally, I tend to favor the hyphenated forms), which actually weren't nearly so bad as I'd thought they were. And I did another check over the ms. for the "Sanderlings" chapbook (and cover), and then Spooky looked over it, and then I sent it away to Subterranean Press. I rarely feel satisfaction at having finished a book or a story, and I rarely feel much of anything when I see my work in print, but there's always a distinct sense of relief when I can say "This is out of my hands now." And I can now say that "Sanderlings" is out of my hands.

No writing yesterday. Today, I feel like glass.

I may have a new title for the Next Novel, a title to replace Blood Oranges (which I warned you not to grow attached to), but I want to mull it over a bit more before I post it here.

Have a look at the current round of eBay auctions, and thanks for doing so. Also, only three of Spooky's Cthulhu-headstone Cephalopodmas ornaments remain unsold. So, if you want one, you'd probably better hurry. Each one is unique, handmade and hand-painted, and there are no more where these ten came from.

Last night, we watched Sally Potter's Rage (2009), which was really very good. Plus, you get Jude Law as a transgendered supermodel, which probably pleased me more than it should have.

And now, the last few pictures from our trip Outside back on Thursday:

3 December 2009, Part 3 )

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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