greygirlbeast: (Default)
Please comment, kittens. I just spent almost three hours on this bloody entry.

"Deny your pettiest of foes the satisfaction of defeat, or even of recognition, by consigning them to oblivion." – Old Sith Proverb (even though I just now made it up). Then again, as Brown Bird reminds us: "We file down our fangs on the bones of our foes." It's a damned conundrum, it is.

This is going to be a long entry, I think. Because, firstly, there's yesterday, and then, secondly, there's Ridley Scott's forthcoming Prometheus.

Yesterday, we finally left the house about two p.m. (CaST), and headed south and east to Conanicut Island and West Cove (~41°28'46.27"N, 71°21'40.50"W), nestled in amongst the ruins of Fort Wetherill. Longtime readers will recall this is one of our favorite destinations. It seemed a fitting place to spend Yuletide. Speaking of tides, as the new moon is Saturday, and we had a storm on Wednesday night, the last high tide had been very high, indeed. All the way back to the treeline. Therefore, all manner of interesting things had fetched up on the shore. When we visit West Cove, we're always most interested in mermaids' tears (beach glass) and the bones of gulls, cormorants, and other birds (and mammals, but mammalian bones are rare). I try to ignore the profuse plastic litter, mostly left behind by the summer people. I try to imagine the shoreline pristine, but it's hard when you know:

Around 100 million tonnes of plastic are produced each year of which about 10 percent ends up in the sea. About 20 percent of this is from ships and platforms, the rest from land.

- or -

Since the 1950s, one billion tons of plastic have been discarded and may persist for hundreds or even thousands of years.

Anyway, by my admittedly casual estimation, the tide must have stranded hundreds of rock crabs (Cancer irroratus), along with all manner of other Mollusca and Crustacea, many of which I've never before seen at West Cove. There were the remains of numerous genera of crabs and lobsters (including Limulus, Homarus, Libinia, and the aforementioned Cancer), pelecypods (including Mytilus, Ensis, Aequipecten, Mercenaria, Spisula, Crassostrea, and an as yet unidentified cockle), and gastropods, mostly slipper shells and periwinkles. I found a few interesting bird bones, and we collected some nice bits of glass. The sun was brilliant off the water, until banks of low clouds rolled in towards sunset. It was warmish, in the fifties Fahrenheit, except in the shadows. When the sun slipped behind the clouds, the temperature dropped into the low forties within minutes. I sat and listened to bell buoys and the slap of the surf, trying to calm myself for many days to come. As soon as we'd arrived, we climbed a large granite promontory and tossed a single sprig of yew into the dark waters of the cove as an offering to Panthalassa. We saw three ravens and a very large murder of crows, but, oddly, only a few seabirds, a few gulls that swept by overhead. Despiute the fact that I took a pretty hard fall in the rocks (and have the bruises and aches to show for it), it was a good (indeed, a bow tie) day at the sea. We headed home about 4:56 p.m., and I dozed all the way back to Providence. Winding up our celebration of Cephalopodmas, we watched the H. P. Lovecraft Historical Society's excellent adaptation of The Call of Cthulhu (2005) and Robert Gordon's It Came From Beneath the Sea (1955).

At least the first day of winter has come and gone, and now the days will grow longer.

Yuletide 2011 )


---

Yesterday, I saw the first official "teaser" trailer for Ridley Scott's forthcoming Alien (1979) prequel, Prometheus, to be released in June 2012:



It must be understood that I've been waiting for this film for many years, even before Ridley Scott ever decided it would be made. Perhaps before he even considered it might ever exist. Few mythologies are more important to me than the Alien mythos (excepting those silly AvP tie-ins), so...well, it's gorgeous, this trailer, and the cast sounds brilliant, and I was pleased to hear that Giger was consulted and at least marginally involved with the production, and the news that Marc Streitenfeld has scored the film. That said, Scott's decision to shoot the film in 3D is abominable, and has left me deeply disappointed and a little sick about it all. Yes, he's following some of the processes used in Avatar, a spectacle that manages to be marvelous in 2D, and I can only fucking hope that the same will be true of Prometheus. It's not like I can boycott this film. But, like Scorcese's decision to do Hugo in 3D, I can only shake my head in disbelief and say that Ridley Scott knows better. Even watching the trailer, you can see those "coming at you," pandering-to-3D shots that so compromise good (and great) cinematography.

It is, at best, a wait-and-see situation. But it's one I await with regret and a heavy heart. When our greatest directors resort to gimmicks beneath them, what are lovers of film to do? Turn away from the future of cinema and be grateful for its glorious past? In this instance, and despite what Scott may be saying, the decision to go with 3D was almost certainly one based on heavy pressure from 20th Century Fox. We'll wait and we'll see.

Dreadful,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Pagan1)
The thing about those bow-tie HPLHS Solstice CDs is you gotta be in the same room with them, hearing the lyrics, or they just start sounding like the putrescent Xmas Muzak we must suffer if we are to have groceries. We went out to the market last night, and there was actually Shirley Fucking Temple! No, really. I swore that next November we're laying in supplies.

And here we are, on that shortest day of the year (well, for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere; if you're below the Equator, strike that, reverse it), and, to those who wish to be wished such, Happy Yuletide. Or Midwinter. Or what have you.

There was a dream about changelings. I almost typed, "and not the good kind of changelings, either," but then reminded myself how the world and I often have different operative paradigms about things like changelings. Regardless, first they were Italian, then Greek. Dead chickens were involved.

Yesterday, there were errands (aforementioned grocer, liquor store, and chemist). We decorated our Cephalopodmas tree (photo behind the cut, below!). We had the last of Sunday's chili with Annie's mac and cheese. I took two naps in the middle parlour; I blame the fireplace. And – sorry, changing the subject a moment – it just occurred to me how much The National sound like Roy Orbison. Anyway, last night there was rain and much wind, and too much SW:toR, and I slightly over "self-medicated," which is probably why I was visited by Greek changelings with dead chickens.

For dog's sake, I fucking hate December. I am July.

But, today we are going to the sea.

And here are photos – the Cephalopodmas tree, Cephalopodmas cookies, and – just because – Idumea, still a work in progress:

22 December 2011 )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Yesterday was a lot like today, if you only kept your eyes on the sky. Grey.

There's something grim hanging over me this early afternoon. It's familiar, but nothing that's been keeping me company lately. Maybe it's only because tomorrow is Cephalopodmas and Solstice. I need to go to the sea and make an appropriate offering. The weather is so cold and shitty, but I never used to let that stop me before. We're making octopus- and jellyfish-shaped sugar cookies, and I'll make a simple beef stew, beginning with a roux that includes a good stout. Probably not Guinness, though that's what I usually use. Maybe I'll make a huge breakfast on Friday morning. None of this is helping me lose weight.

Yesterday, I painted again. It would be soothing, I suppose. A soothing diversion, were my painting not, by necessity, such a violent act. Then again, maybe I find the violence soothing. Oh, and I have a postcard from Scotland in an antique Salmgundi Whitman's chocolates tin; that is, I just put the postcard in there so I wouldn't lose it. My office is an utter cacophony of paper and manuscript boxes, and it's easy to lose things.

Between now and mid-February, I desperately need a web monkey who'll work for all but free. I can offer inscribed, autographed books as remuneration. Mostly, I need the front page of my website converted from something that features The Red Tree to something that features The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, including the "teaser" trailer, which will later be replaced by the full two-minute version. The pages for The Red Tree would be placed elsewhere on the site. Easy stuff, yeah? But beyond my 1995 html skills. Hell, I'll even throw in a FREE one-year subscription to Sirenia Digest. If you want the job, say so here, in a comment, or email me a greygirlbeast(at)gmail(dot)com. I'm sort of desperate. My publisher is useless on this front.

There was an appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday evening after dark. The appointments are much less unnerving after dark, and she's a very pleasant woman whom I can talk to about almost anything. I'm always surprised at her forbearance.

I'm trying to listen to William Gibson's Neuromancer on audiobook, because it's been years since I read it. But the reader (remaining here nameless) has this annoying Southern accent, and he ends almost every sentence with an odd...how do I describe it? His voice dips and fades at the end of sentences, and, while he's good with Japanese and Russian accents, his attempts at reading female dialogue sounds like Monty Python drag. For dog's sake, just read the goddamn book, and stop trying to dramatize, even minimally. I'm very pleased I have so much control and say-so in the recording of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. I've already made it plain I want not one whit of dramatization. Just a good reader, who will sound like Imp and simply read.

I cannot help but sing Death Cab for Cutie's "Someday You Will Be Loved" as a serial-killer song, always singing "Someday you will be loved" as "Someday you will be mine." Either way, it's a pretty harsh song. A killer or a cad.

Far too much SW:otR last night*. Spooky got the game yesterday, so now we're playing together. I rolled my second Sith inquisitor, and gods, she's adorable. Adorable evil. Like a half Nebari girl-child in Japanese schoolgirl mode, though she's actually human. Yes, I'm playing a bloody human, and liking it. Her name is Varla. Spooky's playing a Zabrak Sith warrior named Aisimetra. I didn't get to bed until 4:30 ayem (you tell yourself it's a bloody vacation, so it's okay to be bad kids), and only slept 6.5 hours.

And now I ought go and do vacating sorts of things. Except, today is a day of errands, preparing for tomorrow and ol' St. Cthulhu.

I want to see The Adventures of Tintin, but it's in blasted, fucking 3D motherfucking EVERYWHERE here, unless you can make an 11 ayem show (noon CaST). Yeah, right. That's gonna happen. Pretty much the same situation with Hugo, and Scorcese ought know better. When the hell is Hollywood going to accept that ticket sales on 3D movies have plummeted to about 20% of box-office revenue, mostly because of the more expensive tickets, and they're only throwing bad money after good (and destroying cinematography in the process)?

In the anti-holiday spirit,
Aunt Beast

* Oh, and no Xmas shit in SW:otR! Clearly, the Baby Jesus never reached either the Republic or the Empire. Woot!
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Quite cold in Providence today, and colder tonight. Presently 36˚ Fahrenheit, crawling towards a high of 39˚.

Assembly Day #72 went pretty much as expected: not as tedious as many, but still tedious enough to annoy a person who, like me, can't seem to abide even the smallest jot of tedium. Regardless, Sirenia Digest #72 went out last night, well before midnight, and all subscribers should have it by now. I'm especially interested in thoughts on "Another Tale of Two Cities."

Beyond pulling the digest together, which took several hours, there isn't much else to say about yesterday. Work, work, and work. And, in lieu of anything even remotely interesting to say about that work, here are some Reminding Links:

The Drowning Girl: A Memoir

Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart

Alabaster

Oh, and if you're into this sort of thing, here's my Amazon wishlist and here's Spooky's. What with Solstice and Cephalopodmas looming dark and gibbous on the horizon. You know, for kids. Distraction is always welcome.

---

Mon monsieur, mon amour, le Comte de Insomnie, made an unexpected return last night. Perhaps something went amiss with the laudanum, a bad batch from the apothicaire. A misplaced dash from a tincture of cocaïne, possibly. At any rate, last night, trying to get sleepy, and so I read Lisa Tuttle's recent short story, "The Man in the Ditch," because Tuttle has written some good stuff, and I liked the title. Sadly, the story is bland, only competent, and infected with an especial sort of bland, formulaic mundanity I'm seeing in a lot of "horror" these days, both written and in film. Couple moves into house, apartment, condo, old farm only to discover that the domicile is haunted by malevolent spirit of X (insert generic EVIL entity of your choice). Family X (which can be nuclear or otherwise, pure or tainted, possessed of children or not, but they are pretty much always heterosexual) soon meets terrible fate at the hands of X, or, more rarely, escapes after the fashion of The Amityville Horror (1977) or Spielberg's Poltergeist (1982); Ryan Murphy is turning this tired trope on its ear with his American Horror Story, by the way, by mocking the various incarnations of X and by making the ghosts sympathetic and the X Family the true monsters/invaders. Point is, these are the sorts of films that when Spooky and I are looking for something to stream from Netflix we automatically skip over, the sorts of books I avoid. Anyway, despite its intriguing title, "The Man in the Ditch" is exactly such a story.

Which leads me to wonder exactly what all these straight couples are afraid of. The intrusion of the Outside, the Unknown, via a supernatural agency? No, I think that's only a metaphor – the ghosts and demons and whatnot. They are merely tiresome phantoms trotted out for more mundane (there's that word again) threats: infidelity, an inability to conceive, sudden infant death syndrome, bankruptcy and foreclosure, children who indulge in drugs or engage in sex or who turn out to be queer or who run away from home, termites in the walls, AIDS and other STDs, bedbugs, and so forth. But instead of writing about those things, it's all dressed up in the metaphor of "horror." And it's dull as small-curd cottage cheese, and it makes me weary. I may miss a beat now and then, kittens, but I promise never to bore you with such painful domesticity. Lisa Tuttle, you can do better than this.

At any rate, the vacation does not begin until the 15th, so I must get to work.

Kicking Against the Pricks,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (starbuck4)
But I won’t follow you into the rabbit hole.
I said I would, but then I saw
Your shivered bones.
They didn’t want me to.
~ The National, "Terrible Love"

0) We must have slept a little more than eight hours. This almost never happens. Now I'm achey and stiff and disoriented and dreamsick, but later I suppose I will be glad for the rest. Oh, and the Starbuck icon; I think I'm slowly working my way through my space-opera heroines.

1) Yesterday, work, work, work. I spent two hours signing signature sheets for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. I might have killed a pen. And those things – pens, I mean – don't grow on trees, you know. But now they are all signed and will go back to Subterranean Press on Monday (lots of mail going out on Monday, so watch out, you postal folk). And then the day was slipping away so fast, and Spooky and I had planned a full-on Kid Night, and I didn't want to work after dark (not that I ever do; it squicks me out, working after dark, which makes the winters hard). So, I could choose to work on the short story about the two women who become cities, or I could choose to work on the third (and very, very, very different incarnation of "Sexing the Weird"). Having already gone over the inked Alabaster pages, I chose "Sexing the Weird," though I'm sort of chomping at the bit to get the story (or vignette) written. And I have only thirteen days until The Vacation (!!), and by then I need to have Sirenia Digest #72 finished and out to subscribers and write Alabaster #4 before the vacation. Also, Sonya Taaffe ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) is finishing up her afterword for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart, which I am very much looking forward to reading.

2) A pretty damn cool article, one that Spooky just brought to my attention: "Lobster pot tag washes up across the Atlantic 2 decades after 'Perfect Storm.'" Ignore how badly written that headline is, that it ought to be "Lobster Pot Tag Washes Up Across the Atlantic Two Decades After 'Perfect Storm.'" Point is, a lobster tag lost twenty years ago traveled 3,000 miles across the Atlantic, from Cohasset in southern Massachusetts to Waterville, County Kerry, Ireland. Very cool. Except for the fact that people are forgetting how to write headlines.

3) Writers exist, in part, to remind people of things they might otherwise forgot. For example, Question @ Hand 5. Get those answers in!

4) Look for a new round of eBay auctions before Solstice/Cephalopodmas. These will all be souvenirs from our three-day shoot for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir book trailer, and will also include an ARC of the novel. And a moonstone signed by the whole cast and crew. And clothing that Imp (Nicola Astles) wore in the trailer. And...stuff. We hope to shoot a little more footage this winter in Philadelphia, but money will be needed, and that's what this auction will help to fund.

5) A truly grand Kid Night last night. After a Kid Meal of fish sticks, mac and cheese, and tater tots, we ate cupcakes and watched The Goonies (1985), followed by our second viewing of Super 8 (2011). When The Goonies was first released, I was in college, twenty-two, I think. And I was on beyond unimpressed. I remain unimpressed. What a silly, silly movie, but it made Spooky smile. Super 8, on the other hand, is bloody fucking brilliant. By the way, when Steve Lieber asked me who my dream casting for the role of Dancy in a film version of Alabaster would be, I did not hesitate to name Elle Fanning. And he got it so right, that now it sort of creeps me out watching her.

6) After Kid Night wound down, Spooky used the iPad to watch episodes of Art:21 on PBS, while I read Chapter Ten of the Barnum Brown biography I'm reading.

7) And now, I leave you with a photograph Spooky took while I was signing yesterday. I am not at my most glamorous (I rarely am these days), still in my pajamas, wearing my Jayne Cobb hat and Imp sweater and chewing a pen:

2 December 2011 )


Feelin' Scruffy,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Narcissa)
This is the unusual, infrequent sort of day when I'd actually prefer to be writing, instead of all the busyness of writing that will consume the day. More and more, it's actually hard to find time to simply write, because there are so many different projects, at so many different stages of production. I imagine this time next year I will look back fondly on November 2011, and I'll think, Wow. I had so much time to just write back then.

---

Day before yesterday, we got the news that Spooky's maternal grandmother, Ann Hanon, suffered a stroke and heart attack. She's ninety-seven and a half, and a recovery is not expected. She's not regained consciousness. She gave instructions she was not to be placed on life support. So, now everyone's waiting. The air is tense with that waiting for news of an inevitability, and with sorrow people cannot help but feel, no matter if a loved one has lived a very, very long and full life. As I said of my own maternal grandmother who, at ninety (almost ninety-one), died in 2005, I can't stop thinking how this amazing person lived through so much time, so much time and so many worlds. So many incarnations of this world. If I live another fifty years...well, I'd prefer not to, but if I did...I cannot even begin to imagine the changes I would see. I think one of the hardest things for Kathryn and her immediate family is that none of them are with her grandmother in Wisconsin, as we have become this nation of latter-day nomads.

---

Yesterday, I began writing "Sexing the Weird," my introduction to Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. I have grown to strongly dislike writing nonfiction, and especially nonfiction about my own work. After twenty years as an author, I fear I've sunk far too deeply into the bogs of my own work to speak about them...and no, that's not what I meant to say, but my difficulty articulating my thoughts on this subject should serve as an illustration of what I'm trying to say. Nonetheless, I made a good beginning, I hope, and I hope to have the introduction finished by tomorrow evening.

This month, I also still have to get the galley pages for The Drowning Girl back to Penguin (by Monday), write Alabaster: Wolves #2 for Dark Horse, work on promotional material (my publicist just emailed) for The Drowning Girl, and get Sirenia Digest #72 written and out to subscribers. I think the only thing keeping me moving ahead right now, besides the stubborn momentum of life and the pills my psychiatrist prescribes for me, is the determination that I will take two weeks off in December, a sort of Solstice/Cephalopodmas vacation. I've not had a vacation of any sort since December 2008. But other people seem to do it, so why the fuck not me?

---

A very nice interview at SFF Chronicles with Elizabeth Bear ([livejournal.com profile] matociquala), in which she just happens to make a very kindly mention of The Drowning Girl.

---

And here's a particularly articulate bit of commentary on The Ammonite Violin & Others, which I very much appreciated seeing this morning. Towards the end, there's this paragraph I found especially apt:

A note of caution, though, the stories within this book are mostly excellent and there is no denying Kiernan’s ability and distinctive voice. However, if you read a number of these in quick succession, they do start to cloy and the depth and intricacy of the tales can become treacle thick and hinder the progress of the reader. This is something to enjoy in bite size morsels.

Yes. This is true. Well, I think it's true. I can no longer bear to read a great chunk of my own short fiction any more than I can eat more than a couple of pieces of Turkish Delight at one sitting. Or a few bites of baklava. But it's interesting, because of something someone asked in the comments to yesterday's entry, regarding the caveat lector that opens Harlan Ellison's Deathbird Stories. [livejournal.com profile] faffinz asked: "Did your copy of Deathbird Stories come with the warning note from Harlan that it should not be read all at once? If so, did you read it all at once?" It did, as that notice appeared at the beginning of all copies of the book (including the recent superb Subterranean Press edition). The caveat reads:

It is suggested that the reader not attempt to read this book at one sitting . The emotional content of these stories, taken without a break, may be extremely upsetting. This note is intended most sincerely, and not as hyperbole. ~ H. E.

To finish answering the question asked by [livejournal.com profile] faffinz, no, I didn't read the stories all at once. On the one hand, being possessed of only one functional eye, I have always been a rather slow reader. Also, I like to make good books last. But, also, I first encountered the book in 1981, and I didn't take the warning as a dare. I actually did find the stories too intense to be read without several breaks in between. In fact, I had to stop halfway through "Shattered Like a Glass Goblin" and come back to it later (by the way, it remains one of my favorite of Harlan's stories). But this was in an age before Saw and its seven sequels. Which may or may not be relevant. But I am always a little disappointed to hear that someone has read the entirety of one of my short-story collections or novels at one sitting.

Yesterday, I left the house for the first time in a week. Just a trip to the market, and a stop at Mama Kim's, a local Korean food truck, for dinner.

Questioning Relevance and Relativity,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Default)
It's easier if I quote my blog entry from Solstice '08:

And now it is Solstice, and the days will grow longer. And that is a great relief. The rebirth of the "Great God," if only metaphorically. Though, truthfully, a metaphorical Cernunnos or Pan is as useful to me as would be one whose reality were less subjective. Here it is truth that applies, not fact. The wheel turns, and the Horned God wakes again. The long night of winter will end soon enough. A happy and/or blessed Solstice/Yule/Midwinter to all those who wish to be wished such.

And, of course, today is Cephalopodmas. Be grateful for the tentacles in you life.

[livejournal.com profile] readingthedark just awoke, so I'll make this short.

Yesterday we saw Aronofsky's Black Swan, a glorious examination of repression, freeing oneself from repression at all costs, and the drive for perfection in one's art. Possibly my favorite film of the year. See it. Now.

Two Worlds and in Between: The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan (Volume One) preorders contine to go extremely well. More than half the print run for the limited edition has sold out in two days. Subterranean Press has decided to increase the limited from 400 copies to 500 copies, given the demand. And the limited's still on sale for $40 (regular $60).

Later!
greygirlbeast: (Ellen Ripley 1)
Cold and sunny here in Providence.

Yesterday, the Amazon.com sales ranking for The Red Tree went at least as high as 2,115, which is the highest I've ever seen a book of mine (they may well have gone higher without my seeing). This beats the previous record— 2,962 —set by The Red Tree on December 20th.

These little benchmarks keep me moving forward. Or, at least they present some rough illusion of forward momentum into which I am willing to buy.

No actual writing yesterday. That is, no word count. I spent the afternoon sitting here looking for a story, which I think I have found. Back at the beginning of the month, I started a sort of zombie story, "(Dead) Love Among the Ruins." Then I set it aside to write "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." Then I wrote "Untitled 34." And I'd actually forgotten the zombie story until I stumbled across it yesterday. Anyway, as I sat here pondering its viability, it changed into a completely different story. That happens, and, usually, I allow it to happen. Today, I will try to write the story it has changed into. And a note to Sirenia Digest subscribers: I'm running late this month, and I'm thinking #49 will be out a day or three late, say sometime between January 1st and 3rd. Vince is working on the illustration for "Untitled 34," and I still have the second story to write.

My thanks to those people who sent Solstice/Cephalopodmas gifts: Adam Fish, Edward V. Helmers, Michael J. Boley, Karen Mahoney, David Szydloski, my Aunt Joanne (who is celebrating her 75th birthday!), and my mom. All gifts have been (and will be) greatly appreciated.

In yesterday's entry I wrote "...and there's a popular delusion, that turning a calendar page, or changing calendars, will lead to better times." And someone on Twitter replied, "...turning the calendar page is Hope." Perhaps it is for some. For me, though, it's really just what happens next. More days. The idea of a tomorrow does not, for me, inherently suggest that anything will get better in any way. I listen to the past, and the past suggests exactly the opposite. But, you know how it goes. Your mileage may vary. Right now, I can only take solace in the fact that, at least, the days are growing longer again, bit by bit.

We went to the market just before dusk yesterday, and there was the most beautiful sunset. I usually take the camera along whenever I leave the House, but yesterday I'd forgotten. But it was an amazing, fiery sunset.
greygirlbeast: (tentacles)
A few minutes ago, Spooky said, "I think if the Crawling Chaos offered me an apple, I'd have to run the other way." Which makes quite a bit more sense if you've seen my "Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire" T-shirt (thank you, Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs), and I know you probably haven't.

Merry Cephalopodmas, one and all.

Yesterday, I read "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics" to Spooky, and then tended to an awful lot of line edits. I think it's as good a story as it's ever going to be, so today I'll be sending it to subpress. By the way, this story will appear in an anthology of short stories inspired by the works of Robert Silverberg, edited by Gardner Doizois and Bill Schafer. Not sure of the publication date, but I'll post it when I know. My piece is a sort of "prequel" to Silveberg's Nightwings (1968, 1969). Also, yesterday I received the finished cover art for The Ammonite Violin & Others from Richard Kirk, and I'll post it here sometime in the next few days. It is truly, truly gorgeous. This is going to be a marvelous volume.

When work was done yesterday, Spooky and I bundled up and ventured out into the snowy world. Mountains of snow everywhere. We made it as far as the house at 599/597 Angell Street that was Deacon and Emmie's house in Daughter of Hounds. I'd not visited it since we moved here last summer, and, indeed, not since June 28th, 2004, when Spooky and I first happened upon it while I was researching the novel. It sits directly across the street from 598 Angell Street, where Lovecraft lived from 1904-1924. And after I took a few photos (below, behind the cut), we stopped by the market, then headed back home as the sun was setting.

Last night, we snacked on strawberry hamantashen and fresh Mandarin oranges and a huge tin of chocolate cookies, and watched a couple more episodes of Fringe. I rather enjoyed "August," no matter how blatantly the "observers" are ripped off from Dark City. And after that, there was WoW. We're fifty quests into the Borean Tundra (out of one hundred and fifty), and I really, really hate the region. After questing at Vengeance Landing and Dragonblight, it's just too disjointed and garish and noisy and hokey, too much like Outland, and I just want to be finished with it and get back to Dragonblight, which actually feels like a place. We both made Level 73. Shaharrazad has let her hair grow longer, what with the cold and all.

Sadly, there was very little in the way of Soltice ritual. I'm afraid that the whole "solitary practioner" thing just isn't working for me (I've been at it for five years now), and in the coming year I am going to make an earnest effort to either find or found a coven. I may even resort to WitchVox. There has to be at least one good GLBT-friendly coven in the area, one that isn't all fluffy bunnies and white-light nonsense.

Anyway, here are the photos from yesterday:

21 December 2009 )
greygirlbeast: (white2)
Yesterday I began a new vignette for Sirenia Digest #48. I wrote 1,012 words. For the moment, I'm calling it "Exuvium," but that might change, as it could be confused with the epilogue of Silk.

Otherwise, yesterday was fairly unremarkable. Last night, though, after dinner, Spooky and I played eight frakkin' straight hours of WoW. I think that's our record. Shaharrazad and Suraa finally completed Dire Maul, and then, for some reason known only to them Elder Gods what waste their time with addictive MMORPGs, I rolled a new character (my tenth) on the Venture Co. server (we have friends over there). An undead named...wait for it...Shaharrazad. Spooky already had an undead on that server (Artemizia), though she was still at Level 1. So...we were up until four a.m. and made it to Level 7. This is my first time to play an undead, and there's actually a perfectly rational explanation for this whole thing. Okay, maybe it's not exactly perfect or rational. Sure, there's not much in the way of RP in this MMO[RP]G, but we still make up backstories for our characters, as we sit here playing. Shah and Suraa's have become rather complex. And...no, I'm not getting into this, maybe some other time. But yeah, eight hours of WoW.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, and also at Spooky's most excellent Cephalopodmas ornaments (only five remaining), inspired by New England headstones, and featuring everyone's favorite Old One.
greygirlbeast: (white)
On this day in 1859, 150 years ago, Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life was first published (by British publishing house, John Murray). If any single book charted the course of my life, this is likely it. So, 150 years ago Darwin proposed a theory of evolution to explain the fact of evolution, and, of course, the theory is still evolving, which is the nature of science. And the creationists still don't get it. Maybe in another 150 years...well...let's not go there. My inner pessimist always wins. It's enough to marvel that so many years have passed, and we've made countless discoveries that would have dazzled, delighted, and humbled Mr. Darwin.

Also on this date, in 2001, a mere eight years ago, I began this blog. It was over at Blogger at the time. So, here I have eight years worth of online journal. When it began, I was living in Birmingham and just getting started on Low Red Moon. And I thought I knew how my life would go. I could never have imagined all the things that the coming eight years held in store.

So, there you go. Two anniversaries in one.

Yesterday was mostly spent tweaking "Sanderlings." I also made notes for a new vignette, for Sirenia Digest #48, and that hardly ever happens. Oh, and my contributor's copy of Lovecraft: Fear of the Unknown arrived a few days back, and I spent part of yesterday watching the extended interviews.

Last night, Spooky and I were trying to get Shaharrazad and Surra through Dire Maul, but there was some sort of cataclysmic server breakdown. I think at least a third of the WoW servers crashed all at the same time. So, we were forced to stop killing ogres and seek intellectual stimulation elsewhere. So, we watched Peter Askin's documentary, Trumbo (2007), which was very good and almost made me glad for the server crash. I spend far too much time on that damned silly game.

I will not be writing today, because I have a doctor's appointment.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. The copy of The Five of Cups that we're offering is the lettered edition, filled with extras. Also, Spooky has sold all of her non-winged Cthulhu ornaments (Cephalopodmas is just around the corner!), and only has the winged version remaining (the one I happen to prefer). Five of those remain. You can see them in her Dreaming Squid shop.

Now I'm going to finish my coffee.
greygirlbeast: (starbuck2)
Yesterday, I finally gave up and shelved "The Wolves, The Witch, and the Weald," which is the short story that I've been trying to write since the end of October. I never even made it through the first paragraph. I have managed to write nothing of consequence since I finished "The Dissevered Heart" on October 23rd. That's 23 days, not counting today. Yes, I did write a proposal for the next novel, but synopses, proposals, and outlines do not count as actual writing. And I have no idea what's going on. I'm not even particularly exhausted. I've been productive when I was far more weary than I've been this month. But it has to end now. I spent all day yesterday, as I have spent most days this month, staring at the blank "page" in MS Word, trying to get started. There are deadlines, and there are editors, and there are publishers, and there are bills to be paid, and none of these things are interested in excuses, no matter how valid they may be.

I finally let myself step away from the iMac about 4 p.m., and read William Browning Spencer's "The Ocean and All It's Devices." I'd not encountered this short story since its original publication in Borderlands 4, way back in 1994. It's still one of my favorite "Lovecraftian" stories (not to be confused with "Mythos" tales), and was pleased to see it reprinted in the Subterranean Press collection of the same title.

Last night, after dinner, Spooky and I watched the second episode of the remake of V, which was, if anything, even duller and possessed of less promise than the premiere. I've been told that only three episodes have been filmed, which I suspect means that only three will be filmed. We also watched Caprica, which I liked, though I'd sort of expected not to (though I'm not sure why). The series begins January 22nd, and it will be interesting to see if it is as strong as the pilot.

It's been strangely warm here in Providence. Mid sixties yesterday.

Saturday night, [livejournal.com profile] readingthedark dropped by, and we were up until after four a.m. talking about...well, lots of things. I feel as though I have been eerily social of late, but I think it's something I'm going to need, if I'm to make it through the coming winter.

Spooky has begun a series of Cthulhu-themed Cephalopodmas ornaments, and the first three went up yesterday on her Etsy shop, Dreaming Squid Dollworks. One has already sold.

Also, we have a single copy of the trade edition of The Dry Salvages, long sold out and out of print, now up on eBay.

Spooky and I are making our way through House of Leaves again (sixth time?), and late last night I noted this bit, from a Truant footnote on pg. 31 of the "Remastered Full-Color Edition":

The way I figure it, if there's something you find irksome—go ahead and skip it. I couldn't care less how you read any of this. His wandering passages are staying, along with all his oddly canted phrases and even some warped bits in the plot. There's just too much at stake. It may be the wrong decision, but fuck it, it's mine.

Now, I think I may have a short walk before I try, again, to write.
greygirlbeast: (chi6)
A good writing day yesterday — finally. I did 1,085 words on "The Crimson Alphabet," which amounted to letters A and B (automaton and ball joint, respectively). Today, I need to manage C—E, at least. I was concerned that my choices for A and B might yield vignettes that were too alike in subject and mood, but, as it turned out, they actually serve as nice counterpoints to one another.

Another Cephalopodmas come and gone. Every year, Spooky gives me a cephalopod of one sort of another on December 22nd, and yesterday she gave me what I have dubbed the "cuttlepuss," as its designer seems to have been unable to decide whether it was meant to be a cuttlefish or an octopus (photo behind the cut). The cuttlepuss is marvelously skooshy, and I suspect it's filled with some manner of silicone gel. Some years, Cephalopodmas is best observed in a roundabout sort of way — from out the corner of one's eye, as it were. Yesterday was just that sort of Cephalopodmas. After the writing, we finished off a pot of chili, and Spooky made a blueberry pie. She played Destroy All Humans 2 and I did some very excellent Dune rp in Second Life. Anyway, all the tentacled garland and multi-colored photophores have been packed away until next year. I can't for the life of me figure out why there are people out there still shopping, now that the holiday is clearly done.

Behold, the mighty Cuttlepuss! )


And I was thinking, one thing that I very much appreciated about Tim Burton's adaptation of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is that in toning down the subplot concerning Anthony Hope and Todd's daughter, Johanna, the movie doesn't have that annoying ring of apology that I feel in the stage musical. As much as I love the original, Johanna and Anthony feel too much like something done to make up for the central tragedy and its attendant horrors. On stage, their love affair is far too bright and too cheery. The film makes it more desperate and gritty, and also trims away enough that it remains peripheral and one never loses sight of the darkness. Oh, and on the way home from the film, we saw a whole flock of red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) on a lawn, and neither of us had ever seen more than one or two at a time.

I will here remind you of the ongoing eBay auctions, and thank you for your bids.

Oh, and here's an amusing story, "Abominable Snowmen: The War on Lawn Decorations." It gets worse every year, and every year brings me that much closer to taking up an icepick and BB-gun and deflating as many of those gargantuan inflatable snow globes and Santas as I may before the cops catch up with me. Yes, the inflatable crap is the worst. It is inexcusably tasteless, unpardonably ugly. A veritable blight, I say.

Okay. Letter C awaits. And I must find coffee...
greygirlbeast: (chi2)
Just wanted to remind everyone that two of our current eBay auctions will be ending early this evening. This includes the letter X of Tales from the Woeful Platypus, which comes with a beanie platypus sewn by my own two hands. Also, the auction for a copy of the trade hardback edition of Frog Toes and Tentacles will be ending. So, please have a look, and if you are of such an inclination, please bid. Proceeds will mostly be going to cover recent and ongoing medical bills (no insurance for this freelancer), so thanks to those who do bid.

Last night, we watched Nicolas Cage in Lee Tamahori's Next (2007), which is very, very loosely based upon Philip K. Dick's short story, "The Golden Man" (1954). I'd say it was, at most, suggested by Dick's story. Anyway, it wasn't great cinema, but it was an enjoyable film, possessed of a certain lopsided charm, which is more than can be said for Cage's two other recent genre outings, Ghostrider and the lamentable remake of The Wicker Man.

Oh, and [livejournal.com profile] scarletboi had this to say regarding [livejournal.com profile] anextropian's comments that writers should not and do not own their creations, and I feel like quoting it:

I've run across this ludicrous sort of denial before, the idea that we should not expect any sort of protection or recompense for the ideas that we, if not generate, at the very least aggregate. It has its roots in the hacker/hippy culture that brought us a lot of wonderful advances and horribly out-of-touch demagogues like Richard Stallman. The democratization of ideas is all well and good, until you realize that the signal-to-noise ratio has reached overload. In theory, the good writers and artists and musicians will rise to the top, wheat and chaff and all that...

But if you take the tack that "information wants to be free" means that there should be no copyright, no trademark, and that all media should be free to anyone who wants to enjoy it, then you have to accept that the quality of media will largely disintegrate. If an artist cannot rely on compensation for their work, two things are sure to happen: that artist will have to get another job, and will either stop creating art, or at the very least, they will not have the output they surely would have had if they could work at their art full-time.


Just five days left until Cephalopodmas. If anyone is feeling gifty and generous, here are links to my Amazon wishlist, and another link to Spooky's. What we really want is a modest harem of nubile young Asian cyborgs (all three genders welcome) with tentacle implants in just the right places...but, alas, I couldn't find any of those on Amazon.
greygirlbeast: (white3)
There were plans for yesterday, a long road trip and "field work" for Joey Lafaye, but the weather turned shitty, and it's still shitty today. There was rain yesterday and last night, something that has become almost mythical here in Atlanta. A cold, stinging rain, and if it did that for a couple of months, it might save us from the Great Water Riot of 2008. Or not. Oh, and I was up way the hell too late on Friday night, until something like 4:30 ayem, and that also messed with my plans for yesterday. No rain today, just cold and grey.

Instead, I stayed in and began proofreading the galleys for Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Spooky and I spent a couple of hours writing out a sort of prospectus for "The Crimson Alphabet," parts one and two. We have a least one word for each letter at this point. Several people said they wanted to see me do "The Crimson Alphabet," and no one said they didn't, so I interpreted that as a vote of confidence. Oh, and I managed to combine three boxes of paperbacks (Silk, Low Red Moon, and Beowulf) into only two boxes. They'll go to storage in Birmingham now. I washed my hair. That was the work I did yesterday instead of the work that I should have been doing yesterday. Oh, and I got a $10.56 royalty check, for "Bela's Plot" in Love in Vein II. Over the years, only a tiny handful of the 100+ short stories I've sold have actually earned royalties, and "Bela's Plot" is one of them.

Last night, we had dinner with Byron at the Vortex, then came back here and watched Badder Santa, which I must confess I loved. Quite a lot of films lately, and I can't recall if I've mentioned them all. Friday night, Spooky and I saw Daywatch (Dnevnoy dozor, 2006), which was beautiful and superbly dreamlike, but which didn't make much more sense to me from a narrative standpoint than did it's predecessor, Nightwatch (Nochnoy dozor, 2004). I think it's something about fundamental conventions of Russian filmmaking and/or storytelling that I fail to grasp. Which is to say, the problem is probably with me, not the films.

The latest round of eBay auctions continue, and please note that the auction for Letter X of Tales from the Woeful Platypus (complete with hand-sewn paisley platypus) ends tomorrow. I think Spooky's going to be listing a couple of new things today.

I learned on Friday that, in light of my recent health problems, my editor at NAL — Anne Sowards — has agreed to extend my due date on Joey Lafaye to June. Which is a huge relief.

Here we are, approaching the long cold death before the year is reborn, and so I must remind you of Cephalopodmas, which falls on December 22nd.

One last thing: Clarkesworld is doing a "favorite story of the year" poll, and if you happened to really love "The Ape's Wife," please take a moment to tick that particular box and let it be known. Thank you.
greygirlbeast: (Fran3)
Eight hours sleep last night, and nothing was stolen, and nothing exploded, and we were not visited by a second deluge. So, I guess things are looking up. The basement lake sat there all night, and some guy in a white van showed up this ayem to pump it out. I was just sort of getting fond of having my own lagoon.

I keep finding new reasons to hate MySpace. For example, there's this little drop-down menu thingy that lets you categorize your entries. There's something like 27 categories to choose from, including such very important subjects as "Fashion, Style, Shopping" "Parties and Nightlife," "Goals, Hopes, Plans," and "Automotive." Heck, there's even "Religion and Philosophy" and "Writing and Poetry," which does seem to indicate that MySpace has not entirely discounted intellectual pursuits. However, out of all these categories, there's no "Science" or "Science and Nature." Which, I think, says a lot about public attitudes towards science in America. Anyway, TypePad is looking like a much better mirror, so I may soon abandon the blight of MySpace completely. What a relief it will be to never again have to look upon the oddly shiny faces of drunken college students posing for pix with drinks in hand, and I can stop getting spammed with "friend" requests from hookers and indie bands. No, it's true. I really do hate MySpace.

I'm going to try to begin a new story today, something that will likely appear in Sirenia Digest 14 in January. I'd intended to spend the entire day in bed, observing Global Orgasm Day in a manner most befitting. But, then, I'd not counted on losing yesterday. So, the orgasms will just have to wait a while longer. By the way, Global Orgasm Day has been organised by the Global Consciousness Project, which I think is actually based out of Princeton U. (at least, their website is anchored there), in hopes of measuring "changes in randomness during global events." The "science" here is, to say the least, highly questionable in its validity. But I just can't resist something called Global Orgasm Day, even if it is a front for bad science hoping "to effect positive change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible surge of human energy a Synchronized Global Orgasm. There are two more US fleets heading for the Persian Gulf with anti-submarine equipment that can only be for use against Iran, so the time to change Earth’s energy is NOW!" Er...right. I suppose this gets filed under "Noble Yet Idiotic." Still, any excuse for an orgasm or five, and maybe we'll get lucky and the "surge of human energy" will at last awaken Cthulhu, who will promptly destroy the whole silly world by Xmas.

Don't forget that the current eBay auctions end later today, this evening, including a hand-corrected galley for Daughter of Hounds and an ARC of the same. So, have a look. Bid if you've a mind to do so. Oh, and I never did congratulate [livejournal.com profile] kiaduran for snagging the green-haired boy doll and lettered copy of Alabaster the other day. She's the same kind soul who gave Snapdragon a good home. Oh, wait, only the galley auction ends today. The ARC ends on Xmas Eve. Thank you, Spooky.

And if you have not pre-ordered already, the platypus assures me that Cephalopodmas is the best day of all, after Samhain, for pre-ordering Daughter of Hounds

We did, belatedly, get in a little something nice for Solstice last night. Despite the drizzle, the cold, and the cloud cover, we walked over to Freedom Park sometime after midnight. It was deserted, and we sat under the oaks and pecan trees at the top of the hill, shivering and damp, but happy for the sky and the solitude.

And now, as my Cephalopodmas gift to you, this exquisite photo of the hooked suckers of one of my favourite teuthids, Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, the Colossal Squid. If this doesn't a) put you in the holiday spirit and b) get you ready for the sychronised global orgasm, well, I don't know what possibly ever would.

greygirlbeast: (Fran2)
I find myself rather annoyed that there's not yet a Wikipedia entry for Cephalopodmas (Dec. 22nd). I suppose that I will have to remedy this, unless someone out there beats me to it.

Yesterday was proofreading, editing, slight rewriting, that sort of a day. A lot of e-mail. Spooky and I need to begin proofreading Low Red Moon for the mmp edition. We need to begin very, very soon, as I'm supposed to have my corrections/changes in by December 15th. The new paperback will be released August 7, 2007, by the way.

I also spent some time yesterday figuring out just what will be required to produce a downloadable free e-verson (PDF) of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Short answer, quite a lot. I don't think I'll be able to get this out until sometime late in the Spring, given all my other writing obligations. What I'm thinking is that the PDF will include the original text from the Gauntlet hardback (2000), plus a second revised, corrected text. In short, two complete versions of the collection, back to back. The revised, corrected version will include lots of hypertext, end notes, etc. In fact, I was thinking I'd ask for volunteers to help out with the hypertext links. If you're interested in "adopting" a story and can handle simple HTML, speak up. First come, first served. It would speed things along, and you'll earn a spot in the acknowledgments. You may volunteer right here by claiming a story via a LJ comment. Subterranean Press has agreed to host the PDF (it will also be available on my website). I still have to speak with Richard Kirk about reprinting his artwork, and with Doug and Peter about reprinting their introduction and afterword, respectively. There will be a new author's preface, and if there's time, a new story for the revised, corrected version, possibly the "missing" Salammbô Desvernine story I never got around to writing for the original Gauntlet release.

Oh, and I spent some time working with Vince on the cover/title-page illustration for Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

Spooky spent a good deal of yesterday on photos for my website redesign. I am doing everything in my power to insure it won't look like a "horror writer's" website. I think readers will be pleasantly surprised. Or they will be indifferent. Either is fine.

I was inexplicably pleased this morning to encounter the word "discombobulated" in the description of today's Astronomy Picture of the Day (which happens to be a gorgeous shot of Galaxy NGC 1313, by the way). It's a word which I often use to describe my mental state, "discombobulated," but I hardly ever hear anyone else use it.

No Final Fantasy XII yesterday (I think I almost OD'd on Sunday), but Spooky and I did get into an argument over whether Fran was her girlfriend or my girlfriend, because we're such frelling big dorks. (Fran is my girlfriend, though. I even have the icon to prove it. I cannot help that Spooky is delusional).

The weather here is warm and will remain so at least until Thursday, when the cold returns. The park was good yesterday, except I think it made me long for some genuine wilderness. Trees that have not been planted by men. Land that has not been scaped. But, hey, I'm procrastinating, and all good gardas and nixars know that's one of the Nine Seven Deadly Sins of Writing. The platypus is eying me from the top of a bookshelf, where sheheit has been amusing herhimitself with a volume of William Blake and an action figure (Christopher Walken as the headless horseman, if you must know). So I better go. You know how sheheit gets...
greygirlbeast: (chi4)
The meteorologists are promising the mercury will climb to 61F today, and I can only hope they're not mistaken. My plan to make peace with the cold this winter isn't going so well. Yesterday, when the writing was done, I wanted to take a walk, but we only made it as far as the southern edge of Freedom Park before the cold turned me back towards home. I think the temp was somewhere in the high 30s, with wind. Ugh. Anyway, maybe I can get a halfway decent walk in sometime today, if it really does warm up.

Sophie may be headed back to the vet again this afternoon.

The writing went very well yesterday. I did 1,498 words on "Bainbridge" and made it all the way to the end of Section VI. Today I'll begin VII, "Counsel Among the Dead." Presently, the story stands at 6,937 words. With luck, I'll finish it Thursday afternoon. I think this is the first time I've ever allowed myself to write a story for an audience. Well, maybe I did that with "...Between the Gargoyle Trees," because I knew no one would be reading it who hadn't already read all the other Jimmy DeSade/Salmagundi stories (or at least had access to them). So I didn't worry about reintroducing characters. I didn't worry about it being a stand-alone story, which it isn't, and I think it was a better story for that. That's how it's going with "Bainbridge." As this story will likely never appear anywhere but Alabaster, at the end of a book containing all the Dancy stories, I'm allowing myself to take certain things for granted. I assume the reader knows Dancy and will have read all the preceding stories in Alabaster. I assume the reader will recall bits about her mother from Threshold. I assume the reader has read Murder of Angels. These are the story's three critical assumptions. So, what I mean about writing for a particular audience is that I'm writing this story for myself, of course, but with those readers in mind, the ones who've read these books and stories. I don't think I could have been true to this particular story any other way.

Thanks to folks who sent Cephalopodmas gifts and well wishes. They were greatly appreciated, here at the tail-end of this crappy year. Spooky and I exchanged gifts on Dec. 22nd. It was apparently an action-figure Cephalopodmas. I gave her three Final Fantasy X-2 figures (YRP!), and she gave me two Corpse Bride figures, as well as a really fantastic Dresden Dolls DVD, which we watched Sunday afternoon. Next year, I shall have a Cephalopodmas tree and do this thing up right.

I'll be starting the eBay auctions again today. And over the next couple weeks I'm going to be doing my best to draw new subscribers to Sirenia Digest. Having chosen novelizing over Bullet Girl, and since I don't yet have a contract for the next couple of novels, income from eBay and Sirenia is going to be extremely important to me and Spooky in the months to come. Aside from buying my books, there's no better way to show your support for my work at this time than by getting a subscription to Sirenia. Oh, and we'll be announcing the winner of Monster Doodle Sculpture #5 in the next few days (selected from the subscribers).

Okay. Time for the words to start flowing. Think warm thoughts for me, or, as the Nebari say, Ena sn'ial.

Postscript (3:59 p.m.) — Can someone explain to me the advantages of an RSS feed, how I can get this blog into syndication, etc?
greygirlbeast: (new chi)
Not a bad Cephalopodmas, all in all. I'm very glad that people enjoyed "The Thirteen Days of Cephalopodmas." I'm hoping that by next December 22nd, I'll have the lyrics to many more Cephalopodmas carols. As for that other holiday which begins with "C" and ends with "mas," well, Spooky and I will be spending it at the Georgia Aquarium with friends, which is almost like getting two Cephalopodmases in one year.

Yesterday, I did read through what's been written on "Bainbridge" so far. And to my relieved surprise, it seems to work. I was especially concerned about the bit I wrote on Tuesday, on the second Silentday. It was one of those things I need to be reading aloud as I write it, and, well, I couldn't read it aloud (hence the kicking and screaming of the words, which I mentioned previously). But, regardless, it works. Now, it's time to stop slacking off and get this story finished. Today and tomorrow, and then all next week, and I should be done with "Bainbridge."

Dinner with Jim and "Hannah" last night, and then we ended up at Oxford Comics on Piedmont. That was my third time in Oxford in only two days, and I suspect they were beginning to think I was planning on moving in or something. Spooky and I finally got home latish (lateish?) and I played Ico for a while. Like Shadow of the Colossus, it's a beautiful and enthralling game, and it's all the more impressive for having been released back in 2001. However, it does seem to have a somewhat higher frustration factor than SofC. So far, though, it's doing a fairly nice job of being a game that doesn't constantly remind you that it's a game, which is a good thing. Before I began Ico, I gave the Kong game a try and must admit that I was very disappointed. There'd been so much hype for this title, the proclamations that finally there was a good movie-based game. I beg to differ. It didn't help that much of it's a first-person shooter, and some of the dialogue (voiced by the film's actors) was really outstandingly lame. For example, when Ann Darrow, having just witnessed a couple of pterodactyl-like critters chowing down on a scorpio-pede (Nepapede harpagabdominus), remarks something like "Amazing! All the species on this island eat each other." Uh...yeah. I'll probably give the Kong game another try later on, maybe, but I suspect it's just not going to live up to the hype. Hype is a dangerous thing.

I was tremendously relieved to hear that Congress has blocked Bush's plans to open Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to oil drilling. And this after renewal of the Patriot Act failed. And the defeat of the creationists in Pennsylvania. I know better than to allow myself to become optimistic, but still...

Okay. Time to make the doughnuts. I must earn my Kindernacht.
greygirlbeast: (grey)


On the first day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the second day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the third day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the fourth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the fifth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the sixth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the seventh day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the eigth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the ninth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Nine tentacles strangling,
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the tenth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Ten ammonites,
Nine tentacles strangling,
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the eleventh day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Eleven Architeuthis,
Ten ammonites,
Nine tentacles strangling,
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the twelfth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Twelve inks sacs squirting,
Eleven Architeuthis,
Ten ammonites,
Nine tentacles strangling,
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

On the thirteenth day of Cephalopodmas,
Cthulhu gave to me
Thirteen Hapalochlaena,
Twelve ink sacs squirting,
Eleven Architeuthis,
Ten ammonites,
Nine tentacles strangling,
Vampyroteuthis infernalis,
Seven photophores a-flashing,
Six arms a-flaying,
Grimpoteuthis,
Four snapping beaks,
Three suckers,
Two cuttlefish,
And Histioteuthis heteropsis.

Profile

greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

S M T W T F S
    1 234
56 7 891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
26272829   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Aug. 23rd, 2017 02:27 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios