greygirlbeast: (Pagan1)
Outside, it's 80F and feels like 81F. Inside, 80F. Balance, kiddos.

The last thing I recall saying before I fell asleep this morning is, "Only a dyke would have a crush on Charlie Brown." This is, in fact, a reference to Peppermint Patty. Let's just say I was very tired. Though, that's often when I speak the truth.

This morning, I dreamed I was in some weird sequel to Lovecraft's "The Colour Out of Space." Pretty much all detail is lost to me, but I can assure you it was not the least bit pleasant. The sense of uncleanliness, that it was unsafe to touch, drink, or eat anything, or even to breathe. It reminds me how "The Colour Out of Space" is a perfect parable for environmental degradation.

Yesterday was spent editing Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart and the first four chapters Blood Oranges, finding as many errors in the latter as possible and correcting them. This afternoon, it goes to my agent. Booya. I now know that I'll write an introduction for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart called "Sexing the Weird." I'm going to ask another author to write an afterword, and I hope to include a lot of illustrations by Vince Locke

Couldn't sleep last night. When I can't sleep, neither can Spooky. So our insomnias align. She read me the first three sections of William Burroughs' Junky (which I've not read since the summer of 1994). Then she turned off the light, about 4:30 ayem. The sky had grown very bright, there on that shortest darkness of the year. I sat at the kitchen table eating leftover pasta salad and watching the dawn. Finally, the pills kicked in, and I crawled away to bed and sleep.

Happy birthday, [ profile] faustfatale!

Our thanks to Stephen Lubold for the latest care package: Brown Bird's EP "The Sound of Ghosts," and three books: Ransom Riggs' Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children and the first two volumes of Mike Raicht and Brian Smith's amazing The Stuff of Legend. As it happens, he also won yesterday's ARC auction.

Good Rifting and rping last night. Thanks to everyone! The guild grows.

And yes, it's Soltice, Midsummer, Lithia, Litha. It is a day that Kathryn and I observe. If you do likewise, I wish you a happy Litha. I won't say blessed. Not sure I believe much in blessings, and even if I did, I would be unable to bestow them. The wheel turns. The shortest night, tonight.

We'll go to this evening to observe the day. We've talked about staying at the shore all night, maybe watching the sunrise over Narragansett Bay. But first I have a lot of work to do.

Comments, kittens!

Traveling the Circumference,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Default)
How does one forget that she's supposed to be in Manhattan on Tuesday? That is, she forgets until almost the last minute,'s all pretty embarrassing. But I do. Have to be in Manhattan tomorrow, to see my agent and visit with Peter Straub and so on and so forth. I think it's a matter of inertia, the forgetting. The objects remaining at rest tending to remain at rest half of inertia, I mean. Not being one of the traveling authors, but one of the "homebody" authors – id est, one of the reclusive, antisocial, and sporadically agoraphobic ones. I am well acquainted with authors who jet about the world, while I rarely leave the apartment. I'd blame the TSA, but I'm pretty sure the rise of their New and Improved Draconian policies merely worsened what was already there.

It's a shame I can't blame the motherfucking fascist TSA.

So, tomorrow we take the train to NYC, but we'll be back on Wednesday evening.


On the subject of eBay: Please note, as stated on all our auction pages, we do not take checks or money orders. We also do not make exceptions, especially if you win an auction and then fail to contact us for three days. We only take PayPal. Here's the main reason why: Around here, money is almost always tight. And when we see an auction end, especially a "high-ticket item" like the recently auctioned boxed, lettered, double-signed edition of In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers (something we'd never before auctioned), we immediately factor that income into our budget. Because PayPal immediately sees to it that we're paid. So...please don't bid unless you have a working PayPal account, with sufficient money in it to cover your bid. Doing otherwise will cause us great inconvenience and, I might add, reflect poorly upon you. Wow. I haven't been that coherent in days.


If you are so foolish as to even imagine you'd like to be an author, you need to read Nick Mamatas' Starve Better: Surviving the Endless Horror of the Writing Life. There's even a free digital version. It includes his rather brilliant essay, "Against Craft," which I adore, having always loathed the idea that writing is a "craft," and not an art.


Rain, rain, rain. All we have is rain and chill.

What was there to yesterday? There was that other leaning paper tower in my office, which, it turned out, was several leaning towers' worth of filing. Working from basic stratigraphic principles – specifically, the law of superposition, so thank you Nicolas Steno – that nothing much had been filed since at least June 2010. Which really says a lot. Back to inertia. Anyway, you file, and you find things you've lost that you never even knew you had.

Apologies to Rift folks. I just wasn't, for the most part, up to it yesterday. Mostly, I wanted to spend the day hiding in the bathtub under several layers of blankets. So, I wasn't around yesterday. The good news is that I slept last night, almost nine hours, thanks to one of the pills I prefer to avoid (mostly because it's not cheap). I'm not okay, but I'm better. Dreams aside, I'm better. Another night like that, I'll be much better. A week of that, I'll be functional again.

Last night, we watched the last two DVDs from Friday's binge at Acme Video. The first was Woody Allen's pitch-perfect Broadway Danny Rose (1984), and the second (last of the five) was Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine and Fred MacMurray in Billy Wilder's The Apartment (1960), one of the films you'd find on my most-favorite-ever list. Both were new to Spooky. Seeing Broadway Danny Rose again, I remembered the first time I ate at the Carnegie Deli on 7th Avenue (Midtown NYC). It was very late at night, or early the next morning. May the 13th, 1998, which was a rainy Saturday. Unless you say it was the rainy pre-dawn hours of May the 14th, 1998, a Sunday, which is more likely. It was me, Christa Faust, some Mexican wrestler dude (masked, even), and Bernie Wrightson. I'd spent the night in a latex bodysuit and an Israeli gas mask, and was very, very dehydrated. That's a small bit of a long story. I'd just turned thirty-four.

A few years there, I spent so much time in New York.

Last night, after the movies, I lay on the floor in the front parlor listening to the rain. Just before bed, we ate fresh pineapple.


What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind...
(William Wordsworth, "Ode: Intimations of Immortality")

On the Eve of Departure,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Pagan1)
Hot now in Providence. Summer arrived (again) a couple of days back, and here in the House, we are sweltering. Dr. Muñoz tries to keep us coolerated, but he is such a very small droid and it's such a very large old House. But, still, I am glad for the heat. All that rain and belated March was wearing me more ragged than my usual raggedness.

And here it is Litha, so this evening we'll go down to the sea. It won't be anything elaborate, but at least it will be the sea. I have to admit, I find myself reluctant to go to the shore. And I know it has something to do with what's happening in the Gulf of Mexico, and with my own complicity in that horror. When the sea is your goddess (even if she is a nonconscious goddess) and your species continues to befoul her at every turn, slowly transforming her into a corrupted morass of petrochemicals and floating plastic debris and dead zones and sewage and fertilizer runoff, the shame has to be embraced, not denied. The sea will, in time, when humans have gone, cleanse herself, but that will be a long, long age from now.


For the past two days I've been working on a new piece for Sirenia Digest, "Tidal Forces." It actually has nothing much to do with the sea, despite the title. I refer here to other tidal forces. More sorts than one, really. Saturday, I wrote 1,051 words, and another 1,005 yesterday. And yesterday I read it to Spooky, and she likes it.

Night before last, we watched Rowan Woods' Little Fish (2005). It's a very, very good film, though it's also a hard film to watch. Cate Blanchett is excellent, but Hugo Weaving steals the show in what might be his finest performance that I've seen so far. I haven't been reading much, mostly comics and paleontology stuff.

Spooky's begun a new round of eBay auctions, if you'd be so kind as to have a look. Thanks.

And a very happy birthday to [ profile] faustfatale!

I need to wrap this up and get to work. But I did want to mention that the demolition of the old overpass, where Point Street becomes Wickenden (or thereabouts), has resumed. I noticed a few nights back. Last night, on the way to the market for dinner, I got a couple of photographs of what remains of the southside of the mural (behind the cut):

20 June 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (white)
Thought I'd share the gift from [ profile] faustfatale that was waiting for me when I woke up this morning. Pretty much the first thing I saw. Every day should begin that way. Thanks, Iphy.

Oh, it's behind a cut, just in case any folks of the prudish persuasion are lurking hereabouts:

Last chance not to look... )
greygirlbeast: (walter3)
1. Yesterday, I wrote a very decent 1,466 words on "Hydrarguros," for Sirenia Digest #50. This isn't going to be a vignette. This is going to be my first full-length science-fiction story since I wrote "Galápagos" for Eclipse Three, back in June or July. Wait. Shit. I wrote a full-length sf tale, "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics," for the forthcoming Robert Silverberg tribute anthology (Subterranean Press). And that was only December. Gods, it all bleeds together. Anyway, yeah, this story is growing beyond my original concept, and if you're a subscriber to the digest, you'll get to read it. Soon. It's feeling quite a lot like "In View of Nothing" and "A Season of Broken Dolls," and I think Jason Statham is quickly morphing into someone else.

2. Another night of not-quite-enough sleep, thanks to the wonderful rp in Insilico. I meant to get to bed earlier, but the story just kept coming, and I apparently lack the ability to walk away from story. I am a narrative junkie.

3. Yesterday was a day of wonderful gifts arriving by mail. First, a package from Jada in Arkansas, containing a bottle of Crystal Head vodka. I had no idea Dan Ackroyd was pimping vodka in these marvelous bottles. So, the boozery continues to grow. And then, while Kathryn had gone down to the local deli to get sandwiches for dinner, FedEx arrived with a second package (and there's a story here, that I'll come to in Item 4). This one contained a slab of grey stone from the Marecchia River Formation in Italy, bearing the complete skeleton of a 20+ centimeter specimen of Syngnathus acus, an extinct species of pipefish from the Lower Pliocene (about 3-5 million years old). This came from Christa ([ profile] faustfatale) in faraway LA. It will now take up residence in my own Wunderkammer.

4. When I went to answer the door, when the FexEx dude knocked, I thought I'd shut the front parlour door behind me. The door leading out into the front hallway. I'd not. When I got back upstairs, it was standing wide fucking open. Sméagol was just outside our door, looking thoroughly freaked. He saw me and dashed back inside. However, Hubero was nowhere to be seen. So, I commenced searching. Our building, circa 1875, has these incredibly narrow, steep spiraling wooden stairwells. They make me think of being inside a lighthouse. I went upstairs and finally located Hubero, who never, ever squirms or wiggles when I puck him up. Except for last night. As I was coming back downstairs with him, he wriggled rather violently, dug in his claws, and one or another of my feet slipped. I missed the next step down, pulled my left Achilles tendon rather painfully, and almost went tumbling to the second floor. For a moment, I clearly saw Spooky coming home to find me crumpled in the hallway, a Siamese cat smooshed flat beneath my broken body. But somehow I caught myself, and doomsday was narrowly averted. Shit like this is one reason Spooky is usually the one who answers the door.

5. Last night, we started watching Season Three of Deadliest Catch. I find this strange show absurdly addictive, and I was partway through Season Three in '08 when we made the move from Atlanta to Providence. We watched the first two episodes, and then I wandered off to rp. Oh, I also read another paper in the December Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology yesterday, "Dyrosaurid remains from the Intertrappean Beds of India and the Late Cretaceous distribution of the Dyrosauridae."

6. The platypus says shut up and get to work....
greygirlbeast: (sleeps with wolves)
Yeah, so it's still not summer here in Rhode Island. It is, however, damp. And cloudy. 64F, with the humidity sitting at 82%. The world is mildewing all about me. And what I miss most are the warm summer evenings....

I wrote yesterday, but nothing particularly useful. I'm working on a "sword-and-sorcery" fantasy, "The Sea Troll's Daughter," and trying to invert the gender roles as completely as possible (compared to the old "damsel-in-distress" formula of the subgenre), and my editor needs it by July 5th, at the very, very latest. I don't know how much I actually wrote yesterday, because I kept ditching things. 600 or 700 words. I have to do better today. Oddly, I have the entire story in my head, pretty much. Beginning, middle, and end, which is unusual (this sort of happened with "The Alchemist's Daughter," too, which remains unfinished), so you'd think this wouldn't be so difficult. But I can't settle on voice, or tone, or POV. And worldbuilding has me all tangled up. I see my world just fine, but describing it without recourse to infodumps, that part's eluding me.

I've decided that I'm going to abandon the MySpace account, beginning in about a week. So, if you're reading the blog over there, you're going to have to start following it at LJ or Facebook of Dreamwidth or Twitter. Five is too much. Hell, four is too much. But MySpace is the homeliest of the lot, so it gets the hatchet. As for Twitter, I remain surprisingly optimistic. In four days, I have gained 400 followers, and still hope to reach 1,000 by the end of July. Hopefully, this will provide me with another effective forum by which to promote The Red Tree. The micropreview sneak-peek thngy is kind of interesting, and you can follow it at greygirlbeast.

Last night, after all the dithering and not-particularly-productiveness, we binged and watched every episode of Felecia Day's The Guild. Damn funny, and after surviving two years of Second Life rp hell, and the last ten months of WoW, it strikes a nerve. Or a chord. Or both. Anyway, have a look.

The current eBay auctions continue. Please have a look. I should remind you that the clothbound copy of The Merewife up now is very probably the only one I will ever auction, as I received but four comp copies, back in 2005. Among my hard-to-find publications, it's surely one of the hardest to find. Have a look. Bid if you can. Thanks.

Way back in 1996, when I was still just a wee babe of 31, Christa ([ profile] faustfatale) and I drove from Los Angeles to the World Horror Con in Eugene, Oregon. The con was pretty dull, but the trip up the coast and back down again is the stuff of legends. On the way up, we stopped in San Francisco, and spent a night with Darren ([ profile] tjcrowley), who took us to dinner at the delightfully surreal Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel. At some point, an artificial rain shower began fall from the ceiling (to match the tropical Tiki theme, I suppose), and Christa got a photo of me hiding beneath a paper umbrella:

Day before yesterday was Christa's birthday, which I neglected to mention. Because I suck like that. But, anyway, she and Darren were in the Tonga Room and reenacted my Wile E. Coyote moment, twelve years later:

So, anyway, happy birthday, Christa.

Time to make the goddamned doughnuts.
greygirlbeast: (chi2)
On the 15th, I mentioned finally having parted with the deteriorating latex catsuit I got in Manhattan at a fetish shop called Body Worship, way back in the summer of '98. I just found some photos that were taken in the stairwell of the apartment building where I was staying, at [ profile] faustfatale's mom's place. I still have the mesh coat (Catherine Coatney) and the gas-mask (Israeli army surplus) and the steel-toed, 20-eye burgundy rub-off boots, but, alas, the catsuit is no more. Except for these photos (behind the cut). Now, [ profile] setsuled, you can collect the whole set!

Cybergoth Caitlín )

This is the outfit I wore to the release party for Silk and Christa's first novel, Control Freak, which was held @ Mother (now-defunct) in the meat-packing district. You should have seen the two of us and our masked-and-tuxedoed luchador escort trying to hail a frelling cab. Finally, we had to employ a relatively normal-looking decoy, but when the driver got a look at the three of us, he actually tried to get away before we could get into the vehicle. Fortunately, we were swift.

Oh, and here's eBay link again...


greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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