greygirlbeast: (Bowie3)
The humidity is so high in this house I think the walls are about the begin dripping. I believe I can wring water from my socks.

I was dreaming of a life in a city, a filthy 20th-century city that had grown ancient and mean. Cruel, this city. Staircases that rose and descended forever, towards attics that could never be gained, and basements where no one ever dared go. The city, which was rotting, abutted the sea, which was rotten. I swam in water the color of strong tea, and there was a very large shark that swam past me. I photographed it. Among all those decaying tenements there was a sanitarium, or asylum, that seemed to have grown between and through many of the other buildings like a parasitic organism. My head ached, as if my head had always ached. Paranoia. Climbing and descending stairs. The certainty of being pursued, whether pursuers were in evidence or not. NecroNoir. A whole world in dead shades of brown and grey. The camera with the shark photograph on it lost, and a desperate hunt for it, as, somehow, the proof of my sanity rested with the proof of the shark. Windows looking out over sagging rooftops. Never anything to the sky but clouds.

I wish I could remember more, because there was a lot more. But I'm glad I can't remember more.

There's a shark shaped fin
In the water of my dreams.
Alligator screams from the depths there
I'd swim with you there...


---

Yesterday, I wrote 1,894 words and finished "Figurehead," which will appear in Sirenia Digest #67, which should be out on (or before) the 5th of June. When I was done with the story, I sent it to [livejournal.com profile] sovay, who brought up the relevance of passages from Ovid's Metamorphoses (1.125 — 134). I read a lot of Ovid long ago in college, but most of it's only echoes now. Sometimes, in need of inspiration*, I go back to the Metamorphoses (which is likely obvious). Anyway, she pointed me to a passage that was so alike to the theme of "Figurehead" that I felt the unnerving sensation of experiencing inspiration after the fact:

A third generation followed them, of bronze
and more savage by nature, readier with harsh arms,
yet not wicked; of hard iron was the very last.
All at once there broke into the age of baser ore
every wrong — shame and truth and loyalty fled
and in their place came trickery and deceit
and treachery and force and the wicked love of having.
The seaman spread his sails to the winds he did not yet
understand, and what had stood long on high mountains
now tossed as keels on unknown waves...


If you take the digest, you see what I mean. If you don't, you won't.

Last night, we played far too much Rift, fighting an endless series of invasions and rifts outside the Chancel of Labors and Whitefall, as Iron Pine suffered multiple air rifts and invasions by the minions of the dragon Crucia. Then, after Selwyn returned to Meridian, there was some very good rp on the cliffs north of Lakeside, looking out over the sea. Via a very strange turn of events, I find myself, for the first time ever, rping an essentially transgender character. Sort of an Orlando thing going on, only with a Kelari, instead of Tilda Swinton (Selwyn, though, I must say, is at least as hot at Tilda Swinton, even if she's only pixels). It all ended with Selwyn following Celinn across the burning wastes of Droughtlands to the refuge of Lantern Hook...which is essentially a Fremen sietch, straight from the pages of Dune. And I will remind you: We have a guild. Here. And you can play with us. And there's a FREE 7-day trial.

Today, Spooky has to get new tires for the automobile, and I have to write another (this time short) vignette for the digest.

And I leave you with Hubero:

29 May 2011 )


* A short, partial list of other authors I often turn to for inspiration: Lewis Carroll, Oscar Wilde, T. S. Eliot, Lovecraft, Shirley Jackson, Matthew Arnold, W. B. Yeats, Angela Carter, William Gibson, William Blake, Anne Sexton, Joseph Campbell.
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Cloudy and a bit chilly today. All is glum.

Easier to shut the curtain.

So, lift my spirits, kittens. Comment.

Today will be an Assembly Day. That is to say, a day spent assembling the latest issue of Sirenia Digest – in this instance, #65 – so that it can be mailed out to subscribers. Which you ought to be, if you're not.

I'm mentioned very briefly near the end of this article, "Lovecraft's Providence" (in "Fine Books and Collections," which, near as I can tell is a webzine only*). Anyway, the article's by Nick Mamatas ([livejournal.com profile] nihilistic_kid), and both me and Brian Evenson are quoted.

Also, a couple of weeks back, I took part in a "One Word Interview," in which the word in question was silence. I meant to post the link, but I often forget these things.

Yesterday I was a bad kid and played hooky. Spooky and I went to Warwick and saw a matinée of Francis Lawrence's Water for Elephants (from Sara Gruen's 2006 novel, of which Spooky is a great admirer). I'd never have thought the man who made I Am Legend (2007) and Constantine (2005) would have been the right director for this film, but I would have been wrong. The film is superb. The entire cast is excellent (yes, including Robert Pattinson), especially Christoph Waltz. If you place any weight in my opinion, this is a must-see film. And no more hooky for me until at least June.

Please, please have a look the current eBay auctions! Thanks.

Last night, curiosity got the better of me, and I did a thing I'd sworn I would not do. In Rift, I created a Guardian-side character. Now, if you know the Rift backstory, you know that the Guardians are loyal to the old gods of Telara, while the Defiant have rejected the gods and pursue a technological and scientific means by which to defeat the two factions' common enemy. Each side blames the other for the rifts, and so on, and so forth. Anyway, I created Mithrien, a High Elf, and Spooky created another High Elf, Serrafina. And we played them through the first ten levels. My conclusion? The Guardians should be renamed the Godbotherers. No, really. It gets very obnoxious after a while, and I doubt I'll be playing much of Mithrien, what with all the praying and inspiration and talk of faith and whatnot. But here's the thing that really got me. At several points, polytheistic Guardian NPCs refer to the Defiant as "heathens." Do the people at Trion who wrote the script know what that word means? Because, in point of fact, the Guardians are nearer to being heathens, while the Defiant would be more fairly described (by theistic folk, anyway) as infidels or apostates, but not as heathens.

However, big points to Rift for the lesbian thing with Kira Thanos and Uriel Chuluun (Defiant side).

Okay, yeah. Big queer nerd-out. Sorry.

Um...where was I? Ah, fuck it.

You are reading Kathe Koja's Under the Poppy, right?

Glumly,
Aunt Beast

* Nick tells me it is, in fact, a bimonthly print magazine.
greygirlbeast: (Narcissa)
Yesterday, I wrote 1,289 words on the story for Dark Horse. So, a good writing day. I'll certainly finish the story by tomorrow evening, and possibly this evening. So, I'm ahead of schedule for a change. And there was lots of email. And, in the evening, I talked with Peter and Neil, on the actual telephone. I gotta be careful, or I'm going to blow this whole reclusive mystique.

Actually, that's one of the things Neil and I talked about, how I need to let go of my trepidation stroke indifference towards the Outside, now that the crisis that triggered the worst of it has passed.

Today is a good day for comments. It's going to be a long, long day.

I have another Question @ Hand, one for Sirenia Digst #65, and I'll post it this evening, with the comments screened for complete anonymity.

We did Kid Night last night. It's sort of slipped out of vogue, mine and Spooky's Kid Night tradition. Mostly, I blame MMORPGs. But we pulled it out last night and dusted it off. First there were hot dogs and fries, then we watched Seiji Chiba's Alien vs. Ninja (2010), an incredibly awful Japanese flick about, well, ninja's fighting aliens. Okay, not real ninjas, and the aliens were just guys in utterly unconvincing monster suits. But two or three of the ninjas were very sexy. Otherwise, not much good I can say about Alien vs. Ninja. Except that we streamed it free. It's like in Ghost World, when Enid says, "This is so bad, it's gone past good and back to bad again." That's Alien vs. Ninja. We almost followed it with something called Vampire Girl vs. Frankenstein Girl, but then we watched the trailer and thought better of it. And we ate cookies and jelly beans and drank Pepsi Throwback. So, yeah. Total Kid Night. Teeth were rotted. Brain cells died.

After the movie, we played Rift (which, in a sane world, would count as a kidly pastime). I was Nilleshna, my Kelari cleric (most of her points are in Cabalism), and Spooky played one of her clerics, a Kelari named Miisya (also a cabalist). I made Level 22. We're out in the rocky wastes of Stonefield, fighting trolls and troglodytes and giants and all that shit that comes pouring out of rifts (because Regulos obviously can't keep his legs together). So, you betcha. Magical elf chicks in chain mail. Later still, I read to Spooky from Harlan Ellison's Stalking the Nightmare (1982) and "Shattered Like A Glass Goblin," from Deathbird Stories (1975). A perfect evening for nerdy kids.

Chilly outside. Not cold, but not genuinely warm, either. It might go as high as sixty. I'd risk West Cove, if I didn't need to be writing.

Speaking of which, so far the Dark Horse story has been written entirely to Fever Ray's "If I Had a Heart." It's on repeat, and has played 52 times so far, as I hunt and peck my way through the tale. And here's the video, for those who have not been introduced to the brilliance of Fever Ray (Swedish brother and sister duo, Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olof Dreijer, who usually perform together as the Knife):

greygirlbeast: (chi3)
Yeah, here it is. -05. It's pretty much as strange and disconcerting as I expected.

Yesterday, I actually seem to have reached THE END of "Galápagos," though I'd not expected to do so until this afternoon. I wrote a somewhat impressive 1,455 words, and there it was. No one was more surprised than I. But pleasantly surprised, I will add. This is, by the way, the only short-story length work of science fiction I've produced since "A Season of Broken Dolls," back in March 2007. Well, except some forays into steampunk, but that's not the same. At least, not the same to me. As soon as I can, I'll announce the book in which "Galápagos" will be appearing, and its release date.

On a related note, yesterday [livejournal.com profile] ardiril asked, "Have you ever tried writing a story backwards in such instances?" Such instances being those cases where I begin a story with some image from the climax fixed firmly in my mind. Short answer, no, I haven't. I can't. As I've said before, I have this thing, this tick I suppose, that makes it necessary for me to write a story from beginning to end (even in cases of non-linear narratives, such as "In View of Nothing" and, more recently, "At the Gate of Deeper Slumber"). On the one hand, I consider this a sort of literary neurosis. On the other, I think I have a sound methodological reason for writing this way. In a lecture, Shirley Jackson once said (and I paraphrase) that one should never begin a story with the ending in mind and write towards it. I believe this very much, even though I sometimes do begin a story with the ending in mind. For me, a story, and the process of writing it, should be organic, somewhat spontaneous. It should mirror our perceptions of the world. Events occur. They follow one after the next (assuming you accept this view of linear time), and they have consequences. The consequences are the climax of the story. Story results from the natural interplay of cause and effect. In ideal cases, one cannot know a story's conclusion at its start, for the simple reason that it hasn't happened yet. The alternative is a sort of fictional predestination, which I find distasteful, even in those cases when I'm the one doing it.

---

Last night, the writing had left me pretty close to insensible. I think I was drooling. But we watched a truly bizarre and very funny film, Kit Ryan's Botched (2007). There was a little bit of WoW (though I had to have a Red Bull to manage that level of consciousness), and then Spooky read me another chapter from Andrea Barrett's The Voyage of the Narwahl. I'm enjoying this book a great deal. It even works as a sort of companion piece to Dan Simmons' superb The Terror, since it's a story about an attempt to find and rescue Franklin's lost expedition. I'm keen to track down more of Barrett's books now. Turns out, she was a biologist before she gave it up for writing historical sea-faring novels. And then I didn't wake up until about 11:30 this morning, which means I got more than eight hours sleep. Amazing.

And now I should be going, because we're expecting Sonya ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) this evening, and there's stuff to be done.

Oh. Here are a few WoW screencaps, including Shah's embarrassing dance during the L80ETC show the other night:

Suraa, plus Egg Nog and Port Don't Mix )
greygirlbeast: (Shah1)
A very good writing day yesterday. I did 1,514 words, and found THE END of "As Red as Red." Thank fuck. This story has surely had it's way with me, and I can only hope that it's been worth the effort. It weighs in at a total word count of 7,014 words. Spooky likes it. Sonya ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) likes it. No one else has read it yet, but I tend to trust their opinions. Today, we have to read over the whole story, and then I'll do a small bit of tweaking and polishing, make sure there are no continuity errors or typos, then send it away to the anthology's editor.

As predicted, the CEM (copy-edited manuscript) of The Red Tree arrived yesterday. I've not yet opened the envelope, but Anne (my editor at Penguin) says the copyeditor's marks are light, mostly pertaining to layout and typeface (the book's text uses two or three different fonts).

Today, I also need to read through two or three stories from Sirenia Digest, to pick a couple to send to another editor. And tomorrow, I'll begin work on #40, which will include new fiction by me and Sonya Taaffe.

The long-lost Monster Doodle sculpture is now up at eBay, and you may have a look. Near as I can recall, I sculpted this one back in the spring of 2006, right before I stopped doing these little guys. Then it was misplaced, and Spooky found it a couple of weeks back. She painted it this week. I've signed and dated the critter. Now you can bid, and give the bug-eyed, slimy bugger a good home.

---

After all the writing yesterday, Spooky got dinner from an Italian place on Atwells Avenue. Of course, there are probably fifty Italian places on Atwells, but this one's called Sicilia's. And I can now say that they make the best meatball sub (with sausage and mozzarella) I have ever wrapped my lips around. After dinner, there was more WoW. Shaharrazad helped Suraa with a quest down on the Shimmering Flats, south of Thousand Needles, and then we had to make a foray into Tanaris and (ugh) Un'Goro. But after that, I soloed for Ogrimmar and Darkspear rep, up in Ashenvale, mostly in the Blackfathom Deeps. Oh, and I now have a new Shah icon, and there's another screencap behind the cut ('cause, I figure if I'm gonna geek out at you about my WoW alter-ego, I can at least include elf-pr0n eye candy):

Shaharrazad at Sunset )


After WoW, we watched the first three episodes of Season Four of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. I think I got to sleep about three ayem. Anyway, no WoW tonight, as it's time to get back to the Alpha Institute in Nor. Tonight, Nareth has to undergo a special procedure of a delicate and private nature. I believe a speculum will be involved.

---

Turns out (and thanks to [livejournal.com profile] ruby_star for bringing this to my attention), the DVD release of Let the Right One In has a different and inferior set of English subtitles than appeared in the theatrical release. The whole situation, discussed over at i09, has me angry and baffled. It's not like I can take the DVD back. It's not the fault of the store that sold it to me. I doubt they're even aware the subtitling is different. But I will be writing a nasty letter to the company that released the DVD. Having read the novel and seen the movie in the theatre, the DVD subtitles seem, from the i09 article, to be, well, "dumbed down." And, as for the dubbing, I've heard the voice acting is horrid. Ah, well. At least I have the pretty pictures. But I thought people who've not bought the DVD should know.

And now, it's time to make the doughnuts.
greygirlbeast: (Ellen Ripley 1)
This morning, Elizabeth Bear ([livejournal.com profile] matociquala) said some good stuff about writing, and if you're interested in that sort of thing, you should have a look. Though I gather she and I have very different systems for getting it done, I think she's mostly bang on. My only quibble was with this line, in her summation, "You must revise what you write." And I say that because, generally, I don't revise what I write. Oh, I might come back fifteen years later and do some damn fool rewording, but, usually, what comes out as my "first draft" is what sees print (at least the first time it sees print), be it vignette, short story, novella, or novel. And since I'm a moderately successful published author, it is obviously not true that revision is a "must." In the end, this all comes back to what I've said again and again and again. There is no set of rules. There are people who will tell you there is, and there are people who make a living doing just that. But it's a lie. The only set of musts is what works for you. Unless, of course, what works for you isn't working, in which case, it might be that you simply weren't meant to be a writer, and all the formulae under the sun won't change that. Anyway...yes, a good post.

Because I made a somewhat idiotic miscalculation as to when I would be receiving my next check from Penguin, we're starting a new round of eBay auctions. Please, if you can, bid. I'm even going to do something I've not done since 2005 or so. Every winning bidder will receive one of my patented Monster Doodles. Okay, so they're not patented, but people seem to like them. Right now, we have copies of the "Mercury" chapbook, the trade edition of Frog Toes and Tentacles, and the Little Damned Book of Days chapbook up. But more is coming. Spooky's even going to be doing a couple of the black velvet/red silk "cozies" to accompany lettered editions of Frog Toes and Tentacles. These were, as they say, all the rage back in 2006. But she only made a handful, and they all sold. So, yes, please have a look at the current auctions. Because I'm lousy at finances. Thanks.

As for yesterday, it was all I could do not to head for the Cape (Cod), once I learned the extraction had been postponed pending the cessation of this damned cough. The weather was so warm (low sixties), and the sea was calling. Instead, I was good, and I sat here in my chair and worked. I did the line edits on "The Colliers' Venus (1893)." I spoke with my agent in NYC. I finally almost caught up on my email. I spoke with the artist who will be spotlighted in Sirenia Digest #37. I was productive, which just seems stupid, all things considered.

Today, we have winter-weather warnings, and will be seeing a mix of snow and rain tonight.

Last night, after Chinese leftovers (pork moo shu and beef fried rice), we played WoW, and played, and played...and played. And yet we managed, somehow, not to reach Lvl 42. We wound up out in Desolace, trying to help orcs start some sort of centaur civil war. Yes, we went all the way to Desolace, the wastelands on the western edge of Kalimdor, just to escape the Xmas idiocy that has infested WoW. In Silvermoon City, there are Xmas trees and blood elves in Santa suits. I shit you not. Undercity looks like the Xmas decorations section at Hot Topic threw up all over everything. So...I'll either be sticking to the wilderness until this insanity passes, or I'll lay off WoW until the new year. Sticking to the wilderness is no guarantee of safety, as I hear "grinches" are now roaming the Alterac Mountains. I will not do even a single of those stupid Xmas quests or accomplishments. I don't care if they would instantly catapult me to Lvl 80. And what amazes me, players love this silly shit. Go figure. Anyway, yeah...we finished up at the Dustwallow Marshes and traveled, on horseback, east across the Barrens and the Stonetalon Mountains to Desolace. Aptly named Desolace. I'm not exactly sure what the orcs want with the place, truth be told. Somehow, we were up until after four ayem (!!!!) trying to reach Lvl 42. Mostly, I think the pain in my mouth was keeping me awake, and playing WoW in pain was better than trying to sleep in pain. There are a couple of screencaps behind the cut.

Okay...so, here's another day. Well, the few hours remaining until sunset. Let's see what's next:

Desolace )
greygirlbeast: (Blood elf 2)
So, apologies to those of you who read the blog for, you know, stuff about my writing. My entry this ayem set off a conversation about Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen. I've been reading her backstory over at the wowiki. I love that you can actually read the lyrics of the song she sings at the end of the "Journey to Undercity" quest, "Lament of the Highborne," in Thalassian:

Anar'alah, Anar'alah belore
Sin'dorei
Shindu fallah na
Sin'dorei
Anar'alah
Shindu Sin'dorei
Shindu fallah na
Sin'dorei
Anar'alah belore
Shindu Sin'dorei
Shindu fallah na
Sin'dorei
Anar'alah belore
Belore


or

By the light, by the light of the sun
Children of the blood
Our enemies are breaking through
Children of the blood
By the light
Failing children of the blood
They are breaking through
O' children of the blood
By the light of the sun
Failing children of the blood
They are breaking through
O' children of the blood
By the light of the sun
The sun


Oh, and there's this video montage, released by Blizzard, which uses the song as a backdrop to the story of the fall of the High Elves, the coming of the Scourge, and of Sylvanas' death and resurrection, and so forth.



Okay. I'll stop now. Oh, wait, by the way, in related news, Blizzard is now offering FREE, though irreversible, sex reassignment for only $15. Hell, that's cheaper than Tijuana, and without the risk of gangrene!
greygirlbeast: (Blood elf)
Back to winter today. A good twenty degrees cooler right now than it was this time yesterday. 38F, to be precise, with a wind chill of 31F. At least there's cloud cover. While the weather is always relevant, it is especially relevant as regards yesterday. I could not consider that unexpectedly warm day, and then stay indoors. It's too unlikely that we'll have another 60+F day anytime soon. And, with so much warmth out there, I just could not bring myself to face "Emptiness Spoke Eloquent" for a second consecutive day. Okay, I could have brought myself to do it. But, I didn't.

Unfortunately, it was also raining, and raining rather hard, and so instead of going to Beavertail or Newport or Harbor of Refuge, we went to the movies (which, I suppose, sort of defeated the purpose of getting out). There was some brief talk of going all the way to Mystic, to the aquarium there, but I don't think either one of us was up to the drive. So, we saw Marc Forster's Quantum of Solace. I liked it quite a lot. Maybe not as much as Martin Campbell's Casino Royale (2006), but still quite a lot. Daniel Craig may be, in my opinion, the best Bond ever. Before the movie, we just sort of bummed around Newbury Comics in Warwick, listening to the new Coldplay CD (didn't they used to be a somewhat better band, less like a dumbed-down Radiohead?). And I was weak, and in my weakness, I got the new Draenei WoW action figure, based on the NPC Tamuura. Yeah, I know. Consign me to the dorkest corner of Purgatory.

So, today it's back to work.

Yesterday, David Kirkpatrick ([livejournal.com profile] corucia) noted that while I've been heavily pimping A is for Alien, I've not said much at all about the forthcoming trade paperback edition of Alabaster. The oversight hasn't been intentional. I think I have too many books to keep up with these days. Anyway, yes, there will be a trade paperback edition of Alabaster released in April 2009, which includes all the original Ted Naifeh illustrations. This will be my first tpb with subpress, so I am hoping that it does well for them. You may now pre-order.

Last night, Spooky made something with lots of guacamole and habanero and mushrooms and red peppers for dinner, and after that, we watched two more episodes of Series Four of Doctor Who. I thought "The Doctor's Daughter" could have been a lot better. But "The Unicorn and the Wasp" was goofy fun. I'm seven episodes into the series, and Donna Noble still isn't growing on me. Oh, and her appearances before Series Four, I have to count those, as well. Anyway, later still, it was pretty much all World of Warcrack. The game seems to have become unexpectedly more interesting again. It may be the higher levels, or it may be concentrating on only two of my characters, instead of trying to concentrate on five. It may be playing only Horde. Or it may only be resignation. Last night, Shaharrazad and Surraa had an assassination gig in the Alterac Mountains, then finally said goodbye to Tarren Mills and the Arathi Highlands, and headed back to Undercity. They took a zeppelin to Orgrimmar, then rode south to the Dustwallow Marshes, where I think they'll be for a bit. The spiders are tastier there. Oh, and I fear that Shaharrazad —— my warlock, whom you may recall is a necrophile —— has developed a monstrous crush on the Banshee Queen, the Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the Forsaken. It's good to have motivation. Shah now has someone to kill for. And, yeah, it's probably healthier to lust after a corpse that is not one's own. And the Banshee Queen is just...hot. Dead and hot. Okay, well, dead and probably a little clammy, but..still. There is a screencap behind the cut, Shaharrazad on her knees before her Dark Lady (a position she does not assume lightly). Um...we also made Level 39. And Suraa spat over the side of the zepplin as we were docking on Orgrimmar. She's like that.

The Banshee Queen )
greygirlbeast: (Blood elf)
So, I need to make this short, as today we're haded out to Newcomb Hollow Beach in Wellfleet, on Cape Cod. Last year, the remains of a 19th-Century ship washed ashore there, and I need to see them, and the day is going to be warm (57F) and sunny. There will be photos.

Good news from an editor this morning, regarding "The Colliers' Venus (1893)," so, you know, "Booya!" and all.

If you have not received Sirenia Digest #36, and are, in fact, a subscriber, then you need to email Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com, and she'll figure out why not and see you get your copy. But, by now, everyone should have the issue.

I have decided to print out all the issues of Sirenia Digest and have them bound. It's weird that I have none of them printed. But I do it all on the iMac, and printing them has always seemed a waste of paper. But I'd like, now, to be able to hold them and put them on the shelf.

Yesterday, not much of anything. I tried to just rest. And I suck at just resting. So, instead, mostly I listened to Joy Division and the Editors and wandered back into WoW. I'd not played in several days. I leveled my blood-elf paladin, Hanifah, from 15 to 17, all in Tranquillian, in the Ghostlands south of Silvermoon City. Spooky helped a little, with her Tauren shaman, Usiku (Swahili for night). But I continue to lose interest in WoW. I think, given that it is only a game and not useful for rp that I can only judge it as a videogame (and no, hanging out in a tavern and chatting in lolspeak and Renfairese while teen elf sluts, who, in RL, are mostly all boys, dance semi-clad on tabletops doesn't count as rp). And it's just not a terribly good videogame. It's pretty. A lot of hard work has gone into the world building. I see all that. But it kind of bugs me that, when all is said and done, the game is probably the most popular computer game in history because anyone and everyone can play it. And play it equally well. Assuming that you can afford to buy the game and pay the monthly charge (and that you have a computer that's compatible, and aren't blind), WoW is about as level as any playing field will ever get. I stare at the screen and use keystrokes and click my mouse. The only way that I'll not make it as far in the game as it's possible to make it is if I cease to play. There is simply no skill, of any sort, involved in playing. So, after a while, it becomes pretty damned repetitive. It's making me miss Tomb Raider, where, you know, there are puzzles, and hand-eye coordination is actually a factor. We'll see.

Yesterday. Well, I took a long, hot bath. I downloaded the most recent iTunes update. I did a tiny bit of housecleaning. Spooky made a wonderful dinner, that included asparagus, so yay. We watched last year's Xmas episode of Doctor Who again ("Voyage of the Damned"), and I'm still ticked that Astrid didn't become the new companion, or Sally Sparrow, or anyone but Donna. Then we watched two more eps of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. I was especially impressed with the non-linear, fractured narration of ""Mr. Ferguson is Ill Today." Lena Headey is growing on me.

Okay. Gotta go. The platypus is chomping at the bit.
greygirlbeast: (white)
First off, for those in the Manhattan area, as announced, I will be reading at KGB Bar this Wednesday evening (November 19th) at some point between 7 and 9 p.m. (EST). I know I'm reading second, but I have not yet decided what I'm reading. Check out the KGB website for maps, directions, etc. It's a marvelous bar, which I last visited in May 2001. If you can make it, I urge you to do so. Benjamin Parzybok will read before me. KGB is located at 85 E. 4th Street. Sonya ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) will be accompanying me and Spooky, as it seems I need at least two handlers these days, if I am to venture out into the wide, wide world. We'll be heading back to Providence shortly after the reading. I think I have meetings with my agent and editor before the reading, but I need to check on that today.

I'm in an especially wicked mood this morning. Which is to say, I find myself wanting to corrupt something. Corruption for the sake of corruption, for whatever satisfaction the act of corruption brings. Just about anything would do. Maybe the writing will satisfy...maybe.

A good writing day yesterday. I'm not sure that I'd claim that "The Collier's Venus (1893)" is now on an even keel. But I did 1,209 words on the story yesterday, and I think I at least see how to get to THE END. As Sonya has pointed out to me, the story retraces some of the territory I covered when I wrote "In the Waterworks (1889)," though the parallel wasn't exactly intentional. It's just sort of worked out that way. Mostly, I was relieved that the writing proceeded with very little resistance yesterday. Four Valium, a Klonopin, coffee, and Red Bull made it all relatively painless. I can only hope it goes as well today, since tomorrow has to be spent pulling myself together for Wednesday. I fear I actually have to visit a mall. Something to wear, a warm hat, new shoes (you should see the state of my old Converse All Stars; we're talking duct-tape time), and, later in the day, I have an appointment to make the grey in my hair go away again.

Last night, we watched the first three episodes of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. I was pleasantly surprised. I figured, at the very least, the series would need several eps to build momentum and find it's footing. Nope. It hit the ground running, literally. And, hey, Summer Glau as an android. What the hell more do I need? I had my doubts about Lena Headey, and yeah, she's no Linda Hamilton, but I think she's doing okay. Thomas Dekker is a bit on the bland side, but then I was never very interested in John, and this is a story about Sarah, after all. We're looking forward to the next disc.

WoW has taken a turn for the weird(er). Spooky and I both needed to create "mules," that is, characters who exist primarily to hold loot and provide extra bank slots. I created a blood-elf paladin named Hanifah (another name recycled from the old Dune rp) and a human priest named Celebriän (yes, Celebriän; so sue me). But the lure of quick leveling and a curiosity about other races and classes has led to my turning them both into full-fledged characters. I've played Hanifah to Lvl. 11, already, and Celebriän is at Lvl. 9. And I think I've discovered that blood elf/paladin is my very favorite flavor combination so far. Perfect for soloing. Poor Celebriän, though. I don't know what the people at Blizzard were thinking when they designed the human avatars. Maybe they have the same disdain for humans that I do. The poor girl runs (or, rather, galumphs, while slouching) like Bigfoot in the Patterson-Gimlin film (1967). I mean, really. It's just fucking sad. And "priest" is probably the least playable class I've encountered so far. The whole cloth armor thing is unpardonably silly, so far as I'm concerned. Blizzard could have at least provided a reasonable "in-world" explanation for why priests and mages and warlocks can't wear better armor (if they have, I've missed it), or let them wear something decent. Even Shaharrazad, who has now reached Lvl. 34, is still pretty useless, despite her fancy magick and minions, unless she has Suraa (a paladin) backing her up. Oh, and I've discovered a whole backstory uniting Hanifah and Shah. They're sisters. Shah is the older, and, at an early age, when both were beginning to show magical abilities, Shaharrazad "accidentally" placed a curse on herself and her sister. Having parted company, if they ever again meet face to face, one has to die. Shah is deeply resentful of the "good" sister. I'm sorry. I can't help myself. This stuff just comes.

Okay, a long, long day ahead of me, so...here we go.
greygirlbeast: (Blood elf)
Marvelous weather in Providence tonight. There's a wind, 21 mph, gusting to 41 mph (it was gusting to 50, earlier). It's howling around the eaves of the house. There's been rain, off and on, downpours so loud it's hard to be heard over the sound of the rain hitting the windows and roof. We actually have a tornado watch. It's 68F. Anyway, no, I'm not being sarcastic. I love this weather.

And I think I'm going to formulate a WoW-related list, "101 Ways to Know That Someone Just Really Can't Be Bothered."

1. If they've named their blood elf character "bloodelfph."

2. If they've named their human Death Knight character "Badknight."

I actually saw these tonight. And I just have to wonder, is this 1) a complete absence of imagination, 2) total indifference, 3) people who don't grasp the concept of proper nouns, 4) or miserably failed attempts at humor? I'm going to go 1, though, I suppose, all four might apply.

Now, I return to my storm, already in progress.
greygirlbeast: (Early Permian)
Much, much too late to be posting anything. But here I am. A couple of people on my friends list have linked to this Salon.com article, "An open apology to boomers everywhere," by Heather Havrilesky. And I wanted to post the link, as well.

"We ate Happy Meals while watching the space shuttle blow into tiny bits."

As someone born in 1964, at the very tail-end of the Baby Boom —— and as someone who then wound up spending most of her life with Gen Xers for friends (and who has, oddly, often been referred to as a Gen X author) —— this pleased me a bit. For years I have publicly lamented to so-called "Age of Irony," the knee-jerk cynicism, the default indifference, the automatic disdain, the eye-rolling, the inability to fathom earnestness. So, this is refreshing, even if I strongly suspect it'll take a whole lot more than the election of Barack Obama to wash away to stain. It's something I've never truly understood, but, then, I was almost an adult when Reagan was elected.

Meanwhile, I have learned that the greatest percentage of idiocy (loathsome chat, stupid names, etc.) in WoW seems to be associated with human cities. No idea why. Of course, I also have no idea why, in a game where you can play orcs, night elves, blood elves, trolls, Taurans (basically, minotaurs), gnomes, dwarves, undead, and Draenei (an alien race), anyone would choose to play a...human. Especially since Blizzard seems to have reserved the absolute worst voice-acting for the human NPCs. They all sound like Ned Flanders. And they're all built like quarterbacks. Even the women. Ah, well. it takes all sorts. Mithwen, my night elf, made Lvl 32 tonight. She now rides an enormous saber-toothed cat, which she has named Bounder. Mithwen has taken a few too many blows to the head, and, much to the chagrin of her sister, a Druid named Syllhar, is just a little simple. But she makes a hell of a tank. We've been slaughtering werewolves and zombies in Duskwood, south of Stormwind (hence my greater exposure to humans).

Okay, Caitlín, please go to bed.
greygirlbeast: (alabaster2)
I've been fairly quiet on the matter of the election —— aside from those Sarah Palin cartoons —— but, today, I am going to permit a degree of latitude to wax political. No, nothing especially insightful. Cheap shots, mostly, and all at the expense of the septuagenarian billionaire and the former beauty queen. Like this (thank you, Darren):



As for yesterday, the chapbook to accompany the limited edition of A is for Alien has finally been put to bed. Ironically, I have lavished more time and attention on the chapbook, B is for Beginnings, than on the actual collection. But most of the day was spent pulling Sirenia Digest #35 together, because there were about a thousand loose ends. Regardless, it went out late last night, and, by now, all subscribers should have a copy. I apologize for the fact that there is no artist interview this month. There was a last minute mix-up regarding our need for images, and they never arrived, so the interview has been bumped to #36, by which time we will hopefully have the images we need. Still, it's a very solid issue, I think. I especially hope that people enjoy seeing more of Joey Lafaye. Next month (which is actually later this month), expect more explicitly erotic material than this month. Two new vignettes is my plan. Oh, you'll also note that, at the last minute, as I was laying out the issue, I changed the title of the new story from "The Boon of Salmacis" to "I Am the Abyss and I Am the Light," after a favorite painting by Charles Sims.

Last night, after spaghetti and artichokes, there was WoW (of course). Shaharrazad can now summon a felsteed as her mount, complete with molten hooves and flaming nostrils, which is just too damn cool. I have my very own hell pony! Oh, and she made Lvl 31. I fear I am beginning to favour Shah over Voimakas and poor Mithwen. Anyway, she and Suraa slew humans at the Lordamere Interment Camp for a time, until certain magical artefacts were recovered. Then we headed east to the Arathi Highlands, where we took our orders from a Horde orc commander at the Hammerfall garrison, and so slew ogres and renegade trolls. Everything is easier on horseback. Suraa also has a pony, a warhorse, but he doesn't snort fire, or scald the earth when summoned. He likes carrots, though.

Tomorrow, the plan is to go to Boston, though I hear it's going to rain. So what. Rain beats this blue sky, any day.

Okay. The platypus says we gotta go vote now, then come home an obsess over the exit polls some more. Oh, don't worry. The anti-McCain/Palin jabs will only get nastier as the day wears on.
greygirlbeast: (Blood elf 2)
Not much to be said about yesterday, so I'll be quick about it.

After only 861 words, I came, unexpectedly, upon THE END of the new piece for Sirenia Digest, the one that needs a better title (which I hope to find today). It is always a peculiar and not entirely pleasant feeling, coming, unexpectedly, upon a story's conclusion. Sure, there's undeniable relief that it's over. But there's this persistent sense that perhaps I did something wrong, and that the having done something wrong was responsible for the miscalculation. Usually, this is not true, but I always feel that way. Regardless, the story is done.

Today, I have to read through the whole thing, make line edits, and start to pull the digest together. Also, more proofing on A is for Alien. Today will be a day of miscellania and loose threads. But, the good news is that I'll actually get a day off, a REAL day off, on Tuesday. Spooky and I may go to Boston.

Last night, we watched Mitchell Altieri and Phil Flores' The Hamiltons (2006), and liked it quite a bit. Here and there, the acting is unfortunate, and the film desperately needed a somewhat larger budget, but, overall, it was much better than I expected. In the Dark Age of Stephenie Meyer, it's nice to see something like this, brutal and honest and funny and bloody and not afraid of dead things. Or living things that survive by making dead things (we call this Life). Anyway, I would recommend it, with the above-stated caveat. The screenplay's rather nice, and there are a couple of good twists and turns. I would love to see this film remade.

A bit of WoW last night. My blood-elf warlock, Shaharrazad, and Spooky's blood-elf paladin, Suraa, slaughtered their way around Hillsbrad and Tarren Mills, and we discovered the lair of the Darrow Hill cave yetis, and then we dutifully massacred the lot. Shah reached Lvl 30. Shah is beginning to unfold as an actual character, here in the place I keep my "secret" characters, the ones I'll never have to write about. I know, for example, that she's an autonecrophile. That is, she only gets off on the sight of her own corpse, so actually looks forward to the occasional death. She may only achieve orgasm at the moment just before her resurrection. Also, she's an inveterate killer, but, in the end, all this Horde vs. Alliance stuff is lost on her. Two sides of the same futile coin, and she's very angry that, having become a hero in the eyes of the Sin'dorei, she was then sent off into the wilds and obscurity to fend for herself. She wants to be back home in Silvermoon, or, better yet, Sunstrider Isle. She tolerates the company of Suraa, because it's necessary, but often thinks of murdering her. Shah is bitter and dissatisfied, bloodthirsty and deeply perverse. She loathes humans and gnomes and trolls, in particular. She will not even acknowledge the existence of the night elves, unless she needs to kill a few. Shah knows that, one day, she will be a great demonologist. Shah finds the slowest, most painful ways to kill things. She's taken up skinning, just because. She has begun to display a grudging admiration for the orcs. There's a hint of Narcissa Snow in her, I think.

Too bad there's no rp....

Ah, today marks the 5th anniversary of Caitlín Standard Time (originally Caitlín Stabilizing Time), or CaST. Which is to say, I have not "fallen back," nor will I ever again. Once more, I shall be early for everything. Tiddley pom.
greygirlbeast: (Middle Triassic)
Yes, it's a long entry.

A good —— if somewhat unnerving —— writing day yesterday. I did 1,540 words on The Red Tree. I fear I have bound myself too closely to Sarah Crowe. And now, as I let her fall, the world seems unstable beneath my feet; as her sanity tatters, mine seems even less stable than usual. This feeling became a tangible anxiety yesterday. There will be so many readers who say that she is "unsympathetic," or that they can't empathize with her, or what the fuck ever. Here I am, so deep into her I can hardly tell where she begins and I end, or vice versa.

I was able to start writing before 12:30 p.m. yesterday, and finished up sometime between three and three thirty. Which meant we had time to head for Beavertail on Conanicut Island. We didn't even read the day's pages first, as we always do. After all, I said, they would be here when we got home. I dressed quickly (and gods, I have to buy some clothes, because, really, we're talking rags at this point) and we headed out of Providence on I-95 South, to Route 4, to Route 1, which we took to Route 138, crossing over the western passage of Narragansett Bay, over the bridge to the island. All along the highway, the trees have gone brilliant shades of autumn, colours beyond recounting in mere words. I need to get photos before they fade. Fortunately, there were enough clouds, and it was late enough in the day, I did not find the sky too very disquieting.

In Jamestown, we stopped at McQuade's Market, where we usually stop, because we were both feeling peckish. While looking for a pack of cheddar goldfish, we were assailed by the market's stereo with "Sweet Home Alabama." Jesus fuck, I was pretty sure I'd never have to hear that ignorant, racist song again. I'd have thought it would be the last thing I'd ever have to hear playing in a small New England grocery. Wrong. Anyway, past Mackerel Cove, it's a straight shot south to Beavertail. We parked on the western side of the point, deciding to explore the rocks on that shore, for a change.

The tide, though coming in, was still very far out, and we were able to see some beautiful tide pools. In amongst the wildly contorted Proterozoic strata, we spotted small fish, an assortment of hermit crabs (Pagurus spp.), small spider crabs (Libinia spp.), and a number of different taxa of cancroids, including juvenile Rock crabs (Cancer irroratus). Spooky found the first starfish we've seen in Rhode Island, though it was dead. I'm pretty sure it was Asterias forbesi. There were all the usual snails —— periwinkles, dogwinkles, and whelks, along with an abundance of slipper shells. Barnacles, and kelp and dozens of other seaweeds. Dense beds of tiny blue mussels. We found a couple of pebbly beaches in the rocks, and spent an hour or so before sunset searching for beach glass. There's not nearly as much here as out at Fort Wetherill, farther east, but we both found some interesting pieces.

We stayed until the sun was vanishing behind mist and clouds, and the cold began to settle in for the night. We'd traveled maybe 350 yards over the shore (approx. 41°27'1.94"N, 71°23'59.75"W to 41°26'56.77"N, 71°23'58.08"W.). As the evening came on, we sat below the lighthouse, looking out towards Whale Rock (about a mile and a half out into the Bay, southwest from Beavertail). There was a little lighthouse on Whale Rock once, but it was destroyed in the Great Hurricane of 1938 and the keeper was killed. All that now remains is the foundation, clearly visible from Beavertail. So, I got my time with Panthalassa yesterday, and I'm better for it now. There are photos, which I'll try to post tomorrow.

It was almost dark by the time we got back to the car, and my ears were freezing because I'd used my tobaggan cap to hold shells and beach glass. I played Sigur Rós on the iPod, and dozed on the way home. Back in Providence, we picked up some dinner from Phoenix Dragon Restaurant on Broadway —— just fried rice and steamed dumplings —— takeaway because we were both so tired.

No movies last night. After dinner, a lot of World of Warcraft. I played Shaharrazad, my blood-elf warlock, who has reached Lvl 23, and headed back to the Ghostlands to finish up some quests there. Spooky was along as her blood-elf paladin, Suraa (Lvl 22). We slaughtered undead and trolls, and it was great fun. We entered Deathholme ("Little Mordor") and assasinated the four lieutenants of Dar'khan. We invaded the forest troll village Zeb'Nowa and brought the head of Kel'gash back to the Farstrider Enclave. Though, I have begun to feel sorry for my poor minion. Half the time I summon Zhar'los, he moans, "I don't like this place." I take that to mean that the Ghostlands are actually less pleasant than the Underworld. For demons, anyway. We headed to bed a little after 2 ayem, and Spooky read to me from Poe's "Descent Into the Maelstrom" (1841).

And that was yesterday. Oh, here's the link to the current eBay autions. Now, the platypus....
greygirlbeast: (Ellen Ripley 2)
I didn't write an entry yesterday because Sunday was the sort of writing day that hardly bears mentioning. I wrote twenty eight words. No, really. And having done that, I realized that I needed to read back over Chapter Six of The Red Tree before going deeper into Chapter Seven...so I read it aloud to Spooky, who was patient and listened. And there was some invaluable discussion afterwards regarding how the book will be wrapping up, because we've reached the point where I need to understand how that's going to happen. Anyway, despite that progress, at the end of the day I was annoyed and disgusted with myself. Fortunately, I made up for it yesterday, by writing 2,144 words on what will be the next to last chapter of the book. From where I am now, I can see THE END, and it terrifies me. And, too, I find myself more disturbed at the impending fate of my protagonist than is usual for me to feel. This is not a book with a happy ending. Maybe my grimmest ending ever, even more so than in Silk and Low Red Moon and Murder of Angels. At least each of those books leaves the reader (and, importantly, she who wrote it) with a sliver of hope. I hesitate to say so, but in many ways, The Red Tree is a more adult book than anything I've written previously. But, yes, a very fine writing day yesterday.

After I was done for the day, we hastily dressed and went out into the world. It was sunny, so we didn't have to worry about the damned windshield wipers (we're still waiting on the replacement part), sunny but quite chilly. I think we left about 4 p.m., and by then the temp was in the mid 50sF and dropping. We drove south, all the way to Harbor of Refuge at Point Judith. The tide was out, and the moon had risen, one night before the first quarter. The late afternoon sky was so blue, but with a few clouds. The air was so clear we could clearly see south all the way to the northern shore of Block Island, a good ten miles out. We went down to the spot where we usually sit, below the Rabbits' Restroom, in the ruins of Fort Greene. But I was fidgety, and we ended up walking along the granite jetty, farther than we'd ever gone before. We finally stopped at the point where the jetty begins to curve sharply back to the west (about 41°21'35.63"N, 71°29'22.67"W), some 368 yards from the place the jetty begins. I wanted to go farther, but the wind was very cold (the sea was calm), and our ears were starting to ache. So we headed back. There were deep tide pools on the harbor side of the jetty, and where the beach begins, great mats of seaweeds tangled with bits of innumerable mollusk shells and crabs. I found my first Anomia simplex (jingle shell). After leaving the harbor, we drove over to the parking lot beside Point Judith Lighthouse (to 41°21'43.46"N, 71°28'50.51"W), and watched a lone fisherman casting in the shallows. The water was filled with the floaters of lobster pots. Tall sailboats passed the Point as the sun began to set, and their sails were orange in the fading day. We spotted a one-legged Ring-billed gull (Larus delawarensis). Neither of us had identified a Ring-billed gull before, and here this one had only the one leg, though it seemed to be getting along just fine. Quite a bit smaller than most of our local gulls.

We left the shore reluctantly, and drove up to see Spooky's parents in Saunderstown. It was almost dark by the time we arrived at their house. I traded her father an older stack of Science for a newer stack. We headed back towards Providence about 6:30, I guess, and stopped in at Newbury Comics in Warwick on the way. I got a used copy of the director's cut of Neil Marshall's superb The Descent (2005), and Spooky picked up volume two of Angel: After the Fall in hardback.

Back home, there were a few hours of WoW. Mithwen has reached Level 26, and Shaharrazad is at 16. We did have some interesting and experimental attempts at immersive rp the night before, Sunday, with [livejournal.com profile] maetrics, an rp acquaintance from my time in Second Life. I can say now that it can be done, rp in WoW, even if just barely, though only if one is willing to worry a lot less about leveling up and such. Also, I'd no idea that night elves were so much larger than humans. Oh, and I bought a guild charter (10 silver), and it will be named the Wrath of Elune, if I ever get eight more signatures.

Oh, while we were driving down to Point Judith, we listened to My Big Hero by 12 Rounds. Spooky had gotten the album from Byron months back, but I'd not heard it. Very nice. Sort of Portishead with a touch of Shirley Manson, perhaps. The vocalist is pleasantly reminiscent of Billie Holiday.

Late last night, we watched The Descent, which was just as terrible and awesome as I recalled. And that was yesterday.
greygirlbeast: (Middle Triassic)
Soooooo...a Joyful Mabon to all those who mark the turning of the Wheel of the Year.

But, I'm making this post because a few of you expressed interest in joining me and Spooky in World of Warcraft. And I discovered this morning that I goofed when I set up my account last Saturday. You may recall, I was in the throes of tooth pain and Oxycodon. Instead of choosing an RP server, I chose a PVP server (Anub'arak). And we didn't catch it until this ayem, which might say something about the usefulness of WoW for actual rp. Anyway, despite the fact that my character, Merricat, was LvL 19+, and Spooky's, Syllahr, was 17+, tonight we started we've both started over on an RP server — Cenarian Circle. My new character looks exactly the same, but is named Mithwen, instead of Merricat, as I was in the mood for Sindarin (Mith = "grey" + the suffix wen, "maiden"). Spooky is still Syllahr, and she says I shouldn't be Tolkien's bitch. But I am. Anyway, as I write this, I've made it back up to Lvl. 8 (since 9:00 pm). And that's the server where we'll be, if anyone is looking for us. Apologies for any inconvenience.

I'll make a real post tomorrow.
greygirlbeast: (Middle Triassic)
Yesterday, I did 1,130 words on Chapter Six of The Red Tree. Afterwards, we read over the pages. Any day that "the rushes" manage to give Spooky the creeps is a day I know I've written well (that is, of course, provided I meant to evoke creepiness that day). Looking at my schedule, deadlines, short stories, Sirenia Digest, and so forth...it's a damned good thing I had those 1,500+ word days, because, otherwise, I'd be unspeakably behind.

As for the remainder of yesterday, I read through a couple of papers in the June Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology —— "A reassessment of some poorly known turtles from the Middle Jurassic of China, with comments on the antiquity of extant turtles" and "A rare Danian (Early Paleocene) Chlamydoselachus (Chondrichthyes: Elasmobranchi) from the Takatika Grit, Chatham Islands, New Zealand." Spooky got Chinese takeaway for dinner, and then there was far, far, far too much World of Warcraft ("elf crack"). By the way, it's not just me, so there's no danger of Spooky becoming a "WoW widow." She also has a night-elf character, a druid named Syllahr. As for Merricat, she reached Level 14 and almost made it to Level 15, but quests seemed to be running short, and so I fear it's away to Darkshore for me. I also attended to some SL business, some notices regarding the Howards End sim. And late, watched (for the umpteenth time) Joseph L. Mankiewicz's adaptation of Tennessee Williams' brilliant and horrifying play, "Suddenly, Last Summer" (which I recently summed up as The Golden Bough meets Lovecraft by way of the Southern Gothic). I am endlessly fascinated by Violet Venable tending dead Sebastian's primordial jungle. Anyway, that was yesterday.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, and note that not only is there a copy of The Five of Cups, but there's the first copy of Tales from the Woeful Platypus that we have ever offered for auction. Oh, have I mentioned that subpress will be doing my third "weird erotica" collection, Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart, next year? I must have...

Also, remember that subpress is now taking pre-orders for my first sf collection, A is for Alien, and that the new mass-market paperback of Daughter of Hounds is now available..

Okay. The words are waiting. But here are a few photographs from our drive down to Harbor of Refuge on Monday evening:

Harbor of Refuge, September 15th, 2008 )
greygirlbeast: (HelloSquid)
So, as promised earlier, and at the expense of my unblemished reputation as a paragon of all that is wholesome, scandelous elf pr0n. Exclusive to LJ, by the way, because I'm too tired to bother crossposting this to MySpace and Blogger. Behind the cut. Big photos. You've been warned. I'd turn back now, if I were you...

last chance to look away )


Postscript: For some reason, we had a particularly hard time matching the prosthetics to my skin tone last night, and the photos made it worse. Ah, well...

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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