No writing yesterday. No, that's not true. I began one story, wrote about 400 words, then realized it was not the right story
. So I stopped and began another story, which I hope
will be the right story. "The Sea Troll's Daughter," and I wrote more than 500 words on it. But I'm pretty sure it was a false start. So, you figure it out. I have most of the story in my head, the characters, the tone, the plot...and that very rarely ever is the case at the outset. Now, I only have to locate the words.
Um...how could it have taken me half an hour to realize that this is not 1931? The iPod should have been a dead giveaway, but there are so many temporal shifts lately, it's hard to keep track.
Still cloudy. Still raining. Still not summer.
I fear I have become addicted to Twitter. In one week, I went from detesting it on general principle, to addiction. Which is pretty much how I do things. Ah, well. Beats the crap out of backsliding into Second Life (It's been two months now, so yay me!). I will say that there are two things about Twitter that have pleased me greatly. First, none of this misuse of the word friend
. On Twitter, one has followers
, and one follows
others, which, in all ways, makes much more sense, without linguistic perversions. Several times now, I've had people (from LJ, SL, Facebook) pull that "But you're my FRIEND" shit on me, and I have to point out that no, I'm not, that we've never even met, and so on, and so forth. Drama ensues. And, of course, the misuse of friend
has led to the neologism friending
, when there was already befriend
to function as an accompanying verb, and it would have worked just fine. "But, you friended
me!" No, I befriended you. And, in this qualified sense of the word, that only makes us sort of vaguely acquainted, at best. Anyway, that's one thing.
Another thing that pleases me about Twitter is that, at least among the people who are following me thus far (362), and those I'm following (57), there's been, in more than three days, almost no l33t or lolspeak or emoticons. Which surprises me, as we're limited to 140 characters per message, and yet, all of these people stop and think of a way to make themselves understood without resorting to idiotic acronyms. I have not seen "lol" even once (but maybe that's because I'm not following Eliza Dushku). I am told this would change were I to descend into the realm of "people who do real-time conversation," but I'm not even sure what that is——I mean, how it would differ from what I've seen so far, since it all seems rather "real time"——so I shall simply avoid it. Anyway, I'm greygirlbeast
Yesterday, I tweeted the first part of The Red Tree
micro-sneak-peek experiment. Today, I'll repost yesterday's bit, then add Pt. 2.
My thanks to everyone who's bid in the current round of eBay auctions
. I will remind you that the clothbound copy of The Merewife
up now is probably the only one I will ever auction, as I received but four copies, back in 2005. Among my hard-to-find publications, it's surely one of the hardest to find. And, yes, all proceeds from these auctions will go to help offset the expense of my attending ReaderCon
in July. So, thank you again, if you've bid or already won an auction.
Yesterday, Serena Valentino (serenavalentino
) wrote to relate to me a dream she'd had, a dream in which I appeared, and a dream which delighted me, when I heard of it. She's given me permission to include her description of the dream in this entry:I had an interesting dream about you, even more interesting by virtue of rarely remembering my dreams. You were dressed in an Edwardian era outfit, a hybrid of a lady's outfit, but with long riding breeches under your skirt. I know this not because I got under your skirt, mind (it wasn't that sort of dream) your skirt was split in the front, revealing the breeches. Your long coat was also rather masculine, but tailored for a woman. It was very fetching. We were sitting near each other during a performance of some kind (candles illuminated the foot of the stage) and you commented on the performance, it was a very witty sort of comment, one would expect from Oscar Wilde, or yourself for that matter. I remember laughing a little too loudly for the people sitting near us, and that made us laugh even harder.
I only wish I could remember any of this.
Anything else? No, not really. Oh, except one thing. I'm pretty sure that very few people under the age of thirty-five remember what the word angst
actually means, or know that "angsting" isn't a word, or that feeling and expressing angst is not a sign of weakness or something to be loathed and mocked. We'll talk about "emo" later. How can a nation be simultaneously so overwrought and
emotionally constipated? Anyway, class dismissed. I need to see a lady about a platypus.