greygirlbeast: (Default)
Okay, let's get this over and done with, and then we may proceed to your regularly scheduled blog entry. I expect it will be less painful that way. Well, less painful for me at least, and I know I'll be loads less distracted:

Booya! )


That said...or shown, or both, whatever...you know the lousy thing about incredible shit happening yesterday? The lousy thing about incredible shit having happened yesterday is that it's not happening today. Nonetheless, today I can lift up the blackness enough to peer out (though I do squint something fierce).

But, still, comment, kittens. And thank you for yesterday's comments.

Yesterday, we read chapters One and Two of Blood Oranges, and I can say, with great relief, that I still like this book a lot. It's about as far from The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl: A Memoir as you can get, but that's not a bad thing. I think I'd reached a point where I had to write something just for fucking fun. And Blood Oranges is fun. And it's even funny. I never fucking knew I had all this fucking funny in me. It's like discovering a strange boil behind your ear, and someone lances it, and out comes humor. I mean "ha ha" humor, not aqueous humour – though lancing a boil behind your ear and getting aqueous humour would be interesting. Anyway, with luck, the manuscript will be proofread and corrected and in Manhattan on Monday morning. I've dragged my feet on getting it to my publisher and editor. Well, no, I haven't. I've been too busy with my work for No Such Agency, and with Sirenia Digest, and with the trailer/still-photo project for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir that Blood Oranges just...sort of got lost in the shuffle. But now it's unlost. Today, we do chapters Three and Four, which will put us halfway through the novel.

I think I've decided to keep Kermit the iPad. He proved himself very useful editing yesterday. And so I'm rethinking this whole thing. But thank you, Cliff Miller. Thank you all the same.

Also, I saw a rough cut of the teaser for the trailer for The Drowning Girl: A Memoir yesterday, and it's all I can do not to link to it here. Imagine the lovechild of Terrance Malick and David Lynch, and you're in the neighborhood. Thank you, Brian and Kyle. This is going to be so fucking wonderful. I also spoke with [livejournal.com profile] kylecassidy and [livejournal.com profile] kambriel yesterday about shooting additional footage this winter in Philadelphia, and it seems like it'll happen. We'll be holding eBay auctions, props and such (a large moonstone signed by the whole cast & crew, etc.) from the first shoot, to fund that, and I'll keep you posted. Thing is, to quote Imp:

“I’m going to write a ghost story now,” she typed.
“A ghost story with a mermaid and a wolf,” she also typed.
I also typed.


Well, we have tons of mermaid/water footage, the Saltonstall stuff, but the wolf part has been sorely neglected, and for that we need winter, and snow, and a big wolf-like dog for the Perrault stuff, and we can make these things happen this winter in Philadelphia. So, yeah. Another shoot lies ahead. Which fills me not in the least with dread. It pleases me.

Last night, we proved that one meatloaf can be stretched out over four dinners and one midnight sandwich. Spooky has some mean Loaf Fu. We played some Rift. I'm obsessed with getting Selwynn glorified with the Icewatch in Iron Pine Peak, so...lots of dailies. Or, in my case, nightlies. Later, I read aloud to Spooky from John Steinbeck's The Log From the Sea of Cortez. Despite my love for Steinbeck and his Cannery Row books, I've never read this book, but found an old copy at Spooky's parents and borrowed it on Sunday (a copy that sold new in trade paperback for $1.45 in 1962). It begins with Steinbeck's "About Ed Ricketts" essay/eulogy, and, so far, I've managed not to cry. In another life, I might have been someone as good and useful to the world as Ed Ricketts. I like to think that.

It occurs to me, apropos of nothing in particular, that there's no point whatsoever in having a cake if you can't eat it, too.

Wanting Cake, Black Forest,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (mars)
This will be the disorganized sort of entry.

They happen, sometimes.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,197 words on The Dinosaurs of Mars.

It wasn't a bad day, all in all. Just after dark, as we were getting ready to walk, thunderstorms rolled in, and it rained until after midnight, I think. Which was nice, even if we didn't get our walk. What's a little muscle atrophy in the age of automation? I lay on the sofa listening to the rain, smelling it through an open window, talking with Spooky. Nothing on earth is as comforting as the sound of a steady summer rain. All day, the cicadas screamed in the trees, the only creatures that seem to thrive in the heat. The birds are mostly silent throughout the day, emerging at sunset. I don't think I left the house yesterday. No, I didn't. I try not to let that happen these days.

Last night, there was more "comfort TV," first the second episode of Deadwood ("Deep Water") and more Firefly ("Serenity," parts 1 & 2). Earlier, I finally finished Jay Parini's John Steinbeck: A Life, which left me sort of sad and in ill-spirits. I recall, at some point, Poppy ([livejournal.com profile] docbrite) saying to me how the thing she hated about biographies was that they almost all ended the same way, with the main character's death. I kept hoping this book would end before that, but no one will be spared, no one will be spared. No more bios for a while. Instead, I shall move along to The Hunt for the Dawn Monkey: Unearthing the Origins of Monkeys, Apes, and Humans (2004) by Chris Beard. It was a birthday gift from a reader, but I'll be frelled if I can recall from just who. Whoever you were, thanks, because fossil prosimians make me happy.

Regarding Sirenia Digest, yesterday [livejournal.com profile] stsisyphus had this to say about #19:

BTB, my jaw nearly hit the floor when I saw this issue alone was 42 freaking pages (give or take) of either exclusive or hard-to-find content. You don't need poison spurs to convince people that's a good deal.

I'm just trying to take care of my subscribers, whom I really do cherish. And my thanks to the newest subscriber, [livejournal.com profile] alvyarin, who signed up just this morning.

Also, my thanks to Scott Connors and Ron Hilger for sending me The End of the Story: The Collected Fantasies of Clark Ashton Smith, Volume I, which reached me yesterday. Another beautiful volume from Night Shade Books.

Right. Time to wrap this up. Mars awaits...

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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