greygirlbeast: (walter3)
I'm sitting here composing, in my head, a Tom Waits song that Tom Waits will never compose, much less record. But it's about not sending "wish you were here" postcards to nightmares.

Someone said something. I won't say who or where the comment was made. The "You're a horror writer" thing. No, I'm not. But. If you insist, maybe it's simply that my definition of "horror" and yours are so vastly different that we possess incommensurable worldviews and can't actually communicate on the subject in any mutually intelligible way (by the way, if you grew up without phonetics/phonics, you're screwed; then again, I guess that's why we have "l33t," "texting," and online dictionaries).

Why no, I'm not in a good mood. Not at all. Not after those dream worlds. And given the fact that there's no way for me to conclusively demonstrate to myself that they're any less objectively "real" than this waking world wherein I'm typing this LJ entry (never mind the world wherein you're reading it; I'll not open that can of worms). Still, this mood has to be bent far enough in that direction that I can get "Sexing the Weird" finished today. I have to be productive. No option, even if there's a hypothetical option.

Problem is, I have this thing I thought would take me two days to write, and today will be day four...I think. I spent yesterday navigating my way through the original and expurgated texts of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and then it was Machen's "The Great God Pan," and finally that got me to the central focus of Part One of the introduction, which is simply that Lovecraft wrote a LOT about fucking. I began with "The Dunwich Horror," a lamentably silly, sprawling tale that I sincerely wish were not thought of as one of HPL's best. But, nonetheless, it is a tale of interspecies and interdimensional sex, and therefore serves my purposes. Today, onward. The thesis statement is remarkably simple: sex (and especially "deviant" sex) has often been at the heart of weird fiction, all the way back to the Gothics. Though...I only go as far back Le Fanu, and if anyone wants to go farther back, well...the path is marked. And yeah, I see the repetitive nature of two of those sentences. Let's pretend I did it on purpose.

---

Today is the 13th Annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. The whole thing is explained here, for those who need an explanation. I'd like to think that no one does need an explanation. Transgender people live with the constant threat of physical and psychological violence, and even death, every single hour of our lives. No matter who you become, that threat, and the fear it engenders, never goes away. Even when you might actually be genuinely safe. Because too many times you haven't been, and you know what might happen if you're not careful and can't figure out how to cheat all the immutable pink and blue rules of a cisgendered world (and you can't). Me, I have about a hundred tales. Someday, maybe I'll tell one of the closest calls I ever had, which concerns three drunken Athens, GA frat boys bearing down on me as I gripped a can of pepper spray. Playing chicken with hate, as it were. No one can count the dead, but we can remember a few who must serve, in these grim mathematics, as the symbols for an unknown (and unknowable) number.

---

Last night a new episode of Fringe, "And Those We Leave Behind," and it was so good I cannot imagine how this series is still on the air. It just keeps going to stranger places. We all do this at our own risk, going weird places, if we expect anyone to follow. And storytellers tend to have to wish for followers. Elsewise, we're only talking to ourselves. Not that there's anything wrong with talking to ourselves. Me to myself. You to yourself. Unless you need to make a living telling stories (an awful, awful situation). Anyway, a fine episode, and I think they finally made me care about Peter Bishop, who has almost always felt like a great slab of nothing interesting. I just hope that the series either a) wraps things up this season or b) doesn't lose it's following and is permitted another season. Were it me, I'd have taken this season to end the story, especially considering how this season almost didn't happen.

The platypus shakes the word basket, and I reach inside, hoping this isn't one of those days the platypus is being cute and has slipped in a few razorblades just for shits and giggles.

Remembering,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (white)
Rain again today, washing away yesterday's snow and the snow beneath it. Spring lurches towards New England, a slushy, ugly beast.

In yesterday's entry, I alluded to a small adventure I'd be undertaking. It turned out to be not quite as small as I'd thought it would be, but still, there were no obvious lost tombs or trolls or feats of daring do. The snow, being light, and so much of the old heavy snow having been washed away, finally gave me the chance to visit Rolling Dam in the Blackstone Gorge. Which, of course, is very near the most important locale in The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, but which I'd only seen in autumn and summer. Spooky wasn't happy about making the drive over all the gaping potholes that used to be roads, but I had Hubero hold Charlie Monkey hostage, so she went along with the plan.

We drove through Woonsocket, and stopped at the huge dam at Thundermist Falls. The easternmost spillway was closed for repairs of some sort, which made the view slightly less magnificent, but only slightly less so. They got more snow in Woonsocket, about three or four inches. The sky above was the palest velvety blue-grey, like another shade of snow, and the water coming over the dam and slamming loudly against the granite was an ocher green. All across Woonsocket, the old mills were frosted, and I could almost imagine the city before the decay of its industry.

We continued on to Massachusetts and Millville and to the spot by Rolling Dam where we always park. The snow here was maybe five or six inches (still, nothing at all for this winter). A man was shouldering a heavy backpack to make the hike to the gorge proper. We settled for Rolling Dam. This winter, it's a beauty I didn't grow up with, and it startles, disarms, and delights me. I've always found the still, deep water above the dam ominous, but it was more so than ever yesterday. Just north of the dam, the river was frozen over, back where it gets a bit swampy. I made notes, and we took photos. There were crows everywhere, and Spooky spotted a raptorial bird of some sort perched in the trees across the river.

By the time we made it back to Providence, it was late afternoon, maybe four-thirty p.m., maybe five. I got back to work. We proofed "Rats Live On No Evil Star" for Two Worlds and In Between. It's one of the few stories I wrote in the nineties (it was written in '97) that I still love.

Here are photos from the drive (behind the cut):

27 February 2011 )


---

Today will be Assembly Day for Sirenia Digest #63. My great thanks to everyone who took part in the Question @ Hand challenge.

Here's a rather wonderful piece on The Red Tree, written by Lynda E. Rucker. One of the best I've seen written, actually, as it's no mere review, and doesn't waste words regurgitating the plot: "An Appreciation of Caitlin R. Kiernan's The Red Tree"

As for the Oscars, I was mostly pleased. I was very pleased that awards went to Shaun Tan and to Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, and to Natalie Portman. I wasn't so happy with Best Director (should have gone to Aronofsky), Actor (should have gone to Jeff Bridges), and Picture (should have gone to Black Swan or True Grit), but everything before that was pretty good. I hear some guy named James Franco made an ass of himself.

Gods, lots more...but it's gonna have to wait until another entry. Time to make the doughnuts.
greygirlbeast: (white2)
1. A sunny day again here in Providence. It's very good to have the sun back after its recent extended absence. The meteorologists predict a high of 57F, which means windows will be opened.

2. The silence of the last two days has followed, largely, from the fact that I'm not getting anything written. Which follows, chiefly, from the fact that I'm still not sleeping. I think this stretch of insomnia is beginning its third week. Mostly, there's been exhaustion, anger, depression, worry, and more exhaustion. Nothing I want to write entries about, and (I assume) nothing anyone wants to read. I'm trying to think of good things from the last two or three days. Friday, I received my contributor's copies of The Mammoth Book of the Best of the Best New Horror: Two Decades of Dark Fiction. I got the year 1997, which was, by the way, the first year I made The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror (I've had stories selected for nine of those volumes). Which means it's "Emptiness Spoke Eloquent," though Steve Jones kindly let me rewrite the story a bit, so it's not quite the story that was reprinted in the '97 volume (#9). Those last two sentences could use a rewrite, but I'm not up to it, and trust you've muddled safely through. Anything else worth remembering? Streamed the new episodes of Spartacus: Blood and Sand (still good porn) and Caprica (still impressing me). That's about it, though. Well, except for yesterday.

3. Yesterday was the rain date for my trip to the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard, to meet up with Sonya ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) and Greer ([livejournal.com profile] nineweaving), but Sonya was feeling under the weather...so we've postponed again. Instead of Boston, Spooky and I took advantage of the sunny, almost warm day and headed south and west to Connecticut. It's a hideous stretch of interstate, I-95 through western Rhode Island, and much worse this time of year. All stark, leafless trees brown beneath a white-blue sky. It burns the eyes and mind, that sight, slashed down the middle with black asphalt. But it led us across the state line to Mystic. There were already tourists, or so it seemed. We avoided them as best we could. An hour or so was passed in the shops along West Main Street. I found a cast-iron mermaid exactly like one I'd seen in the very same shop back on the summer of '06, and have often regretted not getting. So I bought it for the kitchen mantle. After Mystic, we followed 215 down to Noank, where neither Spooky nor I had been before. Narrow streets and pretty houses, boats and lobster pots. Out across the water we could see Goat Island, and beyond that, Fishers Island. It was quite a bit chillier by the water, but also mercifully free of people.

We headed back to Providence about five p.m. (CaST), and I dozed all the way home. The van is about the only place I seem able to sleep (without the aid of Ambien) these days. We stopped for Chinese takeout (dumplings and beef lo mein). I spent the night with WoW and Insilico. At 4:30 a.m., still trying to sleep, I read Lovecraft's "Dagon" (1917) for the bezillionth or so time. I did manage to get to sleep before five, and I must have slept maybe five and a half hours.

4. Spooky made a new doll, which you may see here. It is a lovely, gloomy doll. It'll be going up for sale on her Dreaming Squid Dollworks Etsy shop once she's finished with it.

5. Geoffrey ([livejournal.com profile] readingthedark) is dropping by tonight, and it will be nice to have company for an evening.

6. Not at all happy with the Oscars this year. I may post my own picks later today. It truly was a baffling year, and not for want of wonderful films. I was pleased to see that Christoph Waltz won for Inglourious Basterds. Though Neil was very dapper in his jacket and waistcoat (made by [livejournal.com profile] kambriel).

7. Finally, I have thirteen photos from yesterday's trip to Mystic and Noank, behind the cut:

7 March 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (white)
1. I realized, day before yesterday, that I'd miscalculated* how many days I'd not left the House, by including the last day Out in the tally. Which means that today, not yesterday, is Day 12. Yesterday I set the record, today I break it. Then, says Spooky, I have to leave the House.

2. Talking about the Oscars yesterday, I neglected to say that what I personally consider to be the best and most important film of the year, John Hillcoat's adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's The Raod, was snubbed and completely shutout. In part, I blame the Weinstein Company's half-assed release of the film. But it's all rather inexplicable, since pretty much everyone in the Academy would have had access to the film, regardless of a general release. In the end, I chalk it up to the film hitting a little too close to the mark, being too true, saying too much that people didn't want to hear. And I'm sure all sorts of crazy politics of which I am not aware are at play here. But yeah, it's sort of hard for me to take the Oscars seriously this year, and their failure to recognize The Road is the biggest reason why.

3. Yesterday evening, Sirenia Digest #50 went out to subscribers. By now, you should have it. I never, ever imagined the digest would make it to fifty. Well, technically, fifty-one, since the first issue, in November '05, was #0. My thanks to Gordon Duke ([livejournal.com profile] thingunderthest) for being patient with my annoying requests last night, as I tweaked this and that and the other. Anyway, I do hope everyone enjoys it. I'm very pleased with "Hydrarguros." But yeah, fifty issues. Wow, and as I said in the latest prolegomena, thank you to all the subscribers:



4. [livejournal.com profile] jacobluest asked: Out of curiosity, because you've written so freaking much: I'm seeing your stuff with anthologies that are invitation-only for submissions...like Eclipse is now. I'm trying to build a cosmology here, so I know where to build my ladder. Is it normal practice to get to a point in your career where people are approaching you as a successful writer more than you need to approach them for publishing short stories? Does that wheel ever start turning the other way?

I've been writing almost exclusively for invitation-only anthologies since the very beginning, in 1993 and 1994. I virtually never send someone an unsolicited manuscript, and I haven't in...about fifteen years, I think. How it happened that way, well, I just got lucky, truth be told. But a lot of this is about networking and getting your work seen by the editors and publishers who produce those anthologies. I guess what I'm really trying to say is, I'm not sure how to answer this question, as my path to becoming an established author was a bit odd. I don't have much in the way of useful advice, especially when you factor in that the publishing industry today is so greatly changed from that of the early '90s.

5. Last night, Spooky and I watched Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds for the second time. I think I was actually more amazed by it the second time through. Truly, this is Tarantino's masterpiece thus far. Before the movie, Spooky made a very yummy dinner of roast chicken and potatoes (with lots of onion and garlic), and also brussels sprouts with chestnuts. I ate until I thought I'd burst.

After the movie, I tried to play a little WoW, but coming on the heels of a week of rp in Insilico, I was completely unable to get back into the game. Everything seemed so very, very silly. And I think I realized that, at this point, what I am after— aside from intelligent rp —is immersion that offers me unique and unrepeatable experiences. Everyone who plays WoW, they get essentially the same experience. It's like a theme-park ride on rails. Sure, if you play a blood elf instead of a human, or a troll instead of a gnome, the ride will be a little different, but only a little. And at this point, I've played seven of the races (nelf, belf, human, troll, Draenei, undead, and dwarf + death knight Draenei and belf). Maybe I'll be able to get back into WoW at some point, but last night was so dull I gave up after about an hour.

6. Lastly, I want to remind you that you may now preorder my next short story collection, The Ammonite Violin & Others (Subterranean Press). And, by the way, if you've only bought one copy of The Red Tree, that's easily remedied.

Postscript (3:02 p.m.): This is sort of funny. Turns out, I mis-miscalculated. Today is day 13 after all, not day 11. I'd gotten it in my head that my last day out was the 23rd, but Spooky just pointed out that it was, in fact, the 22nd.
greygirlbeast: (Bjork)
1. No idea why I'm using the cute Bjork icon the morning. I just couldn't seem to help myself.

2. Still happy about The Red Tree, A is for Alien, and "Galápagos" having all three landed on Locus Magazine's 2009 Recommended Reading List. It's always nice to know someone has noticed.

3. This morning, I awoke to a dusting of snow here in Providence. Maybe half an inch. We've had much less snow this winter than last.

4. Last night, Spooky and I celebrated her release from jury prison by binging on movies. First we watched Ang Lee's Taking Woodstock, which I found completely delightful. It's the sort of film that leaves me with nothing at all to complain about. And then we watched Terry Gilliam's 12 Monkeys again. It's a favorite, but both of us had only seen it twice ("Fuck the bozos!"). And speaking of movies, Geoffrey read me the Oscar nominations yesterday and I was...baffled. It's a baffling, and, at times, ridiculous list. But I am glad see Tarantino and Inglorious Basterds getting the attention it deserves, and I'm also rooting for Avatar, Up in the Air, A Simple Man, and a few others. And yeah, I did like District 9. I liked it a lot. But it's presence on the Oscar list still leaves me a bit perplexed.

5. Today, I finish pulling Sirenia Digest #50 together, and tonight, barring any unforeseen cataclysms, it will go out to subscribers.

6. There are few surer signs that's I'm not firing on all cylinders than discovering I've failed to get a set of revisions to an editor on time. Last night, I got an email from S.T. Joshi, wondering about my line edits to "Pickman's Other Model" (which will be appearing in Black Wings: New Tales of Lovecraftian Horror from PS Publishing). And I thought, "I sent those." But no, I'd not. I made the edits, back on December 16th, but I never actually typed them up and emailed them to Joshi. It is likely now too late. Fortunately, it was all very minor stuff. But it is a warning from me to me, to get back on the ball.

7. Back on Sunday, Spooky bought a new coffee maker (I've not had a coffee maker since 2005). It has a single glowing blue eye, and I call it Hal (yes, even though the eye is blue). She also got a pillow, two pairs of pajama pants for me, and a new bath mat. Combine this with the gifts from her mom, and it's been an odd (but needed) shower of domesticity around here.

8. Remember how much I loathe the cover of The Red Tree? I first saw this video devoted to the evolution of the "tramp stamp" urban-fantasy cover a year or so ago, but Spooky came across it again last night, and I thought I'd share. It would be funny, if not for the damage this sort of drek has done my own books (or at least done my nerves and aesthetic sensibilities):

greygirlbeast: (bluenarethwhat?)
So...I just saw this year's Oscar nominations. Generally, and compared to many friends and people on my LJ friends list, I have to say I am somewhat kindly disposed to the Academy Awards. This year, however, I think it's safe to say they have truly screwed the pooch. I won't get into specifics. But...damn.
greygirlbeast: (platypus2)
This interminable bug seems to have gone at last, but has left behind a persistent, wracking cough. The less I talk, the less I cough. But, I have always been prone to these coughs after illness, and Altoids help. Oh, and not only have they gone and changed the tins again, they've taken out the artificial flavouring and the glucose syrup, which are good changes (that have affected the flavour not at all). But, yeah, cough, cough. Oh, and I stink like Tiger Balm, because I'm learning it's not so much the fits as the damage I manage to do to myself during the fits. There was a smallish seizure night before last, and I pulled a muscle in my neck, which made yesterday all sorts of fun.

But, there is sun coming in the office window, and it looks like spring, even though another cold front is about to bring rain and freezing air down upon us.

Yesterday was maddening, workwise. Having finished the piece that is not called "Untitled 33," I sat here trying to find a second piece for Sirenia Digest #27. I thought and thought and thought, and prowled through books of Symbolist painting, and talked with Spooky, and looked at the most deviant internet porn I could find (I have become quite skilled at the latter), and all to no avail. Nothing would come, nothing that would make an erotic vignette and not a full-blown erotic short story (which I presently haven't the time to write). However, two things did occur to me:

1) My writing is giving future generations of feminist literary theorists loads of stuff to demonise. Even though I myself am a feminist, they will vilify it as blatantly misogynistic (though it's not), indicating some deep-seated insecurity and self-hatred on my part, probably arising from our society's persecution of lesbians and those who fall outside normative gender states. That I am a lesbian who falls outside normative gender states will matter not at all. They'll do it, anyway. The way Bram Dijkstra used Idols of Perversity to demonise the Pre-Raphaelites, for example. My erotica will be at the centre of this, because, you know, no self-respecting woman would ever write these things, no woman who respects other women. That I am a witch, they'll warp that around somehow, as well, perhaps citing my assertion that a Divine Androgyne must, logically, be as important to Wicca as the Goddess.

2) I got to thinking, wouldn't it be incredibly cool if I could offer Sirenia Digest subscribers multimedia content each month? I still have a lot of thinking to do on this one, but it may be a whole lot more feasible in the near future than it currently is. Basically, I would invite graphic artists, photographers, makers of short films, etc. the opportunity to showcase their material on the Sirenia Digest website, and to perhaps even adapt some of the vignettes into other media. For my part, though I am a writer, the best erotica is almost always visual, and it's a project I would love to work on. It would come to subscribers at no added charge.

So, yeah that was the productive part of yesterday. I will try again today to find a second vignette for #27. But I also have to call my agent, and that always seems to derail the day.

As for the Academy Awards last night, not a bad 80th Oscars, if you ask me. I actually got six of my wishes. And I was utterly delighted that "Best Supporting Actress" went to Tilda Swinton, who, last night, was even more ravishingly androgynous than usual. Though I still maintain that There Will Be Blood was the best American film of 2007, I am perfectly happy with No Country For Old Men, with seeing Cormac McCarthy at the Oscars, and seeing the Coens get Oscars #s 3, 4, and 5. I was surprised and very happy to see Best Art Direction go to Sweeney Todd and Best Visual Effects go to The Golden Compass. My only real regret is that The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford received no award. I will say that the three songs we had to endure from Enchanted left me with no desire whatsoever to see the film. I loved the Gaultier worn by Marion Cotillard and the Georges Chakra worn by Helen Mirran, but my favourite dress was the Lanvin worn by Tilda Swinton. I think I'd give a "worst dressed" notice to Diablo Cody, who apparently thought it necessary to try to bolster her street cred as an ex-stripper by dressing like one. Anyway, yes, a wonderful Oscars ceremony.

Okay. Coffee, I am ready for you.
greygirlbeast: (golden compass)
Okay, here are my hopefuls. These are not predictions, as I am notoriously bad at predicting who will win an Oscar. This is just a list of who I'd like to see win. And it's all behind the cut, for them what do not care:

My Oscar picks, 2008 )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
With only a modicum of fanfare and just a tad of hullabaloo, the New Consolidated March ended at 4:57 p.m. (CaST) on Sunday. It "only" required 2,025 words of me. It is done, and now I can move on.

Outside, the day is bright, and the sun actually seems warm today. Recently, we've been had many warm days that were not actually warm, mostly due to chilly winds. But today might be different. Only 55F right now, but there's a forecast high of 63F. I have not left the house since February 22nd. I have promised Spooky I will have a long walk today.

Just as soon as Vince sends me the art for this issue, Sirenia Digest #15 will go out to subscribers.

Me, I have to go to Birmingham, tomorrow or the day after. I was supposed to go last week, but thanks to friends, I was able to delay the whole thing by a week. But no more. I've not really left the Atlanta metro area since we returned from Rhode Island back in August. Sheesh.

I have long been an Oscar geek, but this year I just couldn't seem to care. Last night was the first Oscar ceremony I have chosen not to watch since sometime in high school, maybe 1980. But, I am pleased with some of the results. Three for Pans Labyrinth. I'm extremely happy that An Inconvenient Truth received Best Documentary. I'm also glad to see that the Academy has finally honored Scorcese, even if The Departed is far from his best film (and certainly not the best film of 2006). Very pleased to hear that Alan Arkin got Best Supporting Actor, and how can I not be glad that Helen Mirren won (though I've not seen the film in question). Great news that the R&B yodeling from Dreamgirls lost out to Melissa Etheridge's song from An Inconvenient Truth, and I'm cool with Best Visual Effects going to Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. But I am still angry that the very deserving Marie Antionette was all but shut out. Same with The Fountain and The Prestige.

Yesterday, [livejournal.com profile] saphfyre wrote:

I received my copy of Tales from the Woeful Platypus in the mail last week (damn waiting for things to get to Australia) and it is just as beautifully written as Frog Toes. So far i've read it in bed, and in church when forced to go to my cousins christening (much to my family's disgust), its the perfect size to carry around to read whenever one has a spare five minutes. My favorite story is still Untitled 17, but they're all amazing in their own ways.

To which I say I think she deserves the First Annual Brazen Platypus Award. And that one's gonna be hard to top. Or bottom.

And may I just please say how unspeakably sick I am of all this "Mercury in retrograde" nonsense? No, really. It's one thing to see stupid people saying stupid things. That's what stupid people do. That's why we have them. But it's another thing entirely when I see seemingly intelligent people blaming the relative positions of the Earth and Mercury for various aspects of their lives not going quite right. Mercury in retrograde, indeed. It would be less annoying and just as rational if they'd blame Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the ghost of Jesus Christ.*

Note that some of the eBay auctions end today, the ARCs for both From Weird and Distant Shores and Low Red Moon. So, if these items interest you, have a look. Thanks.

*Allowances are made for that which is purely ironical, natch.
greygirlbeast: (Bowie1)
This morning I'm not exactly on what I believe is commonly referred to as an even keel. I hope that this changes in the next hour or so.

I just saw the Oscar nominations. I'm an Oscar geek from way back, and a forgiving sort of "soul," but I think maybe this is the year I've finally had it with the awards. I shall not get into particulars. Maybe later. I suspect this is merely one aspect of my growing disdain for popularity contests of all sorts. I shall, instead, reflect upon the percentage of Oscars that wind up in thrift stores, antique shops, at yard sales, hidden away in attics, sold on eBay, & etc. & etc., and let it go at that.

Yesterday was an unexpected sort of mess. Nothing I was supposed to get done actually got done. Not a bit of eBay. A lot of time was wasted on Photoshop, but that also came to little or nothing. Then my agent called about three p.m. or so, and we talked for almost an hour. That was the best part of the workday. Making concrete plans for What Happens Next, what the Next Thing will be, and the Thing After That. It was an encouraging sort of conversation. Ultimately, it means more work, but what else would I do with this life? At four fifteen or so, I called it a day and fucked off to the cinema to catch a matinee.

And it is a testament to the genius of Guillermo del Toro that I managed to love Pan's Labyrinth despite the fact that the air temperature in the theatre must have been hovering somewhere just above freezing. Fortunately, I had my gloves, though it was very annoying the way my glasses kept fogging up. Oh, and we also had to endure the atrocious yodeling agony of the Dreamgirls soundtrack for the half hour we sat in the icebox before the film began, and still it was worth it.

Pan's Labyrinth is an amazing film, and if you have not already seen it, I urge you to do so. I kept thinking about Algernon Blackwood. Only Blackwood would likely have pulled a lot of those punches. I should have more to say, but I think my head's still too full of the wonders. Something that comes this close to perfection, it speaks for itself.

Back home, I tuned in for the new episode of Heroes. I'm still fence-sitting on whether or not this series is actually Very Good or merely Sort of Interesting. But last night there was Christopher Eccleston, so what the hell. And then, a few minutes past midnight I went back to work, and an hour later, Photoshop still had the last laugh, and all I had was a bloody nose and clenched fists. I would do better to get back to the 1,500 words a day, back to the writing. Still, at least yesterday earned a W. It might have earned an L, which would have been a shame after the first twenty days of January.

I'm considering setting up a magick/neopaganism filter. If you want in, speak up. However, it's not a done deal. I might change my mind. So rarely do I ever write an entry that's devoted to less than a half dozen things, I can't really see how a filter's gonna help. If only there were LJ tags that allowed you to filter parts of any given entry, that would be far more amenable to my present needs. We shall see. Time to make the goddamn doughnuts.
greygirlbeast: (chi2)
It's a beautiful, sunny, warm early spring day here in Atlanta, and Spooky urged me to get up and out and all that. Which she was quite right to do, of course. Thankfully, I'm feeling a bit less vile than yesterday. And, may I just say, if I never see another cranberry again it will likely be too soon.

I was just looking at the nominations for the 2006 Oscars. I've always been sort of an Oscar geek, all my adult life, and yet this year I feel an unexpected ambivalence towards the whole affair. It may be the personal turmoil of the past year, and that my head's so many difficult places right now. I'm trying to recall if there's ever once been a year when I've somehow managed to see not a single one of the films nominated for best picture. Partly, I know this is because theatres are so much less economical than are DVD rentals and, when you factor in how horrific any given audience is likely to be, there's a whole lot less incentive, in my opinion, to see films at the theatre than at home. I've very much wanted to see Capote, and Munich and Good Night, and Good Luck, as all three look very good. I must admit, though, that I feel like I'm the only queer person in all America with absolutely no interest in seeing Brokeback Mountain. And do not dare tell me I'm evil or traitorous or lacking in good taste for feeling this way. I cannot help my indifference. It happens. Anyway...

I've been asked to write an introduction for the PS Publishing edition of Ray Bradbury's The Day It Rained Forever (published in the US as A Medicine for Melancholy). I was very flattered and surprised. Now, I just hope that I'm equal to the task. Especially given they've got such wonderful people doing the intros for their other Bradbury editions (Neil and Ramsey, as well as Stephen King, Arthur C. Clarke, Ray Harryhausen, etc.). Yes, I am intimidated, all round.

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greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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