greygirlbeast: (Default)
Quite cold in Providence today, and colder tonight. Presently 36˚ Fahrenheit, crawling towards a high of 39˚.

Assembly Day #72 went pretty much as expected: not as tedious as many, but still tedious enough to annoy a person who, like me, can't seem to abide even the smallest jot of tedium. Regardless, Sirenia Digest #72 went out last night, well before midnight, and all subscribers should have it by now. I'm especially interested in thoughts on "Another Tale of Two Cities."

Beyond pulling the digest together, which took several hours, there isn't much else to say about yesterday. Work, work, and work. And, in lieu of anything even remotely interesting to say about that work, here are some Reminding Links:

The Drowning Girl: A Memoir

Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart

Alabaster

Oh, and if you're into this sort of thing, here's my Amazon wishlist and here's Spooky's. What with Solstice and Cephalopodmas looming dark and gibbous on the horizon. You know, for kids. Distraction is always welcome.

---

Mon monsieur, mon amour, le Comte de Insomnie, made an unexpected return last night. Perhaps something went amiss with the laudanum, a bad batch from the apothicaire. A misplaced dash from a tincture of cocaïne, possibly. At any rate, last night, trying to get sleepy, and so I read Lisa Tuttle's recent short story, "The Man in the Ditch," because Tuttle has written some good stuff, and I liked the title. Sadly, the story is bland, only competent, and infected with an especial sort of bland, formulaic mundanity I'm seeing in a lot of "horror" these days, both written and in film. Couple moves into house, apartment, condo, old farm only to discover that the domicile is haunted by malevolent spirit of X (insert generic EVIL entity of your choice). Family X (which can be nuclear or otherwise, pure or tainted, possessed of children or not, but they are pretty much always heterosexual) soon meets terrible fate at the hands of X, or, more rarely, escapes after the fashion of The Amityville Horror (1977) or Spielberg's Poltergeist (1982); Ryan Murphy is turning this tired trope on its ear with his American Horror Story, by the way, by mocking the various incarnations of X and by making the ghosts sympathetic and the X Family the true monsters/invaders. Point is, these are the sorts of films that when Spooky and I are looking for something to stream from Netflix we automatically skip over, the sorts of books I avoid. Anyway, despite its intriguing title, "The Man in the Ditch" is exactly such a story.

Which leads me to wonder exactly what all these straight couples are afraid of. The intrusion of the Outside, the Unknown, via a supernatural agency? No, I think that's only a metaphor – the ghosts and demons and whatnot. They are merely tiresome phantoms trotted out for more mundane (there's that word again) threats: infidelity, an inability to conceive, sudden infant death syndrome, bankruptcy and foreclosure, children who indulge in drugs or engage in sex or who turn out to be queer or who run away from home, termites in the walls, AIDS and other STDs, bedbugs, and so forth. But instead of writing about those things, it's all dressed up in the metaphor of "horror." And it's dull as small-curd cottage cheese, and it makes me weary. I may miss a beat now and then, kittens, but I promise never to bore you with such painful domesticity. Lisa Tuttle, you can do better than this.

At any rate, the vacation does not begin until the 15th, so I must get to work.

Kicking Against the Pricks,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (newest chi)
I should be asleep, but I'm not. Not because of the insomnia. Not this time. It's just hard to sleep with the snow piling up Outside, blown across the street like sand over dunes.

The wind pushes the trees about and bellows around the eaves of the House.

At irregular intervals, snowplows rumble down the street.

I think the sky is lighter than when the sun went down.

But I should at least try. To sleep.

Someday, I'll tell the story about the time I was arrested on Valentine's Day, and all I had in the cell with me was a book of Robert Frost poems.
greygirlbeast: (walter3)
No lists. No numbers this ayem (aside from the entry title). My mind will simply have to cope without itemized lists.

Yesterday, I received a copy of Dead Reckonings #6 (Hippocampus Press), which includes a review by S.T. Joshi of The Red Tree. It's one of the finest reviews I've ever received for any book by any reviewer. I'd quote it here, but I think modesty actually forbids. Yeah, who knew I had a scrap of modesty anywhere in me? Anyway, yeah...wow. Maybe I'll post part of it later, once this acharacteristic attack of virtue subsides.

I went Outside yesterday, having discovered— thanks to Spooky —that I'd last been out on the 22nd, not the 23rd, which meant my 12th day was Wednesday. We only went as far as the market, over on the East Side. All those faces, all that light, all the movement, it left me dazed. But I intend to venture out again today.

I hope everyone who is a subscriber to Sirenia Digest has received their copy of #50. Feel free to comment here on the issue, if you'd like.

I've reached the point where I have to face up to the fact that I'm taking far too long to get the next novel written. I'll be talking to my agent early next week, to try to figure out how to get the train back on the tracks.

Amazingly good rp in Insilico last night. This sim continues to amaze and please me. I think it will, indirectly, birth many new stories, simply by keeping that part of my brain so stimulated. There's a screencap from last night, behind the cut:

Abeus and Xiang )

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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