greygirlbeast: (Chiana 6)
So far, here in Providence, it's been a shitty, snowless winter. Lots of rain, and days with wide carnivorous blue skies, but fuck all when it comes to snow. Did we piss off the Snow Miser or something?

If you've not seen it already, the ONE AND ONLY auction of an ARC of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir has begun, and it began last night. The ARC is only being auctioned because we went a little over budget on the trailer shoot (and still have another day or so of filming coming up at the end of this month). So, please bid if you are able. Own a collectible ARC filled with uncorrected sentences. Oh, and both of Vince's illustrations for the novel do appear in the ARC. Thank you.

I'm not sure there's much point in recounting yesterday. I didn't write, because there was a sort of endless barrage of writing-related emails and phone calls. There was a good conversation with my publicist at Penguin (regarding The Drowning Girl), and I was sent more inked pages from Alabaster #3 (which I need to proof as soon as I finish this entry), and there were the pencils for the fourth Alabaster cover (beautiful), and a whole bunch of stuff for Readercon. I'm not kidding, working on all these books at once has my head spinning. Two hours of work feels like eight. This is a new thing to me. At least I'm sleeping more; otherwise, I'd probably be dead by now.

Rainy, cold Thursdays in January are good days for comments.

I'm not even going to try and explain the Buffalo-chicken calzones we had for dinner, except to say they're as hot coming out as they are going in.

Oh, I have this peculiar meme-thing from [livejournal.com profile] matociquala: Pick up the nearest book to you. Turn to page 45. The first sentence describes your sex life in 2012. Okay. I'll play along. So..."The templars strode forward, drawing their swords and advancing on the dogmen, who stood to meet them." Make of that what you will.

Otherwise, yesterday...well, not much else. I read "The forelimb carriage in ceratopsid dinosaurs," and my Sith assassin made it to Tatooine and reached Level 26. Oh, and this morning we learned that Rift's next big patch is going to permit in-game "Ascendent weddings," which, I will admit, is just a few thousand miles beyond the pale for me. The lines between pretend and real begin to blur like that, and we're back to the Great Cesspool of Second Life.

Looking Askance,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (river3)
Don't forget, kittens, today is Krampus Day. Behave accordingly.

Bodies, can't you see what everybody wants from you?
If you could want that, too, then you'll be happy.
~ St. Vincent, "Cruel"

Yesterday, I wrote 1,241 words and so began "Another Tale of Two Cities" for Sirenia Digest. I'm hoping very much that it will be finished on the evening of the 7th, at the latest. It might be called science fiction, but I'd rather just call it weird erotica. And speaking of the evening of the 7th, I'm very much hoping to see more replies to the Question @ Hand #5 by then.

Last week, I stopped myself from buying an iPhone, though I seem to need one. In part, I stopped myself out of fear of another wave of "buyer's remorse," such as experienced recently, immediately after purchasing Kermit the iPad. Which I seemed to need for work. Since that purchase, by the way, I have found about fifty wonderful uses for Kermit the iPad...but not a single one of them has been work related*. Sure, endless mobile Japanese porn – no denying that rocks – but not exactly what my editors mean when they speak of "increased connectivity." In the Elder Days, by the way, we just said "easier to contact." Anyway, I didn't buy the iPhone, because (even though my cellphone is a pile of bantha dung), near as I can tell the iPhone and the iPad do exactly the same thing. Only, the iPhone has a vastly smaller screen and keys (and the virtual keys on my iPad are already too small for my admittedly large fingers), and I'll be damned if I can figure out a single useful thing the iPhone does that Kermit the iPad doesn't already do. Well, except make phone calls. And I hate making, and receiving, phone calls. Besides, technically, the iPad does permit video calls, all Jetson-like, using either FaceTime or Skype. Of course, the thought of a video call terrifies me beyond words. It's bad enough that callers can hear me. Let them see me, too? Anyway, point is, other than the fact that the iPhone is much smaller, and therefore even more mobile...why bother? And, by the way, you know, I hope, that all this increased connectivity nonsense, it's nothing but a) a means for the CIA, NSA, BTFA, DHS, and aliens from Planet X to keep track of you, and b) is being sold to us so that we never have a moment free of the grinding machine of capitalism (yes, excessive socialization aids and abets the agenda of the New World Order).

Damn, that's a long paragraph.

Probably, I ought to stop now. Only, I'll first point out that – following this thread – ebooks do the same thing as books, only not as well, and the ones you buy today will PROBABLY be inaccessible in a few years, and you can't donate them to libraries, or leave them to anyone. Meanwhile, my hard copies might well be accessible five hundred years from now, and can be bequeathed to loved ones. However, "we" are increasingly a selfish and short-sighted species (this makes my life easier = this is good), now more than ever before, so none of this is relevant. But I'm beating a dead horse. Whack, whack, whack.

Staring at Kermit,
Aunt Beast

* Spooky says this is not true, as all of Blood Oranges was proofed on the iPad. I will qualify, and say that actually she only used it to read along while I read the hard-copy ms. aloud and made marks on it. Still, I suppose she has a point.
greygirlbeast: (Ellen Ripley 2)
Rainy and overcast again today.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,749 words on Chapter Six of Blood Oranges, and either finished the chapter, or very nearly did.

After five years, almost the entire premise (not plot, just premise) of Dinosaurs of Mars has finally come together in my head, and I've told subpress I hope to be able to write it next autumn (2012). Yes, sometimes it happens this way. I will also likely be writing an SF novelette for subpress, to be released as a hardback – as with The Dry Salvages – later this year, time permitting, details TBA.

A lot of email yesterday and this morning, much of it pertaining to the Drowning Girl Kickstarter project. The last few months, the amount of email I have to make it through has sort of skyrocketed. Which is good, and bad. Good, because it means lots of work. Bad, because it means...lots of work.

By the way, if you're reading this, and you're the sort who likes to interview writers, please note that I do not do telephone interviews, and make no exceptions. Your noting this now saves me having to turn you down later. It is my job to be witty and articulate. I can be neither of these things on the phone.

---

Okay, so. Romance in fiction. "Romance" as genre publishing and low-brow culture defines it. I'm opposed. In my own books, there are relationships, in a very rough and tainted form. In that there are people who do have relationships (or who have had relationships). Sometimes, there are exceptions (Soldier comes to mind). Regardless, the relationships rarely end well.* Much of this stems from my fundamental disdain/lack of interest in romantic entanglements as a fictional theme. Hell, my favorite literary romance is probably Wuthering Heights. Or Lolita. Or maybe Hannibal. You see where I'm going with this. Just look at Sirenia Digest. Love songs for monsters** (Do not steal that fucking title or I will disembowel you).

So, we're reading The Forest of Hands and Teeth by Carrie Ryan. I even made it this month's selection of the book club thingy. And it started out well enough, at first (even though we really, at this point, need more imaginative end of the world scenarios than The Zombie Apocalypse). But it has, after a few chapters, nose-dived into some fairly excruciating romance. And the language used to describe...well...here's an example:

He nods. He understands. And then he takes my hand and presses his lips against my palm. It feels like fire entering my bloodstream and laying siege to my body. He kisses my wrist, and I am an inferno. He starts to move up my arm, his breath tantalizing, and I almost give in as he pulls me to him.

Okay. Enough. I don't care who blurbs this, or likes it, or buys it, or publishes it. This is overwrought dreck. Or smarm. Or both. It's pedestrian porn for bromidic teenagers. If this is the best Ryan has to offer, it's a pretty sad state of affairs. If it gets you wet, fine. I'd mourn for your libido, but I'm not that altruistic. I expect we'll finish the novel, but only because it's hard for me to leave books unfinished, even lousy ones.

There's some good stuff at the start of The Forest of Hands and Teeth! People who don't remember that the Earth has an ocean. That's good. Go with that. Besides, Ryan is trained as a lawyer. She has this other fucking way of making lots of money. She could keep her bad prose to herself, and no one would starve.

And in the future, I will try to do a better job of picking books. Spooky says we have to read at least fifty pages first. Good advice. What have I learned, kittens? Sometimes, I fuck up. But I knew that already.

Oh! Also good RP in Insilico last night. Thank you Joah, Sayer, and Fifth. Also, slowly wading back into Rift. I had to take a break, to avoid burn out.

Enough for now. The words, which I promise will not be dreck, await.

Dreckless,
Aunt Beast

* Note: I am in a very satisfactory, long-term relationship.
** Copyright © 2011 by Caitlín R. Kiernan
greygirlbeast: (white2)
The last day of November already. Scary, scary.

I'm not good with telephones. I'm especially not good with telephones first thing in the morning. But, to my credit, Bill Schafer from subpress called this a.m. and we had quite a good, longish talk.

Yesterday, I wrote an absolutely exemplary 2,263 words. Go me. Also, last night I did a short interview about Sirenia Digest which will be appearing at some near-future date on the subpress website. So, it was a busy day, was yesterday.

As of this morning, lots and lots of people have claimed stories for the hypertexting of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Indeed, they're almost all taken. Right now, the list of spoken and unspoken for stories looks like this (a strike-thru indicates someone's already volunteered to work on that story):

"Anamorphosis"
"To This Water (Johnstown, Pennsylvania 1889)"
"Bela's Plot"
"Tears Seven Times Salt"
"Superheroes"
"Glass Coffin"
"Breakfast in the House of the Rising Sun"
"Estate"
"The Last Child or Lir"
"A Story for Edward Gorey"
"Paedomorphosis"
"Salammbô"
"Postcards from the King of Tides"
"Rats Live on No Evil Star"
"Salmagundi"
"In the Water Works (Birmingham, Alabama 1888)"
"The Long Hall on the Top Floor"
"San Andreas"
"Angels You Can See Through"
"Lafayette"
"...Between the Gargoyle Trees"
Epilogue: "Zelda Fitzgerald in Ballet Attire" (poem)

So, yeah. Just six left to choose from. If you want in on this, speak now. My grateful thanks to everyone who has already volunteered. I'm quite excited about this project. Remember, if you volunteer to do the hypertext on a story, I need an e-mail address. I'll be sending out text files to people, along with instructions on what I do and don't want, at some as yet undetermined date. By the way, you may choose more than a single story, if you think you can handle it.

I also wanted to put in a plug for the limited edition of Tales from the Woeful Platypus. Remember, not only will it be leather bound, it will also include an extra story — "Excerpt from Memoirs of a Martian Demirep" (spectacularly illustrated by Vince) — plus the chapbook edition of The Black Alphabet (pts. one and two united). Don't miss out. Yesterday I got the pencils for Vince's cover art for the book, which he's inking today, so here's a sneak peek (behind the cut):

Something Pretty for a Woeful Platypus )


When I was done with the interview last night, I watched Clerks II with Spooky, which I enjoyed tremendously (though Dogma remains my fave Kevin Smith film). Afterwards, I took controller in hand and plowed through a couple more hours of Final Fantasy XII, and belatedly the Star Wars parallels occurred to me — that Vaan is Luke, and if Balthier is Han Solo (roguish sky pirate) then Fran must be Chewbacca. Which makes perfect sense, as I've always had a thing for Chewie, too.
greygirlbeast: (amono)
Grateful thanks to everyone who said that yes, they could see the test entry. I think I had to make a new entry to prime to pump, so to speak. The test entry seemed to fix everything. It's reassuring to know that the CEBS actually works. And on a Sunday morning, at that.

I think I was one of maybe seven people who were actually able to make an entry on LJ yesterday. If you want to read it (hawks, crows, Terry Gilliam's Tideland, spider bites, writerly isolation), just click here. I'll be watching it for comments today. Clearly, someone at Six Apart needs to buy Frank the Goat a muzzle.

Anyway...

It's colder today than yesterday. Still, we took a walk before I settled into my freezing office to bang away at the keyboard all day. Saw one of the hawks, soaring over North Ave., looking for pigeons or starlings or rats. Not much else. Spooky contemplated going down to Grandma Luke's for a fried banana and peanut butter sandwich, which almost sounded too good to pass up. My right shoe kept coming untied.

We ended up at the Fernbank Museum of Natural History late yesterday afternoon, because Spooky's been wanting to see the Roman exhibition. I wish someone could have warned us it was "girl scout day." I'm just glad it wasn't "boy scout day." I said hi to the dinosaurs and we saw an IMAX film, Deep Sea. Then we had to go to the pet store, because Hubero was out of cat litter. And then we went to our favorite Thai place, because we were both in need of comfort food and the spicy basil rice bowl does the trick every time. On the way, we spotted a beautiful, huge white full moon rising over the tree tops and a few low purple-pink clouds. I checked the clock in the car; 6:41 (CaST). It was not a bad day.

Back home, we watched Terry Zwigoff's Art School Confidential and Steve Buscemi's Lonesome Jim. I liked the former, though not quite as much as I thought I would (I think I've ODed on irony), but was a bit disappointed with the latter. It just wasn't nearly as good as Tree's Lounge, and I'd hoped it would be. It didn't help that Casey Affleck acted as though he was in a high-school play. But it was oddly consoling to discover that I do not actually think Liv Tyler's hot. It was just the ears. That was a huge relief, even if I'm not sure why. After the movies, a little past midnight, I called Poppy ([livejournal.com profile] docbrite), because she'd left a message on my poor neglected answering thingy. I'd not talked to her in ages, and we wound up talking until 2:30 a.m. (CaST). Assorted topics of conversations included, but were not limited to, getting old, health insurance (and the lack thereof), cats, spider bites, tattoos, sex, lit agents, editors, reviewers, New Orleans, Realtors® (snork), Daughter of Hounds and Dead Shrimp Blues, wikipedia, MySpace, kids these days, how much I hate writing novels (but will always have to write them, anyway), Athens (GA), and self medication. We'd have talked longer, but my cellphone was overheating and I making my ear hurt, and I fully expected it to explode and bury shards of molten plastic in my brain.

Then we went to bed and Spooky read to me from House of Leaves until 3:30 (CaST), and I do not seem able to get it through my head that this is not the book to read Right Before Sleep.

Tilda Swinton, who rocks my world (even without ears), is 46 today.

Okay. There are words that must be written and no one to write them but me. Oh, and there's this photo (behind the cut), because the pink house (see 6/2/06 05:23 pm), the one that was being used to pimp that idiotic Paris Hilton show, was unpinked a couple of months ago and I keep forgetting to post a photo. Spooky got this one on our walk today. I don't go in for the whole southwestern sunset thing they have going down, but still, it's better than frelling Barbie pink.

Pink No More )

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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