Oscar, the Happy Potato

Asleep too late, up too early. Blegh.

Today, we'll finally finish proofreading the galleys for Alabaster. We did "Les Fleurs Empoisonnèes" yesterday. It was good to see that I still love this story, written way back in 2001, but the errors we found were annoying. On p. 28, "early sixth century BC," which ought to be "early Sixth Century B.C.", for example, with B.C. in small caps. Or the fact that Dancy is mysteriously wearing tennis shoes, when she's wearing boots in all the other stories and in Threshold. And I will not even get started on the punctuation. And, I think, this is a nice segue way...

Sometimes, like this morning, trying to make the Life of a Writer, or at least the life of this writer, interesting is an effort that entirely eludes me. Yesterday, for example, we proofread. Wow. And there was all the frelling busyness, which I won't get into. I start yawning just thinking about it, and yet I get up each morning and try to make it interesting. 99% of what I do involves sitting at this desk, either pecking on the iBook, looking up obscure bits of this or that, or staring out the damn window. And I'm of the opinion that this is pretty much the norm for writers. Which is to say, I'm having a lot of trouble this morning fashioning an entry that won't put everyone to sleep (and I'm hardly awake myself).

We had a nice walk yesterday. Spooky found an empty luna moth (Actias luna) chrysalis.

Really, that was the highpoint of the day.

Mostly, these days, I'm trying to look forward to the trip to Rhode Island this summer and to Dragon*Con. This will be my twelfth Dragon*Con. I should get a special badge or a cake with candles or a least a celebratory orgy. Jada's talking about coming down this year. That would be cool, as I haven't seen her since May 2003. The Crüxshadows will be there, and I haven't seen Rogue and Jessica since...wow...since Dragon*Con 2004. Ted will be there, and we've talked about doing an Alabaster panel. I might spend a day as Nar'eth, or I might do a drow costume, or perhaps a fairie, or maybe I won't costume at all. I'd love to do a half Nebari, half Klingon. How cool would that be? In the trade, we call this filler. Or padding. Anyway, yes, I will be at Dragon*Con this year and will be myself for at least part of it. You are all invited. I'm doing so few public appearances these days, having pretty much lost interest in such things, I can honestly say that it's a rare opportunity to meet me face-to-face.

Okay. Enough with the dilly-dallying. Where's my red pen...

National Poetry Month Meme (Pt. 2)

Maybe this will help make up for the dullness of this morning's entry. Maybe.

"Death & Co." (Sylvia Plath)

Two, of course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now—
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled, like Blake's,
Who exhibits

The birthmarks that are his trademark—
The scald scar of water,
The nude
Verdigris of the condor.
I am red meat. His beak

Claps sidewise: I am not his yet.
He tells me how badly I photograph.
He tells me how sweet
The babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple

Frill at the neck,
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns,
The two little feet.
He does not smile or smoke.

The other does that,
His hair long and plausive.
Bastard
Masturbating a glitter,
He wants to be loved.

I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell,
The dead bell.

Somebody's done for.

(14 November 1962)