I ought to be asleep, but...

A couple of quotes before bed.

"All art is knowing when to stop."
— Toni Morrison (1984)

"I sat and wondered. How to make an artist do something he doesn't want to do or can't do. There are no threats, no blandishments that have effect because the 'art' part comes from within and is more subject to fears that result in nightmares of death than to warnings of guild denunciation or even simple greed. They can be assuaged sometimes only by walking away. When Joan Crawford told F. Scott Fitzgerald in the thirties, 'write hard, Mr. Fitzgerald, write hard," she was saying the only thing that can be said. She was shrewd enough to know that 'write well, better, faster, deeper' has no practical bearing on an interior process ultimately unknowable."

— Steven Bach (1985)

Howard Hughes and the Kingdom of Dreams

I'm blonde again. We'll, no, I'm partly blonde again, and partly still black, and all sorts of shades in between. I'll post a photo later. Bleach rules.

Night before last, I slept less than five hours. Verily, I am insomnia's tralk. Last night, I was determined to get some sleep, so I stayed up as long as I could stand to (2:30 a.m.), and when I woke at 5:30, I took an Ambien and that kept me asleep until about 10:20 a.m. So, I feel somewhat more rested and less out of sorts today. Somewhat. I think I'm still about forty hours behind on sleep.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,003 words on the new "Yellow House" story for Sirenia Digest #17. I begin to comprehend how it will end, but only just. Spent some time rereading Blake yesterday, "The Everlasting Gospel" (ca 1810), suspecting some relevance to the new story.

Wednesday, after my lit agent and I had closed the deal with Roc, I got the news that my editor had resigned to take a job elsewhere. So, for the third time in four years, I'm being handed over to a new editor. Honestly, I hope this one sticks around for a while. I can do without this sort of chaos.

Anything else about yesterday? Well, like I said, new hair. I had a 5 p.m. appointment with my colorist at Sweetgrass, and as I didn't finish writing until 4:29, it was a crazy rush getting from here to there in time. Then I was in the chair until seven, and afterwards, Spooky and I got Thai for dinner. Back home, we watched Ace of Cakes, which I suspect was responsible for the midnight doughnut run to the Krispy Kreme on Ponce. Yes, I blame Duff and Mary Alice and Geof for those damned doughnuts. Back home, I put on Revenge of the Creature (1955), as few things have the power to lull and soothe me towards sleep like black-and-white monster films. And that was yesterday, mostly. Well, except for that nasty business with Hubero and the tweezers, but let's not go there.

By the way, I have been given delivery dates on the next two novels, April 2008 (Joey LaFaye) and April 2009 for the Daughter of Hounds sequel. Originally, the books were to be due in January or February of those years, but I simply cannot write novels that fast. I don't want to know how to write novels that fast. I like this pokey (but highly productive) me just fine.

My thanks to corucia for a lovely literary care package, including several volumes of Wil Eisner and a Philip Jose Farmer collection. Books are always welcome. Which reminds me, the dreaded -03 bday looms nigh, and there's this wishlist thingy over at Amazon.com to help alleviate the sting...

Okay. THE END awaits somewhere out there in the antediluvian murk. Wish me luck. Luck and caffeine.

Postscript (5:56 p.m.): Speaking of birthdays, today just happens to be Andy Serkis' -03 birthday.