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greygirlbeastThis blasted cold. The meteorologists promise warmer weather this weekend and next week. But it's winter, winter in a temperate zone, and, in winter, Georgia is supposed to get a bit cold. My desire for warm weather is really neither here nor there, only a subjective matter. But as Thom Yorke wrote, "It wears me out."
A writing day yesterday, but not one I should crow about. I did a meager 560 words on Chapter Two. I understand this chapter now, and that has lead to understanding much about the novel that, previously, was misunderstood. But it is also a bit of a course change, and this is a big story to steer. It does not turn on a dime. It's rather more like turning an ocean liner, I suspect. All I need are 30 or so degrees to starboard, but that's gonna take some effort and time. The latter commodity is especially scarce. And I had to call the pyrotechnics crew I didn't think I'd need for this book and inform them that, not only do I need them, I need them in Chapter Two. My goal is to do twelve hundred words today. There is not time for this silly fumbling about in the dark.
---
The dream was back last night (other dreams, too, but I'm only sharing or inflicting this one). Last night or this morning, I am not exactly sure. A long conversation with the orange man, and now I know he has a name, but I cannot recall what it is. Most of the conversation is also lost to me, as too much has faded. But I think, in the dream, he was once my lover, though I suspect I may have only been using him in some sort of set up I have yet to fully comprehend. He kept telling me how tired I look, how thin. I know this part happened after he was shot, because he isn't wearing a shirt, and there's a large bloodstained gauze pad taped across part of his right shoulder. And later, I was in a very narrow plastic shower stall, in my cabin on the balloon, I think, and I was crying and couldn't stop. I sat down in the lukewarm spray from the shower head, and my hands were shaking, and somewhere there was something like an alarm sounding, but the noise was made muffled and indistinct by the shower and the walls.
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I have an official date now for my upcoming appearance at the O'Neil Literary House at Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland. It will not be in April, but rather March 21-22 (Friday and Saturday). And I am also very pleased to report that I will be joined by Lovecraft scholar S.T. Joshi. It should be grand.
I am also happy to report that Shahrazad al-Anwar's Water of Life ceremony went extremely well last night. It was really an amazing thing, and I can't believe we pulled it off, and I'll post some screencaps later today, after the writing.
Now the platypus is glaring at me with a baleful eye, telling me that Ceiling Cat will not be pleased if I don't "get cracking," and, besides, I must have coffee. More later...
Postscript (1:44 p.m.): Klaus Nomi would have turned 64 today.
A writing day yesterday, but not one I should crow about. I did a meager 560 words on Chapter Two. I understand this chapter now, and that has lead to understanding much about the novel that, previously, was misunderstood. But it is also a bit of a course change, and this is a big story to steer. It does not turn on a dime. It's rather more like turning an ocean liner, I suspect. All I need are 30 or so degrees to starboard, but that's gonna take some effort and time. The latter commodity is especially scarce. And I had to call the pyrotechnics crew I didn't think I'd need for this book and inform them that, not only do I need them, I need them in Chapter Two. My goal is to do twelve hundred words today. There is not time for this silly fumbling about in the dark.
---
The dream was back last night (other dreams, too, but I'm only sharing or inflicting this one). Last night or this morning, I am not exactly sure. A long conversation with the orange man, and now I know he has a name, but I cannot recall what it is. Most of the conversation is also lost to me, as too much has faded. But I think, in the dream, he was once my lover, though I suspect I may have only been using him in some sort of set up I have yet to fully comprehend. He kept telling me how tired I look, how thin. I know this part happened after he was shot, because he isn't wearing a shirt, and there's a large bloodstained gauze pad taped across part of his right shoulder. And later, I was in a very narrow plastic shower stall, in my cabin on the balloon, I think, and I was crying and couldn't stop. I sat down in the lukewarm spray from the shower head, and my hands were shaking, and somewhere there was something like an alarm sounding, but the noise was made muffled and indistinct by the shower and the walls.
---
I have an official date now for my upcoming appearance at the O'Neil Literary House at Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland. It will not be in April, but rather March 21-22 (Friday and Saturday). And I am also very pleased to report that I will be joined by Lovecraft scholar S.T. Joshi. It should be grand.
I am also happy to report that Shahrazad al-Anwar's Water of Life ceremony went extremely well last night. It was really an amazing thing, and I can't believe we pulled it off, and I'll post some screencaps later today, after the writing.
Now the platypus is glaring at me with a baleful eye, telling me that Ceiling Cat will not be pleased if I don't "get cracking," and, besides, I must have coffee. More later...
Postscript (1:44 p.m.): Klaus Nomi would have turned 64 today.
