Caitlín R. Kiernan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greygirlbeast) wrote2011-08-29 01:32 pm
greygirlbeast) wrote2011-08-29 01:32 pm
Entry tags:
Irene Day 5.1
My head is all fire and fucking molten nails this morning. I am the Good Ship Righteous Fucking Indignation. My threshold for douchebags will stand at zero for the foreseeable future. We're talking hellfire-and-brimstone Old Testament shit. Today, I am the nastiest pirate ship that ever plowed the Seven, and we're out for blood, and there will be rape and pillaging and cities will burn, just because.
Oh, I'm fine. And how are you?
I have the first line of a poem: Murder is underrated. Likely, that's all I'll ever write of it, but it's a good opening line.
I think I might have frightened my agent, finishing Blood Oranges so quickly. For my part, no, there will be no celebration. The speed was the result of desperation and necessity, and it was not an artful speed, and I would advise no one to follow in those footsteps. Most people who write multiple novels in a year...well, they write crap that looks like they write multiple novels in a year. They churn out. They produce. The paranormal romance, spawned by an unholy fusion of the death of "genre horror" and a dip in the romance market. But, I suppose, given that Blood Oranges is me giving ParaRom the "fuck you" finger, I suppose it's sickly appropriate I wrote the book as quickly as I did. "Oh, this is how you do it? With your hands tied behind your back, typing with your toes?"
There is no romance in Blood Oranges – which is funny, because my novels usually have romantic relationships, though they're adult ones. Not the schmaltzy, kiddy shit people like Patrica Briggs sell. Regardless, in Blood Oranges there are glimmers of kindness, but it always ends badly, and it ends badly with a sledgehammer. I think it's sort of like an episode of Angel directed by Quentin Tarantino, after he's been on an all night Jägermeister binge with Lars von Trier and David Lynch. Okay, no. It's not that good, but maybe you get the picture. There's Ian McShane in a very important role, and the soundtrack is a collaboration between Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and Einstürzende Neubauten. There's very little gore. It's sort of silly, and sometimes it's funny, if you can laugh at car wrecks.
But, no. No romance. But there is a vicious, merciless sort of concern.
I don't know. I'm just saying shit.
Oh, hey. And if you're a goddamn 'shipper, just fucking butch up and admit it, okay?
Me, I'm going to wander away and revel in the beautiful devastation Madame Irene has wrought upon the race of men.
Not Your Solace,
Aunt Beast
I once knew a girl
In the years of my youth,
With eyes like the summer,
All beauty and truth.
In the morning I fled,
Left a note and it read,
"Someday you will be loved."
I cannot pretend that I felt any regret,
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend,
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread.
"Someday you will be loved."
You'll be loved, you'll be loved,
Like you never have known.
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams.
Just a series of blurs,
Like I never occurred.
"Someday you will be loved."
You may feel alone when you're falling asleep,
And everytime tears roll down your cheeks.
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet.
"And Someday you will be loved" –– Death Cab For Cutie
(I love this song.)
Oh, I'm fine. And how are you?
I have the first line of a poem: Murder is underrated. Likely, that's all I'll ever write of it, but it's a good opening line.
I think I might have frightened my agent, finishing Blood Oranges so quickly. For my part, no, there will be no celebration. The speed was the result of desperation and necessity, and it was not an artful speed, and I would advise no one to follow in those footsteps. Most people who write multiple novels in a year...well, they write crap that looks like they write multiple novels in a year. They churn out. They produce. The paranormal romance, spawned by an unholy fusion of the death of "genre horror" and a dip in the romance market. But, I suppose, given that Blood Oranges is me giving ParaRom the "fuck you" finger, I suppose it's sickly appropriate I wrote the book as quickly as I did. "Oh, this is how you do it? With your hands tied behind your back, typing with your toes?"
There is no romance in Blood Oranges – which is funny, because my novels usually have romantic relationships, though they're adult ones. Not the schmaltzy, kiddy shit people like Patrica Briggs sell. Regardless, in Blood Oranges there are glimmers of kindness, but it always ends badly, and it ends badly with a sledgehammer. I think it's sort of like an episode of Angel directed by Quentin Tarantino, after he's been on an all night Jägermeister binge with Lars von Trier and David Lynch. Okay, no. It's not that good, but maybe you get the picture. There's Ian McShane in a very important role, and the soundtrack is a collaboration between Nick Cave, Tom Waits, and Einstürzende Neubauten. There's very little gore. It's sort of silly, and sometimes it's funny, if you can laugh at car wrecks.
But, no. No romance. But there is a vicious, merciless sort of concern.
I don't know. I'm just saying shit.
Oh, hey. And if you're a goddamn 'shipper, just fucking butch up and admit it, okay?
Me, I'm going to wander away and revel in the beautiful devastation Madame Irene has wrought upon the race of men.
Not Your Solace,
Aunt Beast
I once knew a girl
In the years of my youth,
With eyes like the summer,
All beauty and truth.
In the morning I fled,
Left a note and it read,
"Someday you will be loved."
I cannot pretend that I felt any regret,
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend,
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread.
"Someday you will be loved."
You'll be loved, you'll be loved,
Like you never have known.
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams.
Just a series of blurs,
Like I never occurred.
"Someday you will be loved."
You may feel alone when you're falling asleep,
And everytime tears roll down your cheeks.
But I know your heart belongs to someone you've yet to meet.
"And Someday you will be loved" –– Death Cab For Cutie
(I love this song.)
no subject
I'd like the rest of it.
I dreamed you were dead, so I'm glad you're only raging.
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I'd like the rest of it.
I would to. It's very Dorothy Parker.
I dreamed you were dead
Oh, you tease.
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Do you have a pirate flag? The last one I created was for some space pirates in my Friday night game, the Quadranium Corsairs: skull in a spacesuit helmet with a shattered faceplate, orange glows in the eyesockets.
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Do you have a pirate flag?
Nope.
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I had no idea that pirates had constitutional democracy before the United States even existed.
Indeed, they did.
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Ok, now I am impatient to read it. }:P
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Ok, now I am impatient to read it.
It's not even sold yet. Be impatient to read The Drowning Girl.
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Done!
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As I said, it's not yet sold. So, no.
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How have I missed that?
I think there's confusion between The Drowning Girl and Blood Oranges.
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Oddly, I've never heard the term "shipper" before and had to look it up.
I think it's sort of like an episode of Angel directed by Quentin Tarantino, after he's been on an all night Jägermeister binge with Lars von Trier and David Lynch.
This sounds great.
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relationshipper; One who believes there is, was, should, and could be a relationship between 2 characters in a certain fandom.
They give examples like Harry and Hermione in Harry Potter getting together and Mulder and Scully from X-Files.
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Or...and I meant this...someone so obsessed with a given relationship in a TV series, or with unresolved sexual tension...that the dissolution of the relationship, or continuation of the unresolved tension, could lead to them no longer watching the series.
They're like writers of fanfic, who think they have some say in the matter.
"fanfic"
So you dislike amateur writers ?
Don't you like the idea of someone expanding upon an established piece of fiction ?
It's kinda like flattery, right ?
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Another vote for the rest of this poem. Great line.
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Maybe this could be another Question At Large. "Finish this poem..."
Not that I'd be submitting. I'm totally inept at verse.