greygirlbeast: (Nar'eye)
Proceeding as it did from the dreams, yesterday was a Very Bad Day during which nothing was written or edited or even planned. Virtually nothing of note was accomplished. Yesterday got an L in my day planner, whether it earned one or not. The dreams this morning were almost as bad, or as good, depending upon one's frame of reference and desires. Safer to say, the dreams this morning were as segregated from this waking life and as possessed of their own integrity. I need to have the Ambien refilled. At least the Ambien makes it hard for me to remember the dreams.

I cannot afford to lose even one more day over the next two and a half months.

Push it away. Push it all away.

I did get this comment, from [livejournal.com profile] shadowmeursault, in response to yesterday's entry, which I thought contained some good questions, so I'm quoting it here:

do you know the "answers" to your own mysteries? do you ever feel the need to justify a suspension of disbelief, even to yourself? or are you content to leave your mysteries as mysteries, even to your own mind? an example being the hemispherical world in Murder of Angels. do you, as its creator, know all of its nuances, or are you content with the little mysteries it gives you?

I cannot think of a single example of me knowing anything much more than what has been revealed in the stories themselves. Which is to say, I'm not holding out. Sometimes, I've sort of felt like reviewers and readers suspected that I was...holding out. But I'm not. If it's not there on the page, I likely am as much in the dark as you. I only find the answers I find as I write. There are very few exceptions. For example, I only learned about the connection between Dancy Flammarion and Spyder Baxter, and the connection between the Weaver and Dancy's "angel," as I was writing "Bainbridge" last December and January. Of course, I still don't know if Spyder's father was "only" schizophrenic, or if Dancy's mother was only "schizophrenic." When these questions are left unanswered, I'm not being dishonest with the reader. I simply never found the answers myself. Usually, that's because I preferred to leave the questions unanswered in my own mind. Maybe someday I'll draw a map of the hemispherical world, but I have not yet. Mostly, it's a big blank for me. The mysteries mean more to me than the possible solutions. I'll take a really good question, filled with endless possibility, over a sterile concrete answer any day of the week.

On that note, while the mini-series was mediocre overall, I was impressed and pleased that so much ambiguity was allowed to persist at the conclusion of The Lost Room. I kept expecting some hackneyed explanation: the Occupant must have had dealings with the Roswell aliens; or Room 10 was the result of a Cold war experiment; or the Objects were the components of a time machine which had crashed in Gallup, New Mexico on May 4th, 1961. But no. We were allowed to keep the mystery. For that alone, The Lost Room is to be commended. I kept wishing that it could have been just a little smarter, just a little less TV, but at least it was halfway decent TV. Which is fortunate, as I gave it six hours and suffered through the same insufferable commercials for three nights running.

Merrilee, my NYC agent, sent me a box of cookies and brownies from Solomon's Gourmet Cookies in Chicago (since 1943). The jelly cookies were especially good.

I'll be adding more items to the eBay auctions today or tonight. Please have a look. Lately, I really haven't felt like dealing with the tedium and frustration that is eBay, but a check is long overdue. A rather large check from a publisher, which was due two months ago. And the guilty party is neither Subterranean Press nor is it Penguin. It's someone else. At this point, I do not expect to be paid until at least January. My need to be paid cannot be allowed to interfere with the vacations and religious holidays of others. So, it's back to eBay. I may even list a second Daughter of Hounds ARC, though I said I wouldn't. Of course, when I said that, I thought surely I'd be paid by Thanksgiving, at the latest. Silly nixar.

In response to one my comments yetserday about NeoPaganism, [livejournal.com profile] morganxpage wrote:

I think that this is caused by the same thing a lot of other problems within the NeoPagan (and particularly, the Wiccan) communities: non-conversion. Most NeoPagans never truly convert to their NeoPagan religions, instead holding on to their previously Western Judeo-Christian beliefs, often without realizing that that is what they're doing. NeoPaganism becomes a new surface mask for the previous belief system. So instead of truly appreciating and serving Nature, they hold on to the belief that Nature is meant to serve them, which stems from Biblical teachings.

I think you're right, only I'd not confine the source of the failed conversion problem to "Biblical teachings." This is a problem with humanity as a whole, not soley with those humans with a JudeoXtian background. Humans have always had a tendency to imagine the world as this thing which revolves around humans. I see it in all the world's religions, to one degree or another. The inability to grasp that the nonconscious universe is wholly indifferent to the needs and desires of humanity or of any other species, for that matter. The refusal to view Nature as Nature instead of anthropomorphizing it as Mother Nature or the Goddess or Gaia or what have you. There are no gods and there are no goddesses, excepting our concepts of them. There is only the universe, and humanity is only a component of that system. No one and nothing "out there" is watching out for us. And, looking at Pleistocene and Holocene extinction patterns on Earth, it's clear that most PaleoPagans were ultimately no less anthropocentric and short-sighted, in terms of viewing Nature as something to be exploited. It is a myth that all indigenous peoples the world over held Nature in higher regard than their own immediate well-being. The present extinction event began long before the arrival of Xtianity and the fires of industry, even before the development of agriculture. Ultimately, I am asking that humans stop behaving like humans, not that NeoPagans stop behaving like Xtains (though that would be nice, too). I'm asking people to hack millions of years of genetic hardwiring and reboot (I mean these things figuratively, not in the transhumanist, singularitarian sense). I'm expecting people to let go of the comforting lies. While I'm at it, I'll take the goddamn moon, as well.

Okay. I need to be working on something for the December Sirenia Digest. I need to get moving.

Postscript (2:15 p.m. CaST; 1:15 p.m. EST): Upon reflection, it seems as though, increasingly, this journal has become less about my writing and more about things I'm probably better off not discussing at all publicly. If nothing else, it's hard to imagine that I'm not boring the crap out of some people, while leading others to conclude I am a complete lunatic and alienating still others. So, from here on, I believe I will be confining myself primarily to that subject for which this journal was created — my writing and the promotion of my writing. The rest is likely only white noise, anyway.
greygirlbeast: (chi3)
Syd Barrett is dead. Personally, I've always much preferred the post-Barret phase of Pink Floyd and never had much interest in psychedelia. But still. Syd Barrett's dead. I don't know. It's just frelling weird.

Today was a bit of a trainwreck, and yet I still managed to finish "The Cryomancer's Daughter (Murder Ballad No. 3)." I did 1,679 words between 12:30 and 4 o'clock this afternoon and finally reached THE END. I can only hope that Sirenia Digest readers like it half as much as I do. At 7,080 words, I think we can safely call this one a full-fledged short story. It's certainly not a vignette. It's stuck somewhere between being a fairy tale and a ghost story and something else entirely. But yes, I'm pleased with it. Afterwards, I had to go over all the Alabaster pages one last time before it goes to the printer, and decide on the cloth and foil colours for the book's cover. The cloth will be the same "oatmeal" that was used for the trade of Frog Toes and Tentacles, and the foil ink will be some shade of pink. Yes, pink. If it doesn't work the way I hope it will, I have only myself to blame.

Meanwhile, Spooky was stuck at a garage on Moreland, having about a thousand things done to the car before we head for Rhode Island. She was there five and a half hours, during which time she endured a television that blared talk shows and Judge Judy, and she read four issues of Time and an undetermined number of People, but all she seems to recall is that Jessie "Monster Garage" James and Sandra Bullock are married. Which is to say, she had a very crappy day.

Last night after the movie, we stopped at one of our favourite Thai places, and Gray Gunter very politely introduced himself and told me that he'd e-mailed me that very afternoon. Home again, I discovered that Gray is a man of his word. He writes:

As a paleontologist I was wondering if you'd seen this article on Ann Coulter's "facts" about evolution in Godless. And if possibly reading them has given you a small stroke.

Here's the link to the Media Matters article.


To which I can only reply that, as a paleontologist, I have just about as much interest in Ann Coulter's views on evolutionary biology as a brain surgeon should have in, oh, let's say Oprah Winfrey's views on neurophysiology or as an astrophysicist might have in Paris Hilton's thoughts on cosmology. Which is to say, I could not possibly care less, as Ann Coulter's thoughts on the subject are, at best, entirely irrelevant to the science in question. Well, other than fanning the flames of the so-called "intelligent design" silliness and instilling doubt in scientifically illiterate people. She's done nothing more than trot out the same old creationist boondoggles, and anyone who takes her seriously deserves to be boondoggled or were boondoggled to start with. I have several very choice adjectives which fit Ms. Coulter quite well, but shall refrain this night from using them. Still...it was nice to meet Gray in person and hope perhaps to do so again.

Meanwhile, I must face the busy days ahead. On that foul note — Poppy, it's still there:

greygirlbeast: (chi6)
Paleontologists who don't specialize in dinosaurs or hominins have long since learned that, so far as the popular press is concerned, new discoveries rarely get much, if anything, in the way of media coverage. It isn't surprising, therefore, that the lay impression of prehistoric life and evolution generally involves that which is either titanic and scaly or somewhat furry and humanoid. Witness, for example, the recent attention received by new dinosaurs such as Erketu, Mapusaurus, Guanlong, and Juravenator. Likewise, the new hominins Homo floresiensis and Sahelanthropus tchadensis. Exceptions generally involve taxa which can be touted as dramatic "missing links" or examples of macroevolution and be used as fodder in the supposed evolution/creation "controversy."

And since such creatures make up only a tiny fraction of new fossil taxa described, most everything gets overlooked. For example, the truly wonderful lizard Bahndwivici ammoskius from the Eocene Green River Formation of Wyoming. The cover of the new issue of the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology went to the baby Triceratops, which truly is a wonderful thing, but no less wondrous is this 20-25 cm. lizard:


FMNH PR 2260, the holotype of Bahndwivici ammoskius. I accidentally cropped the end of the tail when I scanned the image.


One of the most exciting things about this remarkable fossil is that it's almost indistinguishable from the semi-aquatic present-day Chinese crocodile lizard, Shinisaurus crocodilurus. Jack Conrad, who describes Bahndwivici in the new JVP, writes that "Bahndwivici and Shinisaurus share morphological details in nearly every aspect of their known osteologies, despite being separated by more than 48 million years of time and living on separate continents. This is a remarkable degree of stasis within a clade." Indeed.

Conrad also states, in a particularly cogent and honest bit of scientific writing:

Generic separation of any two morphologically similar taxa is a sticky undertaking and the current case is no exception. Taxonomy is a tool for discussing clades of organisms, a tool that will be used differently by different systematists. Shinisaurus and FMNH PR 2260 are similar in all known aspects of their osteology [skeletons]. The differences...are morphological features that may be used to identify and distinguish the two taxa. Geographic and temporal distance further help to separate these species and to justify their separation at the generic level. In the end, however, some researchers are likely to refer to both these shinisaurids as Shinisaurus and others will adopt the recommendation of generic distinctiveness given here.

Oh, here's a shot of a modern-day Chinese crocodile lizard:



By the way, the genus name of this new fossil lizard comes from Latinization of the Shoshoni Bah-n-dooi-vee-chee, or "handsome in the water." The species name is derived from two Greek words, Ammos ("sandy") and skia ("shade"). Hopefully, I have bored none of you to excess. It's just that sometimes I get very, very excited about these things. These stones and bones, this grand continuity of life, are my most reliable medicine against the black-and-white monotony of words...
greygirlbeast: (santinofez)
Well, the good news is that cigarette sales have fallen to a 55-year low. On the other hand (there always has to be that damned other hand), a recent Gallup Poll indicates that 50% of Americans "reject an evolutionary explanation for the origin of humans and believe that God created humans at one time 'as is.'" What's interesting about the latter, though, is that the poll also found that "Those with lower levels of education, those who attend church regularly, those who are 65 and older, and those who identify with the Republican Party are more likely to believe in the biblical view of the origin of humans than are those who do not share these characteristics." This should only come as a surprise to those who haven't been paying attention, but additional confirmation of the obvious is always comforting.

Yesterday, Spooky scored a sampler previewing the new Dresden Dolls album, Yes, Virginia, due in stores on April 25th. Thank you, Criminal Records. Me, I spent most of the day attending to writerly loose ends. A bunch of stuff I need to send off to Steve Jones in England, e-mails that needed writing and answering, editing "Untitled 20," writing a rough draft of the prologue for Sirenia Digest #4. It was a details sort of day. We did have a nice walk. The tulip trees are all in bloom. On the way back from the p.o., I saw Robert, who did my labret, in the parking lot at Sevananda (our local organic foods co-op). He's the latest thing to make me wish I'd commit to putting my hair in dreads. The day was warm and bright and good. Spooky made cheese ravioli and broiled asparagus for dinner.

And yeah, Santino didn't win. But I honestly think he deserved to win. I'm not just sayin' that because he rocks my socks. He had the best line. Yes, it was more refined than many of his earlier pieces, but how many times have the judges and Tim Gunn told him to listen to what they're saying? And the clothes were absolutely frelling gorgeous. Going into the final three, with Nick inexplicably out of the running, I figured Daniel was a sure bet. And, given his performance all season, I figured he deserved it. However, his line wasn't up to his own standards. Still, it was better than almost everything Chloe did. Chloe's victory is yet another triumph of mediocrity and blandness over vision and individuality. This is the way the world works, and me, I'm still Santino's tralk and Michael Kors can bite my skinny grey ass.

Wait. Ewww. No, he can't. But Santino can. Anytime.

The insomnia is back. I'm not having trouble getting to sleep. Spooky was trying to read Dracula to me last night, and I couldn't stay awake for more than a few pages. But I'm waking up too early for the time I'm going to sleep. This morning I was awake at 8 a.m. (that's 7 a.m. EST to anyone not on Caitlín Standard Time). I blinked at the iBook for a while and then rewrote the Wikipedia entry on the basal nodosaurid Cedarpelta bilbeyhallorum. I've got to watch this not sleeping or I'll wind up back in the state, mentally and physically, I was in towards the end of all the Daughter of Hounds editing. At least I've had to avoid the embrace of the Green Fairy since Saturday, while the labret's been healing (no alcohol). I am taking today "off," as I've been working eight days straight and beginning to feel it.

I wanted to say thanks to the people who've commented on yesterday's dream entry. Especially [livejournal.com profile] mockingbirdgrrl, who wrote, Your statement, "Magic is communication. Magic is the one-way communication between any living organism and the cosmos. We speak and the cosmos doesn't listen, but we speak because there's nothing else we can do." resonates soundly. I kept rereading it, thinking I'd heard that somewhere before. Here it is, from Simon Black's The Book of Frank: "Because in reality, there is no response to our howling, not here. But that fact is intolerable. The mind invents a response." I've never read Simon Black, but yes, exactly. Consciousness cannot help but howl. I know I've been howling my head off for my whole goddamn life. And, so far, the only response beyond wishful thinking has been the beauty and profundity of Nature and Art* that's right here for anyone who'll but open their eyes and see the small fraction that's visible. I know my howling consciousness will always long for something more, some two-way communication, but I'm beginning to accept (in the words of Elizabeth Bear) the apparent truth that "Nobody is coming for you." My dream was fascinating and helpful, but it was only me talking to me, my unconscious and perhaps a Jungian collective attempting to aid my clumsy, fretting conscious mind. Of course, it was also the voice of the "goddess," the Dark Mother and Father and Divine Androgyne (thank you, [livejournal.com profile] morganxpage), but only because I am a part of the cosmos, as are you and that lightning-struck tree and the crows and everything living and non-living, every molecule and atom and sub-atomic speck and particle and wave...and, well, I think you see where I'm headed with this. Sagan said it best. "Star stuff."

Postscript: Thanks to everyone who's sent me a chat invite on gmail, but I honestly don't have time for any additional internet activity. Really. Already, I'm allowing LJ/Blogger to eat great mouthfuls of it.

*Truthfully, though, Art is merely a subset of Nature.
greygirlbeast: (new chi)
The secrets of evolution are death and time — the deaths of enormous numbers of lifeforms that were imperfectly adapted to the enviroment; and time for a long succession of small mutations that were by accident adaptive, time for the slow accumulation of patterns of favorable mutations. Part of the resistance to Darwin and Wallace derives from our difficulty in imagining the passage of the millennia, much less the aeons. What does seventy million years mean to beings who live only one-millionth as long? We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it forever. — Carl Sagan


Charles Darwin (1809-1882)

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greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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