greygirlbeast: (Default)
How does one forget that she's supposed to be in Manhattan on Tuesday? That is, she forgets until almost the last minute,'s all pretty embarrassing. But I do. Have to be in Manhattan tomorrow, to see my agent and visit with Peter Straub and so on and so forth. I think it's a matter of inertia, the forgetting. The objects remaining at rest tending to remain at rest half of inertia, I mean. Not being one of the traveling authors, but one of the "homebody" authors – id est, one of the reclusive, antisocial, and sporadically agoraphobic ones. I am well acquainted with authors who jet about the world, while I rarely leave the apartment. I'd blame the TSA, but I'm pretty sure the rise of their New and Improved Draconian policies merely worsened what was already there.

It's a shame I can't blame the motherfucking fascist TSA.

So, tomorrow we take the train to NYC, but we'll be back on Wednesday evening.


On the subject of eBay: Please note, as stated on all our auction pages, we do not take checks or money orders. We also do not make exceptions, especially if you win an auction and then fail to contact us for three days. We only take PayPal. Here's the main reason why: Around here, money is almost always tight. And when we see an auction end, especially a "high-ticket item" like the recently auctioned boxed, lettered, double-signed edition of In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers (something we'd never before auctioned), we immediately factor that income into our budget. Because PayPal immediately sees to it that we're paid. So...please don't bid unless you have a working PayPal account, with sufficient money in it to cover your bid. Doing otherwise will cause us great inconvenience and, I might add, reflect poorly upon you. Wow. I haven't been that coherent in days.


If you are so foolish as to even imagine you'd like to be an author, you need to read Nick Mamatas' Starve Better: Surviving the Endless Horror of the Writing Life. There's even a free digital version. It includes his rather brilliant essay, "Against Craft," which I adore, having always loathed the idea that writing is a "craft," and not an art.


Rain, rain, rain. All we have is rain and chill.

What was there to yesterday? There was that other leaning paper tower in my office, which, it turned out, was several leaning towers' worth of filing. Working from basic stratigraphic principles – specifically, the law of superposition, so thank you Nicolas Steno – that nothing much had been filed since at least June 2010. Which really says a lot. Back to inertia. Anyway, you file, and you find things you've lost that you never even knew you had.

Apologies to Rift folks. I just wasn't, for the most part, up to it yesterday. Mostly, I wanted to spend the day hiding in the bathtub under several layers of blankets. So, I wasn't around yesterday. The good news is that I slept last night, almost nine hours, thanks to one of the pills I prefer to avoid (mostly because it's not cheap). I'm not okay, but I'm better. Dreams aside, I'm better. Another night like that, I'll be much better. A week of that, I'll be functional again.

Last night, we watched the last two DVDs from Friday's binge at Acme Video. The first was Woody Allen's pitch-perfect Broadway Danny Rose (1984), and the second (last of the five) was Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine and Fred MacMurray in Billy Wilder's The Apartment (1960), one of the films you'd find on my most-favorite-ever list. Both were new to Spooky. Seeing Broadway Danny Rose again, I remembered the first time I ate at the Carnegie Deli on 7th Avenue (Midtown NYC). It was very late at night, or early the next morning. May the 13th, 1998, which was a rainy Saturday. Unless you say it was the rainy pre-dawn hours of May the 14th, 1998, a Sunday, which is more likely. It was me, Christa Faust, some Mexican wrestler dude (masked, even), and Bernie Wrightson. I'd spent the night in a latex bodysuit and an Israeli gas mask, and was very, very dehydrated. That's a small bit of a long story. I'd just turned thirty-four.

A few years there, I spent so much time in New York.

Last night, after the movies, I lay on the floor in the front parlor listening to the rain. Just before bed, we ate fresh pineapple.


What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind...
(William Wordsworth, "Ode: Intimations of Immortality")

On the Eve of Departure,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (Narcissa)
We have snow coming. Between 3 and 6 inches. I'm really tired of this.

Anyway, yesterday Spooky and I worked all day and night, until 12:04 a.m. EST (and then I worked some more) to get the "final" manuscript for Two Worlds and In Between finished and off to subpress. And then, when I went to bed about 3 a.m., I realized there wasn't a story for 1998. I have no idea how that happened, but it did. So, today I'm adding either "Salmagundi (New York City, 1981)" or "Paedomorphosis" to the manuscript. Bill will be updating the book's page soon, with the final (there's that word again) Table of Contents.

It seems like everyone is very, very happy with both the collection and its cover. [ profile] kylecassidy and I will be shooting the author's photo in Boston on April 2nd.

I think this will not be a linear entry. Too much exhaustion from last night has followed me through my dreams into this day. I'm struggling for coherency. Today is absolutely the last day I can afford to spend on the collection this month. And it can't be a day like yesterday.


Friday will mark the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. In 1998, I wrote about the fire in The Dreaming #28, "Dreams the Burning Dream." On Friday, Spooky and I will be ringing a bell at 4:45 p.m. EST, the exact time the first alarm bells were sounded a century ago.


Only 59 hours remain in our Kickstarter "The Tale of the Ravens" project! Yesterday, one of the two remaining $500 slots was claimed, which leaves only one, and we hope it will be claimed today. We're very, very excited. Neither of us expected Kickstarter to go this well. I thought we might just barely make our goal. Which just goes the show you. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's donated so far, and again, please eyeball that last $500 slot, with which come many goodies.


Saw an awful — and I mean fucking awful – movie last night, after all the editing. Ray Gower's first (and I hope last) film, Dark Corners (2006). It stars Thora Birch. This is not the high point of her career.


Anyway, kittens, there's probably more I was going to say, but I'll say it tomorrow. When I'm more awake and less tired. Right now, I'm going to figure out how to plug a hole in time. But that's okay, I have my sonic screwdriver and a bow tie (bow ties are cool), a cup of coffee and a Siamese cat.

Blearily Trudging Onward,
Aunt Beast

Postscript (1:48 p.m.): The last $500 slot was just taken! But we have exactly one of the $150 slots remaining. Doubt it'll last for long.

Also, I desperately need a top hat for the April 2nd shoot in Boston, as mine was destroyed in a horrid freak accident. A lot top hat, like in the cover painting, like Johnny Depp wears in Dead Man. And there's probably no time to order one, so a hat shop or a loan would be ideal. My cranium's about 23 1/4" around (yeah, big head).
greygirlbeast: (chi2)
On the 15th, I mentioned finally having parted with the deteriorating latex catsuit I got in Manhattan at a fetish shop called Body Worship, way back in the summer of '98. I just found some photos that were taken in the stairwell of the apartment building where I was staying, at [ profile] faustfatale's mom's place. I still have the mesh coat (Catherine Coatney) and the gas-mask (Israeli army surplus) and the steel-toed, 20-eye burgundy rub-off boots, but, alas, the catsuit is no more. Except for these photos (behind the cut). Now, [ profile] setsuled, you can collect the whole set!

Cybergoth Caitlín )

This is the outfit I wore to the release party for Silk and Christa's first novel, Control Freak, which was held @ Mother (now-defunct) in the meat-packing district. You should have seen the two of us and our masked-and-tuxedoed luchador escort trying to hail a frelling cab. Finally, we had to employ a relatively normal-looking decoy, but when the driver got a look at the three of us, he actually tried to get away before we could get into the vehicle. Fortunately, we were swift.

Oh, and here's eBay link again...
greygirlbeast: (chidown)
This morning, the sun is very, very bright. No, really. Brighter than it ought to be. Maybe we're due an unexpected, premature supernova. Or maybe it's only that I have a slight hangover. Either way, I shouldn't have opened the frelling office curtains. Spooky just came back from the post office and I asked her if it looked like supernova weather out there. But she told me to shut the hell up, which happens more than you might think. "Fine," she said, seeing what I'd typed. "Go ahead. Make me out to be an evil bitch." Anyway, she didn't return empty handed. She brought me a very large envelope from Paul Riddell, filled with all manner of cool dren, including copies of Discover Texas Dinosaurs and Dinosaurs of Australia and New Zealand, for which I am very grateful, along with an assortment of take-out menus, stickers, postcards, a Burgess Shale Community day bookmark thingy, a nifty pair of 3-D specs for a special 3-D ep of Medium (a nice sentiment, but people with one eye can't use these), and assorted fliers. I <3 packages like this.

I think I'll be a pirate today. Arrrr! Yeah, that feels good. What did you do on Supernova Day? Oh, I was a pirate. Arrrrr!

And continuing the jaunty nautical theme, here's a photo that Jada sent me yesterday to prove she'd gone snorkeling. I can't remember where it was taken. The Virgin Islands or somewhere like that.

This is just sort of going around in circles, isn't it? I suppose I should blame the liquor, but I'd rather blame the damage the increased solar output (supernova, remember?) is doing to my frontal lobe. The tar-paper shingles on the roof next door have begun to melt, and a flaming squirrel just tumbled over the edge, screaming some shit about the end of the world. I hate that chittery squirrel accent. Like Bubbles, I can understand Squirrelish. Unlike Bubbles, that's my only superpower.

When I threw out the litter box yesterday, I also (finally) threw out the latex catsuit I bought in NYC back in May '98. It was Christa's fault. She forced me to spend $500 on the thing, back in the days when I was writing for Vertigo and had more money than sense. I wore it at the NYC book-release party for Silk and then again at Convergence V in New Orleans in '99. But the years took their toll upon it, as years are wont to do with ultra-thin latex garments in hot and humid climates. It was no longer even remotely wearable. I did keep a small swatch, just because I have so much trouble throwing dren out. There are still photos of me wearing said catsuit up somewhere on the old website, but I'll be frelled if I can find the URL.

Whoops. There went another flaming squirrel. Damn.

I think I'm going to go away and come back later, because we both know that I'm not making a lot of sense. Of course, if the Earth is suddenly consumed in a fireball of superheated plasma, I'm off the hook. Meanwhile, check out our new eBay auctions. We're only selling a few copies of The Dry Salvages trade at that reduced price, so you might want to act now. Before the sun explodes. But, yeah, please have a look at the auctions. Please. Thank you.


greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

    1 234
56 7 891011


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 21st, 2019 10:42 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios