Caitlín R. Kiernan

It's dratted Sunday, kittens. COMMENT! I was up until after four ayem, and didn't wake up until fucking noon, so this is going to be very goddamn brief. Weekends are for pussies:

1) Yesterday I managed to write only a little better than a thousand words on "Ex Libris," because I spent over an hour trying to figure out exactly when a particular Providence church burned (I know the exact date on which it was demolished, after the fire).

2) I woke grateful that this was Monday, only to discover that it isn't.

3) For Sirenia Digest #72, I want to do another "Question @ Hand" feature, as we haven't done one in quite a while, and I actually have fun with them. Yeah, fun. Imagine that. Anyway, I'm taking requests. That is, it would be great if people had suggestions, as I'm drawing a blank. So, you know, something along the lines of "What if you had me alone for twenty-four hours with nothing but a spork and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and I was hogtied, and no one would ever know what you did, what would you do to me?" Only more imaginative. That sort of thing, in keeping with the flavor of the digest, which means none of that "I just want to read to you (or let you write) and make you a cup of tea" nonsense. Get your hands dirty. I do it every day.

4) Sunny and chilly here in Providence. "We are shrouded all about with the hideous folds of autumn's death shroud!" See, I can still write bad goth poetry.

5) With any luck, "Ex Libris" isn't only me reworking "The Bone's Prayer" and "Sanderlings." This thought occurred to me yesterday.

6) Today, it has been six years since the day I completed Daughter of Hounds.

7) And, finally, you ought have a look at Sonya Taaffe's (sovay) new poetry collection, A Mayse-Bikhl. Check out her blog entry on the chapbook. Meanwhile:

You walk on, with dybbuks in you, even when they are yourself. You don't believe in the Messiah, but you keep looking to the east. The life of the world to come feels a lot like this one. You talk to yourself, because someone should always be telling the story. The only person who can take that word off your forehead is you.

Looking East,
Aunt Beast

Yesterday, I wrote 1,020 words on "The Prayer of Ninety Cats."

Very cold morning here in Providence. I dreamt of snow last night. Well, not last night, but, rather, this morning. The insomnia had me awake until about 5 ayem. It finally took Sonata for me to find sleep.

Not enough milk for the coffee this morning, so it's sort of blackish. And I hate black coffee. Mostly, I hate coffee, but milk (or, preferably, half and half) makes it bearable. Anyway, there would have been enough milk, but we made pumpkin muffins last night. Not that I'm that fond of pumpkin muffins.

Last night, Spooky read me Kelly Link's "The Constable of Abal," which is another amazing story. It's like this woman is incapable of getting it wrong. There's a passage I want to quote:

You could kill a man and you could lie and steal as Zilla had done, and if you lit enough candles at the temples, you could be forgiven. But someone who ate little devils and caught ghosts with ribbons and charms was a witch, and witches were damned.

Which pretty much sums up my sentiments on the hypocrisy of...well, lots of stuff.

Right now, winter is a stone about my neck.

The weather has finally turned genuinely cold here in Providence.

I suppose I can write the entry I meant to write yesterday, given I have not yet today been jabbed in the eye with the pointy stick of a homophobic "review." Maybe that happens later, late this afternoon, or tonight.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, which include Study #2 for Yellow. [This entry was just interrupted by the discovery of a mouse in Spooky's workroom...time for humane traps, as the mice are bold and apparently the cats can't be bothered].

Two good nights sleep in a row, so I suppose only getting four hours last night was to be expected.

Yesterday, I wrote an impressive 1,664 words on Chapter One of The Drowning Girl. This is the first time I've had the nerve to go back to work on the novel since August 4th. I scrapped everything I wrote this summer and started over again. But, I think I have finally found the voice of this novel. It's a new voice, another first-person narrative, but quite distinct from Sarah Crowe (though India Phelps is another goddamn lesbian, so buyer beware). Anyway, here's hoping the third or fourth time's the charm, because I've gotten the third extension of this novel's deadline, and I need to have something coherent for my publisher come March. I have set a goal of writing at least 1,500 words a day, every day, at least for the next month, a thing I've not attempted since early 2007, and which I swore I'd never inflict upon myself again.

Sirenia Digest #59 went out to subscribers last night. Two new stories, which I hope readers will enjoy.



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A fine Halloween this year. I worked on the digest, but afterwards I read the first volume of Kirkman and Moore's The Walking Dead ("Days Gone Bye"). I followed that with Thomas Ligotti's "The Medusa." As we'd declared Sunday night a Kid Night, we had hot dogs and candy (too much candy) and watched "scary" movies (I use the quotations because I rarely find "scary" movies scary, which is okay, because I enjoy them on many other levels). In fact, we made is a quadruple feature! We began with Jon Harris' The Descent: Part 2 (2009), which wasn't as good as the first film (not as atmospheric, and we see the monsters far too clearly this time), but was still a decent sequel. There are some interesting parallels between The Descent/The Descent: Part 2 and Alien/Aliens. Next up, we watched Jim Mickle's Mulberry Street (2006), a surprisingly effective low-budget affair which did a much better job of portraying NYC than most big budget films set in NYC manage. We followed that with Mark A. Lewis' The Thaw (2009), which was better than it should have been, given how much it borrows from Carpenter's The Thing and a particular episode of The X-Files ("Ice," Season 1, Episode 8). Finally, we finished up with the astoundingly ridiculous Vampires: Los Muertos, directed by Tommy Lee Wallace (2002). John Bon Jovi is a freelance vampire hunter with a surf board; the only thing this film really had going for it was Arly Jover's performance as a blue-eyed, sexy vampire (Jover also played a vampire in 1998's Blade). So, yeah. A pretty damn good Halloween.

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Last night, we saw the first episode of AMC's The Walking Dead, adapted from the aforementioned graphic novel of the same name. I was impressed. Not only was the first episode extremely faithful to the source material, it brought a new depth to the story. And it's pretty cool seeing a post-apocalyptic Atlanta. However, I will say that I'm dangerously near total burnout on zombie films, good or bad or otherwise. I think we've reach that point with zombies that we reached with vampires in the early '90s. I fear it's time to step away from the zombies for a while (though, of course, the cultural fascination at work here is rife with potential insight).

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After The Walking Dead, I played CoX, and got Erzsébetta from Level 29 to Level 38. Plus, there was some good rp.

Okay. Time to write.

There's cold air on the way, but this early afternoon it's 74F and sunny, and my office window is open.

The comments from yesterday's post were a little overwhelming, and I didn't reply to all the ones I ought to have replied to, I know. The kind words are appreciated, but I was left feeling as though I were fishing for compliments...or something. Which isn't at all what I was doing. Anyway, whatever. Thank you. I think my favorite comment came from catconley, who asked, "Does the tweeter also think that Stephen Hawking is a computer?" Brava.

Seeing there was no hope of working yesterday, I left the House, and we went to What Cheer (Wayland Square) and the Curious Mermaid (Wickenden Street), looking for the things that will be making up the Dancy box. The things we aren't making. Little religious tchotchkes, a black plastic dog, an old postcard. This started out as just something extra to offer with a lettered copy of Alabaster (letter X). But now it's grown into a piece of art in its own right. Spooky's cousin Ben is sending us the perfect cigar box from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. It was a warm, drizzly day Outside, and I spent most of it sorting through postcards from the forties and fifties and sixties.

Jada sent us voodoo dolls for Halloween.

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Mixed feelings about last night's episode of Glee. On the one hand, it was neat. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a huge part of my life long ago. Somewhere there are photos of me as Magenta. Oh, here they are (thank you Spooky):




"The Time Warp"



"Touch-a Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me"



Anyway, I'm perplexed at the word "transsexual" having been replaced with "sensational." And they somehow managed to do the whole thing without cross-dressing, which is sort of like doing Doctor Zhivago without Russians. Maybe I'm not perplexed. Maybe I'm only disappointed. Oh, and saw the new Caprica, but I did so immediately after getting the news that "SyFy" has canceled the show, and that the final five episodes won't air until early 2011. May I call this SyFyail? The show was too smart, and too off-beat, and the money can be better spent making shitty movies and reality shows, I'm sure. Caprica will go down after only a single season.

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Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thanks.

Sometimes, my heart's just not in an entry. Like now.

Argh. Up much too late last night. Not even insomnia, just too dumb to go to bed. Just too unwilling to sleep. I resent that we sleep half our lives away. Or a third. Or what the hell ever. I resent it. Add in the time we spend sitting on toilets...it's depressing as fuck. But, on the other hand, only one seizure in the past couple of months.

I also hate how having a psychiatrist appointment at 4:30 p.m. makes it impossible for me to get any work done beforehand. I did try to work on the interview, but only made it through one question (on magick). I may soon refuse to give interviews for a while. My answers are becoming too angry, too combative.

I fell asleep with a new painting in my head. Black Ships Ate the Sky. Yeah, inspired by the Current 93 album. And other things. I can see the painting clearly. And I know this one will be too personal to sell.

Just before sunset yesterday the light over Providence was amazing. I wish I'd had the camera with me. It was just...brilliant. The soft orange autumn light, the deep blue-gray clouds , the darkening sky showing in between, the brick buildings on College Hill glowing like hot embers. At Whole Foods, Spooky picked up a second pumpkin, because we're having two jack-o'-lanterns this year. Sea gulls were black silhouettes above the river.

I found a new favorite band yesterday, and they're right here in Rhode Island. Have a listen to Brown Bird. Actually, it was Spooky who found them, then pointed me towards them.

But I know that who I was is who I'm not and I will never be again.

Ebay auctions continue, because taxes were paid. There's also Spooky's Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries Etsy shop. Cool Halloween stuff that goes away on November 1st.

Angry this morning over parents who try to force their gay or transgendered children to be straight or cisgendered. Or, hell. Parents who force children who wear blue socks when they want to wear green socks. What the hell ever. Parents who hold their love hostage, who dangle it like a carrot on a stick. So, this is my message for the day, in case anything is listening: Love is not conditional. No, not ever. And what is conditional is not love.

Same rules apply to so-called "loving" gods.

Oh, a good thing from yesterday. A package arrived from Robin in Massachusetts. A fourth printing of the edition of Lovecraft's Dagon, and Other Macabre Tales (Arkham House, 1965), with the Lee Brown Coye cover I spoke of in my keynote speech at the Lovecraft Film Festival. Before this, I only had a much later Arkham House edition (1986, corrected text), but this is the edition that brought me to HPL, way back in 1981, so thank you.

Hello, Natasha.

Everyone who expressed an interest in joining Eyes of Sylvanas, Spooky and I will be doing the Alterac Valley battlefield tonight (and maybe tomorrow night, too), because it's Call to Arms this weekend, and Shaharrazad and Suraa need more epic gear. If you're level 80, feel free to join the team. And to all those who are not yet Level 80, we'll arrange some sort of meet up...somewhere. Just send one of us a pm inworld.

The platypus says shut the hell up. So, see you tomorrow. Today, I've got to finish "At the Reef."

I'm going to do my best to make this short, as I don't need to spend energy on this entry that ought to be spent writing.

I've gotten nothing much written since we returned home on October 5th. And now I have to push to get Sirenia Digest out on time. I only need two good ideas. It's a lot harder than it looks. Especially the part where you take the ideas and make them into story. Oh, and suggestions are always welcome, but keep in mind we're talking vignettes under 3,000 words, so don't go getting expansive.

Someday I'll compile a chapbook devoted entirely to absurd, degrading, and insulting writing gigs I've been offered and turned down. Most recently, referred to, in a veiled manner, in the entries of September 28th and 29th. An offer to write graphic novel tie-ins to a Big Name Paranormal Romance Writer's crappy novels. Mostly, when I realized what the job actually was, I was dumbfounded. Have I not made it excruciatingly clear that I want nothing to do with trashy paranormal romance novels? Have I not also made it clear I consider them a blight on fantasy and dark fiction, a disease that I hope will pass very soon? More importantly, who could possibly read my fiction, and claim to be a fan, and then imagine I'd consider working anywhere near that wretched subgenre? It makes my head spin, the absence of logical connections at work in a scenario like this. Anyway, I said no, which was fairly easy, because the pay rate was abominably low, with no royalties whatsoever, and I'd have had to set aside real work, and kowtow to the whims of the author in question and her editor while scripting inane stories from inane outlines, because of all this..and have I mentioned how I feel about paranormal romance?

And no, I do not care how many books you've sold. It's not that I'm above whoring, but I'm not a cheap whore. Nor am I an undiscerning whore. And if what I've said here offends you as a writer, write better books. If it offends you as a reader, read better books.

Really guys. Ducks in a row, please.

No, Caitlín that was not particularly politic.

Remember what they say,
There`s no shortcut to a dream.
It`s all blood and sweat,
And life is what you manage in between.

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Yesterday afternoon, hoping to see some fall foliage, we drove to north to Woonsocket, then into Massachusetts, through Millville, Uxbridge, Northridge, Whitinsville, Saundersville, Sutton, and Millbury. But we chose our route very poorly, and were never able to clear the quasi-rural, but really sort of suburban, sprawl that lies south of Worcester and west of Boston. About the only good part of the day was returning to Rolling Dam in the Blackstone River Gorge, in Millville, which we first visited back on July 16th. We should have just stayed there, instead of seeking leaves between the patches of squalor. Anyway, I have photos, but I'm going to wait until tomorrow to post them.

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Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thanks. Also, Spooky has listed her Halloween-related wares in her Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries shop, but they will only be up until November 1st. So, check that out, as well.

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On Saturday, I searched for ideas for vignettes. I worked on a long interview. I read two stories in Haunted Legends (I'm beginning to make an effort to read the anthologies my stories appear in). One by Jeffery Ford, and one by Joe R. Landsdale. I think I liked the former more than the latter, and it had some odd resonances with The Red Tree. Before I fell asleep, Spooky read "The Haunter in the Dark" to me.

Okay...the platypus says this entry stops HERE.

Here in Providence, autumn seems to have come to stay. Trees are going red and yellow. Spooky and I are talking about driving up the Blackstone River valley in a couple of weeks, into Massachusetts, and maybe as far as Vermont, just to see the trees. And, by the way, I'm guessing there aren't many people who dream about finding the axis (2nd) vertebra of a Triceratops, but I did last night.

No writing yesterday. On Monday, I went back to "There Will Be Kisses For Us All," abandoned in December 2008, and began from scratch. I did only 646 words. The prose is dense. And I spent a great deal of time with research. Like becoming obsessed with Romanian words for "whore" and "lover" and "wife." And whether Castle Poenari is on the north or south bank of the River Arges. And Rome's role in shaping the culture of Moldovan and Wallachian culture in the 15th Century. So, that was Monday. Today, I need to screw up my courage (an odd turn of phrase) and go back to work on the piece. But it's as intimidating as it was two years ago.

Only two days remain on the "napoval" auction. One of a kind, people. One of a kind. A piece of my personal history. Also, there are the other eBay auctions.

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The winner of the signed copy of Silk, commemorating seventeen years since I began writing it on October 11th, 1993, is ashlyme. The winner was determined by rolling polyhedral dice. If you are the winner, please send you snail-mail address to Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com, and we'll get it in the mail to you. My thanks to everyone who left comments on Monday. They were great, all those stories about first encounters with the novel. Oh, and also, we're a little behind shipping eBay packages, what with the HPLFF and the taxes and everything else, but they'll be going out very soon, promise.

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Yesterday, for the first time since coming home from the airport on October 5th, I left the House. We drove down to Warwick for a matinée of David Fincher's The Social Network. It's a brilliant film, and Fincher deserves an Oscar nomination this year. Wonderful performances all the way 'round. Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' score (which I downloaded weeks ago) is superb. Parallels are being drawn between this film and Citizen Kane. They're not inappropriate. Highly recommended.

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Ahem.

Spooky and I have been eagerly awaiting World of Warcraft's next expansion, "Cataclysm," due out December 7th. Yesterday, Blizzard rolled out patch 4.0, and we were excited about that, too. But my excitement came crashing down when I discovered that, among many other inexplicable and fundamental changes to gameplay (some of which I knew were being implemented), most warlocks have lost most of their minions, and had them replaced with...well...impostors. That is, Shaharrazad's succubus, Drusneth is now some hooven slut named Angxia. And her imp, Volyal, has been replaced with a much less agreeable imp named Voltuk. And her beloved felhound Greezun (who was the Reason) has been replaced by some mutt named Bheethun. Only her voidwalker, Zhar'los, was spared the purge. I'd had those minions for two years. Some players had the same minions for five years. And...gods...by the sword of my Dark Lady...I'm pissed about this. There was no sense in it. None at all. It's almost enough to make me give up on WoW. Yes, I know this sounds bloody ridiculous to all you non-warlock, non-WoW addicts. But there you go. The WoW bulletin boards are awash in 'lock sorrow, as we all join in grieving for our stolen minions, and as we futilely beg Blizzard to give us back our rightful minions, to whom we were soulbound. There's this poem, posted last night by a fellow Sin'dorei warlock, Myri (Sisters of Elune):

Ode to a Lost Voidwalker

Twas the night before Cata
and all through the land
Not a player was stirring,
their realms all unmanned.
The warlocks were nestled in Stormwind and Org,
Dreaming of chaos bolts, corruption and more!
Their minions all banish'd, soul shards fully stocked
waiting for Deathwing and his dragon flock.
Then suddenly, out of the gloom came a cry!
Our demons are missing! We have to know why!
In their places are strangers, our friends can't be found
From Icecrown to Stratholme we've scoured the ground.
They left us no messages, no clues to follow
and here we are lost, feeling lonely and hollow.
Oh where have they gone, our faithful fel pets...
A better companion, we haven't found yet.
So begone, all you mages and your elementals
Death knights and ghouls? Hardly sentimental.
The warlocks all sigh, downcast, brokenhearted
For a lock and her demon should never be parted.

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Fortunately, I have a new MMORPG obsession, City of Heroes and Villains. In fact, I have become so obsessed with the game that, after last night, I'm forcing myself to step back from it for a couple of days. But...my magic corrupter, a vampire named Erzsébetta Bathory (yes, you read that correctly), has reached Level 23 and earned her first cape...and I just adore the game. Yeah, the controls suck, badly. But the game is still sort of wonderful, and almost everyone actually fucking roleplays. That's a fact I can't seem to get over. What I did not find in Second Life and WoW I have found in CoX. But I've played about twenty-one hours over the last three nights alone, and that's far too much, so I'm giving myself a short time out. Just until Friday.

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And now...another set of photographs from the trip. While wandering the empty Minneapolis airport on the night of the 4th and the wee hours of the 5th, we happened across a number of stone-inlay murals set into the airport floor. I have yet to determine when or by whom they were created, but they are beautiful. Photos below. Oh, and we also discovered that portions of the airport floor are paved with Solnhofen Limestone (from whence comes Archaeopteryx), from the Jurassic of Bavaria, including the floor around the murals. Spooky and I spotted fossil sponges and ammonites in polished cross-section. I imagine few of the tens of millions of people who pass through the airport ever how often tens of millions of people pass through the airport ever realize they tread on the remains of ancient reefs and lagoons. Anyway, photos:

( H.P. Lovecraft Film Festival, Part 6, Floor Murals )

I'm not even gonna talk about the insomnia. The attention just encourages it.

Finally, a good fucking writing day yesterday. I did 1,426 words on my piece (I'm not sure it has a title yet) for the The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities. At this point, I'm only about 5,000 words behind for September.

I'm not sure I have anything else to say today.

In one week, Providence seems to have gone from summer to autumn. Outside, it's 64F and cloudy. You know, like June in Providence.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions.

Someone had to explain to me yesterday what "Oh snap" is meant to signify (I won't say "mean"). And I just looked it up online. And I still think the expression's dumb as hell. And this isn't just one of those "kids these days" things. There are lots of idiotic turns of phrase from the 70s and 80s and 90s I always refused to use.

These are random thoughts. Feel free to jump right in.

This isn't funny anymore.

Well, at least I slept. Something like eight hours. Oh, and there was a short nap yesterday, while Spooky made dinner.

The weather's turned cooler. Highs in the low 70sF. Lows in the mid 50sF. I do not think I have ever before in all my life been this eager for autumn. The summer was that bad.

Yesterday, I wrote a somewhat measly 573 words, though several hours were required to write them. My piece for The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiosities, it's one of those things I've been looking at for months, and thinking, Oh, that will be easy and fun. I can save it for the last minute and it'll still be a breeze. And by now I ought know better. Those are the pieces that always decide they're going to be hard, instead.

There was research on numerous peculiar and varied subjects yesterday: bog mummies, Castleblakeney (Ireland), skeleton keys, both New and Old World monkeys, and the Iron Age in Northern Europe.

I accidentally wrote millimeters every time I meant to write centimeters.

It was just that sort of a day.

After dinner, there was WoW (Spooky and I are trying to get the "Loremaster of Kalimdor" achievement, which mostly means going back and doing all the tedious fucking goblin quests we skipped the first time, to gain a total of 685 quests completed in Kalimdor). I also did some Insilico. We read more of Kristin Hersh's Rat Girl.

And now I go forth to grope the fetlocks of a new day.

There was a heavy dusting of snow last night. Nothing to speak of, not for Providence, but our first snow of the year. It's mostly melted away now. Cold out there, though.

Yesterday was spent checking copy-edits (I can get no consensus on whether it ought to be copy-edits or copyedits, and hence no consensus on whether I ought use copy-editor or copyeditor; personally, I tend to favor the hyphenated forms), which actually weren't nearly so bad as I'd thought they were. And I did another check over the ms. for the "Sanderlings" chapbook (and cover), and then Spooky looked over it, and then I sent it away to Subterranean Press. I rarely feel satisfaction at having finished a book or a story, and I rarely feel much of anything when I see my work in print, but there's always a distinct sense of relief when I can say "This is out of my hands now." And I can now say that "Sanderlings" is out of my hands.

No writing yesterday. Today, I feel like glass.

I may have a new title for the Next Novel, a title to replace Blood Oranges (which I warned you not to grow attached to), but I want to mull it over a bit more before I post it here.

Have a look at the current round of eBay auctions, and thanks for doing so. Also, only three of Spooky's Cthulhu-headstone Cephalopodmas ornaments remain unsold. So, if you want one, you'd probably better hurry. Each one is unique, handmade and hand-painted, and there are no more where these ten came from.

Last night, we watched Sally Potter's Rage (2009), which was really very good. Plus, you get Jude Law as a transgendered supermodel, which probably pleased me more than it should have.

And now, the last few pictures from our trip Outside back on Thursday:

( 3 December 2009, Part 3 )