Caitlín R. Kiernan

A happy and fine Beltane to all who wish to be wished a happy and fine Beltane. Winter is behind us, and now for blazing fires and blazing days.

Five hours sleep last night. The latest drug regimen has been helping me sleep the last week or so, eight hours a night two or three nights in a row. So, last night it was a surprise. It was just after six ayem when I finally got to sleep. The sky was the lightest shades of daylight. I covered my head, and pretended it was still night, which helped.

Yesterday was a day off, and it was a good day off. We left the house about 2:30 p.m., and headed north, through Woonsocket to Millville to the Blackstone River Gorge. We lingered briefly at Rolling Dam (aka Roaring Dam). The safety line strung with red pontoons had broken free, and there was damage to a portion of the spillway. I'm guessing it happened when the ice broke up. When we visited in February, the river above the dam was frozen. Also, there was a maple in the water that must have only just gone down, as the branches were filled with reddish sprouts. Then we headed out to the Gorge itself, which lies downstream (to the southeast) of the dam. We've never done the hike, though there and back is only a little more than a mile (depending which trail you take). We climbed to the top and gazed down into that dark tannin-stained water thirty or forty feet below, listening to the rapids, stared into the tops of trees beginning to come back to life. When we left Providence, the sky was cloudy, overcast, but the sun came out about the time we reached the dam, and I was able to take off my sweater and scarf.

In a hollow between slabs of Devonian granite, we found a boggy place that proved to be the remains of a very old garbage dump. Late Nineteenth Century or older. Heaps of glass, brick, ceramics, ornate china shards, shattered jugs, lead nails, shreds of hobnailed boots...it would be a fascinating place to dig, but the park forbids it. Not far past the dump, we found a wide sandy place by the river. I spotted something in the water downstream, which I at first mistook for ducks. However, the disturbance turned out to be two otters (Lontra [?=Lutra] canadensis) frolicking in the shallow, slow-flowing river. I'd never before seen otters in the wild. Various other mustelids, yes (skunks, mink, weasels, etc.), but never otters. We sat and watched them for a about half an hour. They were maybe a hundred yards from us, at the most, and we did most of the watching through a 10x42 monocular. They breached and dove, rolled, and swam swiftly, sinuously, along just below the surface. The air was filled with birdsong. And were actually heard a Pileated woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus). It was truly wonderful, and the cumulative effect of yesterday was to lead me to resolve that the stagnant age of sitting at this desk all the time, whether I'm working or not, is over. I'm missing the world, the world I used to live in, the wild.

Part of this, of course, is that, thanks to meds and exercise, my Lousy Rotten Feet have improved dramatically over the last year and a half. I don't even really need the stick anymore. I used it during yesterday's hike, because the ground was so uneven and heights were involved, but, usually, I leave it at home now. Anyway, there are a few photos from yesterday behind the cut, below, and I'll post more tomorrow.

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And this month, the selection for Aunt Beast's Book of the Month Club is Under the Poppy by Kathe Koja (Small Beer Press, 2010). This is such a marvelous book. Koja has become such a very brilliantly polished author, and here she treads territories that have rarely been done justice. There's a faint whiff of Angela Carter. But yes, there's our novel for May.



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We played far too fucking much Rift last night, mostly questing out of Perspice. The highpoint had to be escorting Kayfax, a talking cat, as it tracked trolls. Kayfax decided that Selwyn and Miisya would make very fine pets, and so we were referred to as "pet." Selwyn made Level 35, and Miisya made 36.

Ah, and by the way. Back at the beginning of March, I vowed to make at least one blog entry every day for four months. I didn't want to jink it by announcing it until I was well in. And now I've made it halfway.

And that's all for now. Have a fine first day of May, kittens.

Springy,
Aunt Beast

( 30 April 2011, Part 1 )

A happy and fine Beltane to all who wish to be wished a happy and fine Beltane. I was just looking at my entry from this day one year ago, and there's something from that entry that I'd like to repost:

For a long time, I could not allow myself to involve choice in matters of belief, as I held belief back for objective science and material concerns. I did not see how one could ever choose to believe. Partly, the epiphany simply required a different perspective on things I've been saying for years. The Cosmos (=tripartite goddess/horned god/divine adrogyne/etc.) may, in my veneration of it, assume any form. It contains all forms within it that can be realized or conceived. It hardly matters if I "worship" Brighid or Mórrígan or Aphrodite or Kali. They are all merely attempts of a conscious being to sum up an incomprehensible and nonconscious universe. They may, perhaps, each function like characters in a novel, avatars that grant access to the story of existence. It does not matter if they are not factual in their existence, as their existence is true, if they are true in our minds. If they contain within them useful truths, as is the way with all myths. It is not their objective existence which makes them useful avatars, but their subjective truth, what these deities mean to each of us. For me, this is the heart of Neopaganism. Designing ritual and godforms to function as conduits between conscious organisms and the remainder of the Cosmos, which is generally a nonconscious entity.

This is still pretty much where my head is, though I've added Panthalassa ("all seas") as my primary "deity." Which is to say, I may look to and venerate the Mórrígan, and Hecate, and Demeter, and Cernunnos (and a small host of others), but the concept of Panthalassa acts as a sort of godhead, freed of any connotations of gender or consciousness, morality or anthropomorphic form. Panthalassa is, by definition, a vast, impersonal, and almost inconceivable force. Anyway, yeah, I'm still getting better about belief as choice. And, by the way, this is what works for me, I'm not the least bit evangelical in my paganism, excepting where the beliefs of others attempts to infringe upon my day-to-day life or my ability to practice witchcraft as I've chosen to practice it.

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Yesterday was just about as tedious as expected. The image behind the cut, multiplied by a whole bunch, will give you some idea:

( Yesterday )

We read back over "At the Gate of Deeper Slumber" and "The Peril of Liberated Objects, or the Voyeur's Seduction" (formerly "Untitled 34"), and I made lots of line edits to both. I wrote the prolegomena for Sirenia Digest #41. I did the layout on the issue, and realized that we really need to do an article on Virgil Finlay. When the issue was all nailed together, I sent the files off to Gordon (thingunderthest) to be PDF'ed. And then we read through Chapter 3 of The Red Tree, which got us to page 138 of the page proofs. And that was yesterday.

By now, all subscribers should have the new issue of the digest. Just let us know if you didn't get it. I'm pleased to have included Sonya Taaffe's (sovay) poem, "The Coast Guard," in this issue, along with the two new stories.

And now..well, it's Beltane. I'll do no more work than I have to do.

What happens when Spooky decides to make a bunny in the weeks immediately preceding Beltane? At last, that question has been answered. I present, Emma the Beltane Bunneh! Please note, Emma is most definitely not fluffy.

Also, Microsoft has confirmed my suspicions that the true purpose of the interwebs is to disseminate fraudulent advertisements...er, I mean, spam. To be precise, "...a full 97.3 percent of email traffic [sent during the second half of 2008] was unwanted spam (or malicious email like phishing attacks and outright viruses)." But the good news? That's actually down from "...98.4 percent of all email sent" in the first half of 2008. Progress!

Happy Beltane, if you are so inclined. I have lived to see another May. Another winter's gone.

Yesterday was all work, and today it's sort of a blur (thank you, dreamsickness). I signed the signature sheets for The Day It Rained Forever, and those should go back in the mail to England today. Then I did the Edward Gorey interview, which was easier than I expected. I have gone on record as saying that my two favourite Edward Gorey books are The Loathsome Couple (1977) and The Insect God (1963). I'll post a link when the article goes up.

I got back to work on "The Ape's Wife," and was very pleased to discover a way for the story to proceed that allows me to keep those pages I wrote back in April. The meeting with D went very, very well, and now it's time to actually start writing the screenplay for "Onion." Also, the final round of revision notes relevant to the Forced and New Consolidated marches arrived yesterday, so the dreaded rewrite is now imminent.

Last night, we watched Alan J. Pakula's The Parallax View (screenplay homework), which I'd somehow managed never to see. I liked it a great deal, and realised I like quite a few Warren Beatty films, even though Warren Beatty sort of makes me itch. I forgot to mention that Saturday night we watched Martin Campbell's remake of Casino Royale and loved it. This is the James Bond film I've been waiting for. I was already a fan of Daniel Craig's, and he moves through Casino Royale like the second coming of Steve McQueen.

After midnight, we attended to our modest Beltane ritual. It did not involve the stove or wooden spoons, I am happy to say.

We've begun reading The Children of Húrin, which looks likes it's going to be a delight. My grateful thanks to Rachel Keane for the early birthday present. Because it is May. And May is the month when -2 becomes -3 — May 26th, to be perfectly blunt — and surprises in the mail help to take the sting away.

If you haven't yet received Sirenia Digest #17, please e-mail Spooky at crk(underscore)books(at)yahoo(dot)com right away. I hope readers are pleased with this issue. "Night Games in the Crimson Court" is one of those stories that began life as one sort of idea, and turned out to be something almost entirely different. It was good to be with Scarborough and Saben again, even knowing how it all turns out for them farther along. And I was very pleased to be able to offer a new story by sovay, especially since it's steampunk, which I hope she will write more of in the future.

And now for an announcement: I have reached the point where I desperately need a web guru. Mostly, I need someone to handle the website and my MySpace page, and I need that someone yesterday. I can't pay, except in books (Roc, subpress, etc.) and a free Sirenia Digest subscription. This someone I need should be skilled in web design, Photoshop, etc. and have the time and enthusiasm necessary to get the initial job done and then handle the day-to-day upkeep. Anyone interested should e-mail me at greygirlbeast(at@)gmail(dot.)com as soon as possible. The more experience, the better.

Okay. It's 12:22 p.m. here in Atlanta, and the platypus says it's time to make the doughnuts.

Yesterday we did only a single chapter, Chapter Six. It has a title, but not one I like or intend to keep, so it's best considered presently untitled. Soldier and Odd Willie trapped in the warrens beneath Woonsocket, Soldier as a child being led up to the attic of the yellow house on Benefit Street. And now the Zokutou whatchamadoodle looks like this:

404 / 691 (58.5%)

With luck, we'll make it through chapters seven and eight today. At this point, counting today and the day the ms. is supposed to be back in NYC, I have only fourteen days remaining before it's all pumpkins and mice again. And I shouldn't count the day it's due back, even though I am being allowed to e-mail the edited ms. back to Penguin. So, less than two weeks.

As we've been reading the novel this time, Spooky and I have been playing the "casting the movie" game. Here are our picks and blank spaces, our dream cast (so far) for a Daughter of Hounds film adaptation:

Emmie Silvey (eight years old) — uncast
Soldier (as adult) — Katee Sackhoff
Soldier (as child) — uncast
The Daughter of the Four of Pentacles — uncast
Deacon Silvey (now in his fifties) — Steve Buscemi
Sadie Jasper (now in her early thirties) — Clea Duvall
Odd Willie Lothrop — uncast
Saben White — uncast
The Bailiff — Jim Broadbent
Madam Terpsichore — Alice Krige
Sheldon Vale — uncast
George Ballou — Wilem Dafoe
Esmeribetheda — uncast

Hmmmm. I'd thought we had fewer blank spaces than that.

We had a very pleasant Beltane. We picked flowers late in the day. A huge feast for dinner and then the ritual around eleven p.m. During the ceremony we had blueberry cornbread and fresh, locally grown strawberries with lambic ale flavoured with black currants. I'll post the text of the ritual later, behind a cut, if anyone's interested. Still, I wished we could have been out on a field or a wood or on a beach somewhere, a bonfire and all. Ah, well. Someday. Someday, we'll see the Edinburgh Fire Festival, which is Beltane frelling done right. This afternoon, we'll take the last of the ale and bread and a few of the berries to the two oaks, the ones I posted a photo of earlier, the ones from my dream.

And now we have now reached that dread part of the year when May 26th looms vast and ugly on the horizon, and I'm beginning to fear that -2 will be an even traumatic birthday for this particular nixar than was -0, and, you know, gifts always seem to help to soften the blow. Should you be so inclined, there's this Amazon wish list thing.

Hold on, platypus. I'm coming....