greygirlbeast: (Default)
Everyone's on her or his way home now (Boston, Philadelphia, Framingham, Washington D.C.). Three amazing days of work are behind us. Much more work lies ahead, and the first edit of the trailer (there will be several, and yes, a DVD at some point) won't be done until January. But, undoubtedly, many hours of footage was shot for, at most, a four minute film.

I am sore, and sleepless, and my head's swimming, and I went three days and hardly ate. And I haven't yet gotten to see last week's episode of Fringe (spoilers will get you dead). But I wouldn't have traded this experience for the world. I watched moments from the The Drowning Girl: A Memoir brought to life through the alchemy of effort, talent, patience, luck, and persistence. After all my years of publishing, I am not ashamed to say that I learned many things I wish I'd learned years ago. And new projects will happen because I have learned these lessons.

I'm too tired to say very much, I only want to lie down and shut my eyes. But...yesterday we made it to Rolling Dam (the location that inspired the novel), and watched Sara become the marvelously predatory Siren of Millville. Never mind the water was fucking freezing, and rough enough it's a wonder she wasn't swept away. In time, you will see the beauty of those moments, but later. We can't show all our cards at once.

I sat with Nicola at Thundermist Falls in Woonsocket as the sun set, and coached her on what Imp would be doing and thinking and how she would move. I watched Imp try to drown in a bathtub, and panicked Abalyn carry her down a narrow hallway. In time, you'll see. We shot in the Providence Athenaeum (thank you, Super Librarian Women!), and other locales around the city today.

We've thanked each other, and wished we didn't have to leave, that we could keep working on this thing. But that's not how art is meant to be, is it? No, it's not. A special thank you to our absent genius, Michael Zulli. And to everyone who donated even so much as a single dollar to the Kickstarter crowdsourcing drive that made this happen.

My brains are running out my ears. But before I go, here are a few more shots:

15-16 October 2011; SFW? You decide. )

I drank the blood of angels from the bottle,
Just to see if I could call the lightning down.
It hasn't struck me yet, and I would wage my soul to bet
That there ain't no one throwing lightning anyhow.
— Brown Bird, "Blood of Angels"
greygirlbeast: (Default)
The one weekend in my four autumns in Rhode Island that the meteorologists get the weather right, and it has to be this weekend. But, things are improving! The sun's out, and we only have to contend with a 14mph wind, gusting to 22mph. We can do that, after shooting an extra reel for Apocalypse Now last night the a monsoon.

Today's itinerary will take us north and west to the ghoul-haunted burg of Woonsocket...okay, that voice annoys me, too. I'm stopping. No Lovecraftian travel guide will you have this day. But yeah, north and west for shots along the Blackstone River Gorge, in Millville, and at Thundermist Falls in Woonsocket. Then we come back and get some footage in Providence, and we have some complicated interior shots to get this evening. Today will probably be more hectic than we thought, last night, it would be.

I think Kyle's uploading another sneak peek now....

This is, to me, and extremely strange process. We are making a sort of micro-movie of The Drowning Girl, and this never, of course, would have been possible without the amazing aid of everyone who supported our Kickstarter project to fund this. It's weird and it's wonderful. And it's collaborative!

I was trying to explain, last night, that I think the collaborative aspect is making this as weird for me as is the "book brought to life" aspect. For many years, I wasn't capable of collaborating, and there are sorts of art that must be done by combining the talents of many people capable of pulling off various sorts of tricks. I am reentering that realm, and I am glad of that. Sure, I only got about four and a half hours sleep, but I know today will be remarkable. Before I sign off and get dressed and we get out of here and get to work, I do want to formally acknowledge the others in this crowded house of hectic creativity (and far too little sleep).

We're discussing multiple cuts of the "trailer," at one, two, and three minutes in length. We will go viral.

Dani Church ([ profile] cirne) just arrived (with her girlfriend, Carolyn). Dani is playing Abalyn. Sara Murphy, our professional actor, is the poor girl who had to stand nude in the monsoon last night hour? I don't know, really. Time slows to a fucking crawl in the monsoons of Rhode Island. Nicola Astes ( @libervore on Twitter), in a wild stroke of serendipity, is our spot-on Imp (India Morgan Phelps). Of course, we all know Kyle ([ profile] kylecassidy), who's handling still photography and is my co-ringleader, but our amazing video dude is Brian Siano ([ profile] briansiano). And the three who are getting everything done so that this whole shebang runs smoothy: Spooky [ profile] humglum), Ryan Anas, and Geoffrey H. "He of the Unfortunate Puns" Goodwin ([ profile] readingthedark). Without these three, we'd be screwed, and when you see the final products of this endeavor, know how much they helped it come together.

Now. I must go. We're burning daylight.

Oh, wait! New sneak peek:

14 October 2011, Moonstone Beach )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Okay, setting aside for the moment that Kathryn managed to find a Bosco Milk Chocolate Bar (3.5 ounces of all natural pure fun, since 1928), we have had an amazing motherfucking day and night. Oh, yes. Let's not forget the night. But! No one drowned, which is bloody amazing, given we working on a trailer for The Drowning Girl'll see.

Sure, it was a rainy fucking day here in Rhode Island. But, everyone arrived about noonish, and as we headed south towards Location #1, Moonstone Beach, we got a break. In the cloud cover that is. The drizzle ceased, and the filming at Moonstone went swimmingly (you gotta thank Geoffrey [ profile] readingthedark for having committed that pun, as he was sitting here begging me not to use it, though he's the one that brought it up). Where was I? Oh, Moonstone Beach. Yes, it was one of the most beautiful days I've ever seen at Moonstone, and the novel's climactic scene was a marvel to translate into film. Oh, and there were beautiful mermaid's purses, and omen of a certain, some enormous (by the standards of selachian egg cases), perfectly hatched. Had a great close encounter with a loon (and I don't mean Geoffrey!). The mist was thick, and Block island was invisible in the distance, to the south, across the green, then blue gulf of Block Island Sound. Our actors—Sara (Eva) and Nicola (Imp)—were grand. Kyle played Mary Ellen Mark and shot a billion still photos. I played Werner Herzog, while Brian played Terrance Malick. Meanwhile, Kathryn, Geoffrey (there he is again), and Ryan saved our asses again and again and again. As the clouds parted, we were treated to a Maxfield Parrish sky, all in a trillion shades a blue and grey.

And then we took time to visit the jetty at Harbor of Refuge, which I walked, despite the fact I have no business playing mountain goat. And then, just before dark, we headed to the Point Judith Lighthouse. We watched men fishing in the rocky surf, and a couple of surfers (of questionable intellect) flinging themselves suicidally into the breakers. And the sun set and rain came down.


We headed back to Kathryn's parent's farm, to shoot a pivotal scene, which calls for outdoor nudity. And it was shot in the rain. The pouring rain. The hard, cold, you can't hear yourself speak over it rain. Sara gets huge points from me for standing naked in the hard, cold, you can't hear yourself speak over it rain. For, I think, four takes. I only had to be soaking wet in my clothes. I think you could write a short novel about our filming that one scene, Sara and Nicola (who was at least dressed), and the cameras, and the umbrellas, and the automobile serving double duty as a lighting rig. And the rain. And the deer that almost ate Sara. And pizza. And umbrellas. And Spider the cat. And...stop me now.

More to come. Ah, but! There is a sneak peek! Here:

14 October 2011, NOT WORK SAFE, like I give a shit )
greygirlbeast: (wray)
1) Snow again this morning, but it's relatively light. A couple of inches at most. Likely, it will be gone in a day or two. Yes, I am sick of this particular winter.

2) Yesterday, I wrote 1,330 words and found the end of the eighth chapter of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. The manuscript now stands at 386 pages, 87,145 words. And from here I can see how the ninth and tenth chapters and the epilogue unfold. I may have the novel "finished" in only two more weeks. Which is sort of strange to realize.

3) The current Ebay auctions continue. Please have a look. Bid if you are able. Thanks.

4) If you're into MMORPGs and want to play a strong female character, especially a strong female character of color, you no longer have to settle for the racist parodies in WoW. The Kalari and Bahmi women in Rift are amazing, especially the latter. And they're, you know, like actual people. Female characters with dignity and grace and ferocious beauty, instead of, say, Rastafarian caricatures and She-Hulk lampoons. Also, back in WoW, I'm still slogging through my bid for "Loremaster," but beginning to doubt whether or not my will is equal to the task. Last night, I finished with Feralas, which wasn't easy, because there almost weren't enough Horde-side quests. Then I moved along to Thousand Needles, flooded post-Cataclysm's just sort of stupid. I found the second worst WoW quest ever— "Pirate Accuracy Increasing." The only worse one I've encountered is that idiotic Joust homage in Mount Hyjal. Anyway...enough nerdy game nonsense.

5) Several comments on my cough yesterday, and some were of the "it might be this" variety, so I'm going to be a little more forthcoming on this than I'd planned. In truth, it's most likely chronic simple silicosis, caused by several years of heavy exposure to chalk and marl dust (which is largely silica particles) in the early years of my paleontology work. I was employed by a small museum in Birmingham (Red Mountain Museum, now defunct), and nobody had a clue about proper safety precautions. I didn't learn this until I went to work for the museum at the University of Colorado, where wearing a respirator during dusty prep work was mandatory. I have all the symptoms, and the cause is there, and a doctor has told me this is likely the problem. But I've never gone through tests for an official diagnosis. My grandfather, who was a brick mason, suffered from a far more severe case of the same disease. Anyway, colds and the flu trigger these bouts of coughing, which is one reason I go to such extremes to stay well.

6) I've promised an in-progress preview of the cover that Lee Moyer is painting for Two Worlds and In Between, and here it is (along with some extras):

Changesonekiernan )

Postscript (1:44 p.m.): My agent and editor both have President's Day off. When did that become a holiday that people use as an excuse to stay home from work? A shame I haven't that option.
greygirlbeast: (new newest chi)
Chilly and bright Outside the House. 52F at the moment.

Not much luck with the story yesterday. The story I'm writing about Mars instead of "Romeo and Juliet Go to Mars." I was still in that finding the way in part of writing the story. I may or may not still be there today. I did find the title: "On a Lee Shore." Also, I read Bradbury's "Dark They Were and Golden-Eyed," originally published in 1949. It's always been one of my favorite Mars stories, and yesterday it helped me understand the story I'm not trying to write.

"On a Lee Shore" takes place on the western edges of the Nereidum Montes, at the northwestern rim of the great Argyre Planitia. In fact, it occurs in the 1,000-meter wide bit of desert in this image (Lat. -40.5 ° [centered], Long. 309.9 ° [east]), in these dunes:

What wonder, that I can say that I'm writing a story set on a planet where a human has never walked, a place hundreds of millions of kilometers away from Earth. And here's so clear an image, taken at a height of 274.5 km (171.5 miles) above the planet's surface (on May 9, 2009, at 3:22 p.m., Local Mars time).

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, and also at Spooky's Dreaming Squid Dollworks Etsy shop (she's making some really exquisite necklaces lately). Thanks.

We're talking about doing a very short little story together, about a girl who's a goat, or a goat who's a girl. Spooky will draw several pictures, and I'll write the story, and it will appear first in Sirenia Digest. We've never really done anything together before.

Not much else to say about yesterday. I did my exercises, brushed my teeth, answered email, tried Left Hand's milk stout for the first time, got some work done on the Dancy Box, played a little WoW and a lot of CoX (some great rp last night with my new changeling character, Lizbeth Gevaudan, whose actually a 24-Century incarnation of my vampire character, Erzsébetta Bathory), managed not to take a nap, and made it to bed about 3 a.m.

Now, back to Mars.
greygirlbeast: (cleav1)
No walk this morning. Insomnia is back. I made a valiant effort to get to sleep early last night, and was, in fact, in bed by 12:30 a.m. (CaST) But Spooky was taking a late, hot bath and something in our dark bedroom gave me the creeps, so I got up and sat with her until she was done bathing. Still, I was back in bed by 12:50, doped up on my usual meds plus a kava. And I proceeded to toss and turn until two, when I took the last Ambien. I almost fell asleep shortly thereafter, but a truck out on the street revved its motor and woke me. And so I tossed and turned until almost four.

In my case, insomnia is integral to understanding the Writing Process.

The better part of yesterday afternoon was spent searching for the story that Sonya ([ profile] sovay) and I will be writing for Sirenia Digest 12 (November). We exchanged e-mails. We'd already decided it would be another bit of what has become the "Jacova Angevine Cycle." We're thinking it will be epistolary, told in letters, written in the 1940s or thereabouts, exchanged between a relative of Jacova's and someone else. Mostly, I sat here in this room and stared at the iBook, trying to will the story from Nothingness into mere Being. I also read a great deal of Norse mythology (primarily Norse Mythology by John Lindow, also Tacitus' Germania, etc.), particularly bits related to worship of the goddess Nerthus (i.e., Hertha). I got distracted (which was easy to do, wrestling the third day of a mirgraine) and corrected some Wikipedia articles on Nerthus and the vanir. The whole thing with Nerthus may or may not have relevance to what Sonya and I will write. We may stick with Mother Hydra, Dagon, etc., more familiar ground. We shall see. I wrote the opening epigraph for The Dinosaurs of Mars, a story which continues to unfold in my head like some crazed origami. The other piece for SD 12 is probably going to be an erotic vignette inspired by "The Pied Piper of Hamlin."

Spooky went out and got me a heating pad, and we put it on the floor under my desk, so at least my feet won't freeze.

I worked until 7 p.m., and after dinner, Spooky read to me from House of Leaves until almost midnight. I also imported a bunch of Dead Can Dance onto the iBook. Then I watched the last few minutes of the first disc of The Two Towers, because I figured that was much preferable than going down to the Sleep Monster with the House on Ash Tree Lane in my head. So, there was a little bit of the emptying of Edoras before the flight to Helm's Deep, Frodo and Sam and the oliphaunts, Faramir. But I still got the willies when I tried to go to bed. I was awake by 9:30 this morning and wrote in my pen-and-paper journal a bit until Spooky woke. Before breakfast, I read some of Nathaniel Philbrick's In the Heart of the Sea, a book about the sinking of the whaleship Essex by an 85-foot sperm whale in 1820 (which inspired Moby Dick). Then there was noodles. And now I am here, typing.

There's rain on the way.

We have this plan of moving my office to the back of the house, where it's warmer, and turning what is now my office into a dining room, because we're tired on eating our meals in the dreary kitchen. Spooky's been moving stuff about for a couple of weeks, getting ready, but I look at the shelves and shelves of books that will have to be relocated and the motivation deserts me. We hope to make the switch later this week, hopefully with the help of Byron and whoever else we can con into lending a hand.

Okay. Well, time to write. If you've not pre-ordered Daughter of Hounds, I ask that you please do. Also, my thanks to Jason Erik Lundberg ([ profile] jlundberg) for posting kind words about Alabaster, and to Gordon ([ profile] thingunderthest) and an anonymous benefactor for giving me 18 more months of 113 LJ icons.
greygirlbeast: (mars)
Staying awake to chase a dream,
Tasting the air you're breathing in,
I know I won't forget a thing...
(Muse, "Falling Away With You")

I was just trying to count all the e-mails that Sonya ([ profile] sovay) and I have exchanged while working on the collaboration. I've counted 90, but I have a feeling that there are more I've missed. The story is essentially done, almost 10,000 words, but it still has no title. Late last night, bleary and in need of bed, I suggested Sonya and Caitlín's Excellent Adventure, and she said only if she got to play chess with Death, which seems fair to me. Anyway, yeah, that's one of today's many tasks, finding the title.

Mostly, though, I'm going to be busy getting Sirenia Digest 10 out the door. I'm sorry, once again, that it's late. But I couldn't rush the collaboration. You will, I think, be pleased with what you see. If you've not subscribed, now would be a very good time to do so. This issue's going to be huge. Just follow the link above; supplies are limited.

Yesterday was another good writing day. I did 965 words and found THE END of "The Garden of Living Flowers." It's another bit of pretty boy pr0n, which means that, with "Untitled 17" already included, the book will have two such pieces. And I am now so near to being finished with Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

I received two new anthology invites yesterday, and I absolutely want to be in one of the books, but the deadline's in November and with my schedule already much too full, I've no idea how I'm going to pull off another short story. But I shall. Somehow.

This is a post of short paragraphs.

I've not left the house in two days now, not even to step out onto the front porch. That's a bad habit I'd pretty much broken myself of. There was a time, no so long ago, I'd go ten or eleven days without going out. No wish to return to that state of things. Spooky's making me take a walk as soon as I'm done with this entry. It's the writing, though. I get so immersed, so driven by the words, I just forget that there's this fabled place called Outside.

So much work yesterday, crazy work, by the time it was all done, about seven p.m., I was good for nothing but the sofa and television. No Only Revolutions last night. My brain would have boiled. Instead, I played an hour of Drakengard 2, and then we watched Project Runway 3. I was extremely pleased that it came down to a final four instead of three, that they'll all be going to Bryant Park. After PR, we watched Banlieue 13 (2004; released in US as District B13), directed by Pierre Morel and written by Luc Besson and Bibi Naceri. And as Big Dumb French Action Films go, it was really quite a lot of fun. Dany Verissimo might be my new girl crush (though Manah's still my gaming girl crush).

Okay. I think that's it for now. Must take walk. Must attend e-mails. Must finsih up Sirenia Digest. Must think of anouther vignette for the insatiable platypus. There was a spectacular dream this morning, but I made no notes, and it's faded down to mush. Some craziness during the Wars of the Roses, and I was some sort of double agent, playing the House of Lancaster against the House of York and vice versa. Red roses and white roses. Richard Plantagenet and a whole bunch of something atop the cliffs of Dover. I don't know where my brain gets this dren.
greygirlbeast: (Bowie1)
Wild when the waves start to break,
And god knows, they're breaking in me now.
(Poe, "Wild")

The collaboration with Sonya ([ profile] sovay) is almost, almost finished. She sent me the sixth and final section at 1:34 a.m., but I've only just now read it, aloud to Spooky. The whole thing needs a little tweaking here or there, but it is, even in the rough, something I'm very pleased with. Right now, it's about 9,500 words, so not a vignette at all, but a true and full-fledged short shory. Almost a novelette, had I not such disdain for that silly word. And it seems that a sister cycle to the Dandridge House stories has begun.

Yesterday was a very good writing day. I did 1,285 words and finished "Forests of the Night."

Today, I will begin a new vignette. Counting today, I have five days to finish Tales from the Woeful Platypus without a deadline extension, and I'm pretty sure I'll just squeak in under the wire. Also, I've got to send "Forests of the Night" and "Daughter of Man, Mother of Wyrm" to Vince, so he can begin the illustrations. This evening, I'll read over the collaboration, start to finish for the first time.

It looks like Sirenia Digest 10 will be going out tomorrow evening. Huzzah!

After all the writing yesterday, I spent most of the evening playing Drakengard 2. I've become quite fond of this game, especially that little spitfire Manah. I'm in direst need of a Manah LJ icon. Later, we finally allowed ourselves to begin Mark Z. Danielewski's Only Revolutions, and wow and goddamn, what a ride this is going to be. I don't think a book has affected me this way since I first approached Finnegan's Wake or Naked Lunch. We made it through the first eight pages of the Sam narrative (November 22, 1863-November 13, 1869), then flipped the book over and read the first eight pages of Hailey's story (November 22-December 9, 1963). But then I became obsessed with the relationship between the sidebar text and the narrative text, how the latter reads like the voice-over for a newsreel formed by the former, and then I started looking at the cover beneath the dust jacket. We stopped and read the Wikipedia entry on the book, which led to my correcting a number of mistakes in the entry. The mummified anole was listed as a "salamander," for example. I spent a good forty-five minutes pouring over that beautiful cover with a magnifying glass and have become obsessed with identifying all the beetle, butterfly, and bird species in the photo. So, yeah, this book is having the same sort of effect upon me that House of Leaves did, and that makes me grateful for its existence. I love simple stories and ripping good yarns and straight-forward narratives, but I also love intricate puzzles formed from words and images and the interrelationship of words and images. Spooky finally took away my magnifying glass, read me Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey, and, with my head full of 1863 and 1963, mallards in Boston parks, and "Forests of the Night," I stumbled down to sleep.

Okay. Onward to the next vignette. Time waits for no nixar...

Postscript: I'm tired of this dull LJ format and would like one of those goregeous custom backgrounds I see and covet on the LJs of others. Could someone volunteer to talk me through the process? Please? I'll even toss in a gift as a bribe. My html skills are sort of stuck in the late 1990s.
greygirlbeast: (Bowie1)
John M. Ford has died. I never met him, but was very fond of his short fiction and still think that How Much For Just the Planet? is one of the best titles ever bestowed upon an sf novel.

Yesterday was an extremely frustrating sort of writing day. I've got only a few days to finish up Tales from the Woeful Platypus, with two or three more vignettes to go. Sounds easy enough. I sat down and began a piece called The Garden of Live Flowers (title from Lewis Carroll), spent maybe an hour on 277 words, and called Spooky in to hear it. Afterward, the conversation went something like this:

Me: It's okay, isn't it?

Spooky: It's very, very good.

Me: But it's not a vignette.

Spooky: No. It's the start of a short story.

So, I sat the 277 words aside, promising myself that someday I would come back to them and write the short story that they begin. In truth, I know I likely never shall. My harddrive is rotten with unfinished fragments. It is riddled with them. Anyway, I began again, keeping the same title. I did another 137 words, then stopped in mid sentence, realising that it was happening again. I didn't even bother calling Spooky in to read it. I merely grumbled. Once again, I'd begun a short story. Soooo. I started a third time, using the same title. This time I did only 41 words before it became apparent this was not the start of a vignette-shaped thing. I set it aside. I began a fourth time with the same title. I stopped myself at 113 words. Spooky looked in to see what all the growling noises were about. By this point, a couple of hours had passed, and I'd written 568 words, and none of it had gotten me any closer to meeting the deadline on Tales from the Woeful Platypus. I considered calling it a day, getting drunk, and falling asleep in the bath tub. Instead, I chose a new title, "Forests of the Night" (from Blake, also used for Chapter Seven of Low Red Moon). And apparently, yesterday, the fifth time was the charm. I did 779 words on "Forests of the Night," which appears to be a vignette-shaped piece of fiction suitable for Tales from the Woeful Platypus, and which I hope I like as much today as yesterday.

Also, I got the final inks from Vince for "Untitled 23," and the illustration is gorgeous, and he said that he liked this piece so much he would have liked to have done three or four illos for it. I wrote a lengthy reply to a lengthy e-mail from Sonya ([ profile] sovay), regarding our as-yet-untitled collaboration. We've reached the point where loose threads and such have to be attended to. I expect to receive the last part of the story from her this afternoon or evening. This is the first time I've collaborated with anyone on anything since Poppy ([ profile] docbrite) and I wrote "The Rest of the Wrong Thing" and "Night Story, 1973" back in late 2000. It's widely known I don't play well with others, so I don't try collaborating very often. But after reading Singing Innocence and Experience and meeting her in Cambridge last month, I had a feeling that Sonya and I could write together, and together we have written a dreamy, creepy, beautiful sort of story that I could not have written on my own. With luck, then, Sirenia Digest 10 will be sent out on Wednesday (the 27th).

There were three marvelous storms yesterday, and today the weather has turned autumnal once again.

We had a very lovely Mabon.

I got an e-mail this morning from Liz, my editor at Penguin, reminding me that my corrections to the galleys for the mass-market paperback edition of Threshold were due week before last. Digging about the chaos of books and paper surrounding my desk, I discovered the galleys, buried beneath a large book on symbolist painters and another on deep-sea oceanography. I have to go now and write an apology. Fortunately, the book had already been proofed to hell and back again. But that lapse should give you a good idea of my mental state of late.
greygirlbeast: (Bowie1)
Yesterday, the writing went well. I did 1,199 words on the collaboration with Sonya ([ profile] sovay), then passed it back to her. This piece will be more short story than vignette, and more weird tale/dark fantasy than weird erotica, though there are some erotic elements. I've become fascinated by this process (and process rarely ever even interests me): she writes; I write based on what she's written; she writes based on what we've both written so far, etc. Right now the file is labeled "Scylla," though I'm uncertain whether this will be the final title of the story. As it turns out, the story is, to some degree or another, overlapping with "Houses Under the Sea." Anyway, yes, it's good to be writing again. Sonya has the piece now, so I'm going to finish up my Bradbury intro today and maybe start a piece for Tales from the Woeful Platypus while I wait for my next turn. Anyway, if you wish to read the product of this collaboration, just click here and subscribe to Sirenia Digest. It's easy. It's cheap. What are you waiting for?

There were two production queries yesterday regarding Daughter of Hounds, both concerning epigraphs. I'd somehow misquoted Emily Dickinson once and Coleridge once, but only just barely in each case. Just me being careless. We have come to that part of post-production where the most minor of details are being attended to, fixed, put right. It will be a book soon. Just three and a half months to go. Considering how long the novel gestated in my mind, then took to write, three and a half months seems like no time at all.

[ profile] setsuled was asking about the Dinosaur of Sinclair Avenue, mentioned in yesterday's entry. She was first mentioned here in my entry of January 7th, 2006, where there are photos. Spooky found her first, sometime in 2005, and led me to her later on.

After the writing, I had a bath, then played Drakengard 2 on PS2 while we waited for Byron and Jim and "Hannah," with whom we had a dinner date. I'd not seen Jim since my frelling birthday in May, and I'd not seen "Hannah" since the night before we left for Rhode Island, back in July. We caught up. Jim's finished his thesis on Eurdora Welty and is beginning his Ph. D. work, and also working with a Yeats scholar, which made me envious. Afterwards, we stopped by Xocolatl for spicy Mexican chocolate ice cream. Back home, everyone visited with Hubero. Byron stayed late, and we watched shorts by David Lynch and Martin Scorcese on TCM. After Byron left, Spooky and I watched del Toro's El Espinazo del diablo (The Devil's Backbone; 2001). Gods, what a beautiful, painful film. Perfection in almost every frame, as well as in the whole, and I can confidently say it's one of the best ghost stories (or fairie tales) committed to celluloid in the last fifty years. I think I got to bed about two a.m., but sat up a while longer, reading more from Tolkein's Unfinished Tales, mostly "The Battles of the Fords of Isen."

Time to make the doughnuts...

Postscript (3:06 p.m.): I've just learned of the death of Charles L. Grant. I was particularly fond of his Oxrun series and the remarkable eleven volumes of the Shadows anthology. Very, very sad news.
greygirlbeast: (chi4)
Spooky's posted some "in progress" photos of the Barker in her LJ. I am eagerly awaiting his completion, though Iggy and Sweet William understandably do not share in my enthusiasm.

Yesterday evening, looking again at the considerable expense of traveling to Rhode Island by either train or plane, we finally chose automobile. Even with the work that the car will likely require before the trip, it's still going to cost us much less than two round-trip tickets to Providence. Sure, it's a longish road trip, but we've both done it repeatedly in the past. So, there you go. I shall very much miss the train, but this makes everything much easier. It also means I don't have to worry about raising quite so much money via eBay to offset the expenses of the trip. And it leaves more money to spend on the important things, like Del's Lemonade. We sat up until three-thirty this morning, looking at the road atlas, plotting our route, too excited to sleep.

I've noted, belatedly, that there's now an active, ongoing discussion of To Charles Fort, With Love taking place over at [ profile] species_of_one, which is cool. I do hope more people will take part. There have been some interesting observations. Check it out.

As it turns out, [ profile] sovay and I will be collaborating on a vignette for Sirenia Digest 9 (August '06), the sf piece that she'd originally planned to write solo. It'll be interesting, as I've not collaborated with anyone since Poppy and I wrote "Night Story 1973" in 2001, and I'm looking forward to it.

All day, I've been wondering how long it will be before the Immaculate Order of the Falling Sky turns up on Wikipedia...


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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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