Caitlín R. Kiernan

Here in Providence it's a balmy 53˚Fahrenheit, bright and sunny.

And today, as the world "falls back," I remain upright, and Caitlín Standard Time begins for the eighth year. All this actually means is that I prefer Daylight Savings Time and so remain on it all year round. I'm not a morning person, and this way I keep more sunlight in the evening during the loathsome winters. CST has become even more important since the move north. By the way, if you hate DST, and find CaST bizarre, I truly do not care, so there's no need to say so here.

Yesterday was an eight-hour workday, almost all of it spent answering email and getting Sirenia Digest #71 ready to be PDFed, and then I sent it off to Gordon (thingunderthest) for the actual PDFing. And I also did an interview regarding the BIG DARK HORSE TEASE. The interview will appear online Wednesday, same day as Dark Horse spills more specifics. I'll keep you posted. There are many interviews in my immediate future. Anyway, yes, very busy Saturday (weekends, what are those?). Alas, oftentimes, the first PDF of a Sirenia Digest has errors, and a second is necessary. But, still, I should think the digest will likely go out this evening. Not too late to subscribe and get in on #71! It's cheap!

Today, I need to begin the long short story, or the novelette, or short novella, or what-the-hell-ever that I'm doing for the chapbook that will accompany the limited edition of Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. By the way, that chapbook will include not only this new, long story, but "The Yellow Alphabet." No release date yet. I'm guessing Summer 2012.

Speaking of subpress, I'm getting a lot of reports from people who ordered Two Worlds and In Between from Amazon.com, who are now receiving emails stating "Due to a lack of availability from our suppliers, we will not be able to obtain the following item(s) from your order..." That sort of shit. I have no idea why this is happening, but I do know it's happened before with Amazon and subpress editions, which is why I never link to the Amazon pages for those books, but directly to the subpress pages. I've said before, to be sure you get the book, always order these volumes directly from Subterranean Press. All I can do is notify subpress that it's happened...again. Which, of course, solves no one's problem, now that the book is completely sold out. I can apologize (not that it's my fault), and I do, but I know that doesn't get anyone the book they pre-ordered, expecting that pre-order to be filled. Honestly, the situation pisses me off, but there's nothing I can do. When subpress begins taking orders for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart, ignore Amazon. Order directly from the publisher.

Now, if you did order directly from subpress, and your order hasn't arrived yet, be patient. It will. All the copies are not sent out at once. Subpress handles too many titles to do that. Pre-ordering doesn't mean you get your book early; it means you get your book. I am the author, and all but two of my comp copies only arrived day before yesterday.
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Last night, we streamed last week's episode of American Horror Story from Hulu (Zachary "Husband #1" Quinto!), then finished Season Four of Californication. For my part, as much as I adore this series, I'd have been happy with it ending at the ending with Hank driving, literally, off into the sunset in that last episode of Season Four. The story may not have been finished (no story ever is), but it was a good place to stop telling it. However...seems like there will be fifth and sixth seasons, though, at least, the story will skip ahead two years. Then we read the prologue and first chapter of House of Leaves (because it's November), then I read some more, and was unable to sleep until almost 4 ayem (perhaps your 3 ayem), only to wake at ten ayem (possibly your 9 ayem). So, I'm not at my best today. Of course, I probably will never be at my best again. My best probably ended in 1995. Those people who tell you that "40 is the new 30" are either a) seriously deluded, b) have amazingly good health care, or both.

We just realized we missed the Rasputina in Boston on October 28th, because we were at the Iron Pour. At least we did something. However, I will make the VNV Nation in Boston on December 4th. Stalk me there and die.

And now...the words.

Next,
Aunt Beast

So, yeah. Spring forward, fall back, thank you very much, Benjamin frelling Franklin, but for the fourth year running, we shall be ignoring that nonsense, preferring, instead, the consistency and stability of Caitlín Standard Time.

I think kava (Piper methysticum) is my new best friend.

This is going to be a rambly sort of entry. The last three days have been sort of rambly. They certainly have not proceeded in a straight line. Of course, few things ever do, but the minds of women and men and the other genders would often have you think that they do. Me, I like wavy lines, and curlicues, and the Golden Curve of an ammonite's shell.

Spooky just came back from the p. o. with a check from Candlewick Press for the sum of $738.14. This is yet another payment for "The Dead and the Moonstruck," which I wrote for their YA anthology Gothic: Ten Original Dark Tales, way back in July 2003. I've lost track of how many times I've been paid now for this story (this latest seems to be for the sale of a British bookclub edition), but I think I can safely say I've made more from this single short-story sale than I have from any other. If only every short-story sale were this lucrative, the poor platypus would not always be in such a foul mood. Or perhaps sheheit would. Perhaps platypus are foul-tempered beasts, no matter how much or how little they must get tarted up and walk the streets. You should pick up the anthology, by the way. It also includes stories by Neil Gaiman, Lemony Snicket, Gregory Maguire, and Joan Aiken (and, yes, many others), and there's a trade paperback edition now. Money from the sky, that's always a good thing.

My apologies for the October issue of Sirenia Digest still not having gone out. I'm waiting on Vince's finished illustration for "The Ammonite Violin (Murder Ballad No. 4)," which I hope to receive this afternoon. Your patience is much appreciated.

Ah...what else? Rushing through House of Leaves, so soon we'll be back on track with Only Revolutions (unless The Road gets me further sidetracked). Last night, I saw Grey Gardens, the 1975 documentary on Edith Bouvier Beale and her mother and their squalid 28-room mansion in East Hampton, New York. I cannot even begin to comprehend the sort of mentality that could turn such a horror story into a broadway musical, much less a feature film starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore.

I finally saw Michael Cimino's Heaven's Gate (1980), which, I think, just goes to prove that the failures of some are more wonderful by ten than the successes of most. I found the film beautiful and brilliant throughout, and whatever rough spots there were are likely the product of Cimino having been forced by United Artists to reduce his original cut, which ran 5 hours and 25 minutes, to a 3 hour, 39 minute version (the cut I saw). I would dearly love to see the original full-length film.

We had dinner with Byron Friday night, which is always a good thing. Then Saturday, I received an unexpected invitation to an early Samhain gathering. Spooky decided she wanted to stay home and sleep because she was feeling a bit under the weather, so I went alone, returning home late yesterday afternoon. It was, overall, a generally positive experience and included my first skyclad group work. I spent half the night wandering peacefully alone through the woods, hearing owls and coyotes and other things, and watched the sunrise for the first time in ages. There was a wonderful conversation I can now only partly recall, concerning the "divinity" of non-conscious Nature and the goddess as abstraction and metaphor. My great thanks to my hosts. Spooky and I will be doing our own Samhain thing tomorrow night, of course, once the trick-or-treaters have been fed.

Okay. Time to make the stupid doughnuts. At least the headache I woke with has begun to fade.