Caitlín R. Kiernan

I'm running a little late today, so I will try — and likely fail — to make a shorter entry this ayem.

Yesterday, I did 1,661 words, which is only a disappointment relative to the last four days. It was still an exceptional writing day, given that my average is 1,000 words/per day, and given the count now stands at 17 down, 14 to go.

Talking about Concrete Blonde yesterday, somehow I neglected to ever get around to what I'd meant to say, the main reason I'd bothered to even bring the band up here. The song "Joey" off Bloodletting was very, very important to Silk, and to a lesser extent, to Threshold. Somthing of the character of Keith Barry was drawn from that song, I suspect, and then, later, it would influence my approach to Deacon Silvey. And the lyrics are too redolent of two or three of my own disastrous relationships (circa 1992-1993, and another from the winter/spring of '97), relationships that I drew upon when writing those two books (and especially Silk). Which is to say, growing up as I did, I have a soft spot for drunks and losers and addicts. But I'm all better now. At least on the Outside. And yes, it's true: Beware friendships and love affairs with writers, because, sooner or later, it all goes into the stew.

My thanks to derekcfpegritz for pointing me towards Polish surrealist Jacek Yerka, with whom I am now deeply infatuated. If possible, this will be the artist whose work appears on the cover of the next collection of dark fantasy stories, whatever I end up calling it. Check out "Brontosaurus Civitas," especially.

I noticed that not only is there the 50-books-challenge thingy, but also 50filmchallenge. That is, see 50 films over the course of a year. And, I'm sorry, but I just had to laugh. By a very conservative estimate, I must see at least three or four films a week, sometimes five or six. But let's say just four. That would be 208/per annum. I think I'd need at least a 400 film challenge to find it at all challenging.

Spooky is deep into the feathery recesses of this Orithaceous Period which has gripped her. Even I'm being sucked into the enthusiasm. So, I'm going to write something short, a poem or vignette (probably the former), something about the four wizard corvids she's currently sculpting. She intends to auction them on eBay, so what we'll do is each auction will be for one bird and one signed, handwritten copy of whatever it is I decide to write about said birds. The piece will not be printed anywhere for, oh, let's say three years. I'm not sure when this will happen. When the dolls are finished. When I have a moment to write the piece. Maybe by next week. I'll keep you posted. We'll try to find time to get some books up, too.

A package just arrived from Spooky's mom in RI. Some clothing we left behind when we were there in August. More importantly, Jelly Bellys.

Last night, a little Final Fantasy XII (I finally defeated the "Produce Stand"), and we read more of Tideland. And worried about an ice storm that never came. On Monday, we had highs in the low 70s. Today's forecast high is 37F. And I should get crackin', as they say.

I think everyone should begin each and every goddamn day with something that scares the absolute bejeezus out of them. It's better than coffee, really. To wit, please note that President Asshole has now removed from the US Army Field Manual any reference to Article 3 of the Geneva Convention, which prohibits torture and "outrages on personal dignity, in particular, humiliating and degrading treatment" against prisoners. There. I've done my vile deed for the day. I suppose I should take heart in the knowledge that world history will remember this Administration as the thugs and bullies and outlaws they are, but I'm not that optimistic. Or certain there's any substantial amount of "history" remaining for such remembrances. Besides, hindsight's not much consolation for tortured and degraded prisoners.

Yesterday was not so much a disaster as a dratted nuisance. We made it to the Apple Store about two p.m. Oh, how I fondly do recall those days of yore, when Apple was much less popular, there were no iPods, and you could walk right up the bored geek @ the Genius Bar and get down to business. Now the Apple Store's swamped with people, half of them waiting in line for technical support. Which meant we were at the mall until almost 5 p.m., waiting, waiting, waiting, for a tech to see us and tell us what we already knew, that the logic board on Spooky's iBook was fried. When our turn finally came, it took maybe five minutes. The good news is the repairs will only cost $290 (despite the fact that the logic board's a $700 part) and that we'll have it back early next week, at the latest. But the whole day was lost. No proofreading, and everything that should have been done yesterday must, instead, be done today. At least I got a scoop of red apple Jelly Bellies out of the affair, as the Sweet Factory is directly across the mall from the Apple Store.

And frell me dead, but mall's just keep getting more unpleasant. I'd not been inside one in almost a year. The photo below (behind the cut, because, you know...), taken in the unbelievably filthy women's restroom @ Macy's, nicely sums up yesterday. And no, I don't make a habit of taking photos in public restrooms, but I was very, very, very bored.

( From this angle, it looks clean )

I did learn yesterday that the CEM of Daughter of Hounds should reach me on June 30 or the following Monday. So, now I know when to lay in extra pills and booze. And speaking of Daughter of Hounds, it occurred to me last night that I could place the appendices online, with a note in the acknowledgments/author's note, directing readers to the appropriate URL. I got the idea from the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, as many authors are now including URLs at the ends of papers, directing readers to supplemental material, usually elaborate and lengthy character matrices or colour figures, thus cutting down significantly on page and printing costs.

To help pay for the iBook repairs, Spooky will be auctioning Snapdragon, the new doll, on eBay very soon. As soon as she's finished with Snapdragon's clothes. I really will hate to see her go, now that I've based a character in Joey LaFaye upon her. Anyway, details to come.

Nothing much else to say about yesterday, really. Last night, we made it through Chapter 15 ("Old Craft, New Craft") of The Triumph of the Moon. I wasn't quite sleepy when we went to bed, so Spooky read me Robert McCluskey's Lentil, which did the trick, and no frelling Ambien was required. Okay. Time to dance...

If you discount e-mail and other internet communications, I've not spoken to any sentient creature except Spooky and Sophie (I'll count a cat as sentient, but I'm not so sure about a hamster, so I'm not counting Chi) since we went with Byron to see V for Vendetta. That's what....seven days? A whole week? And it's not the least bit unusual. It's just that sometimes my reclusivity disturbs me on some level. Not enough that I actively try to change it, of course. More like the way you half remember something that's been forgotten, so for a day or two it nags at the back of your mind before you forget once more that there's this something you've forgotten. Like that. It's a strange life, I suppose, but, for the most part, it seems to suit me. I find most people so inscrutable, incomprehensible, it's probably better this way.

Yesterday was a step in the right direction. Cold or no cold, we had a decent little walk. I have this odd habit or ritual I've developed. See, we buy Red Rose tea bags, for ice tea, and in every box you get a little ceramic animal. I think we had some thought of collecting the whole lot, but we've ended up with piles of sheep and rhinos and chickens and not a single zebra. You know how it goes. Anyway, sometimes on our walks, I'll leave one of these little ceramic animals someplace, more or less in plain sight, just to see how long it takes someone to move it. There's a chicken that's been in the same spot for the better part of a year now. An elephant lasted over a year. Yesterday I left a ram on the corner of a house, and a rhino in the crook of a tree, and I left one of the chickens somewhere, but cannot now recall where. It's likely a neurotic behaviour, leaving ceramic figurines scattered about the neighbourhood, like Boo Radley leaving gifts for Scout and Jim in the old tree, but it amuses me. And far too few things amuse me to worry whether or not any one of them is neurotic.

After the walk, I spent about three hours trying to begin a vignette called "Glove." It was to be a piece about a selkie, set on Crane Beach (on the North Shore of Massachusetts). But after 476 words, I had what might have been the start of a good short story, but not the start of a vignette. I'm starting over today. It's still about a selkie, a selkie who's lost her sealskin, but this time I'm beginning from an entirely different direction. I may still call it "Glove," and I may not. Having given up on the writing for the day, I began proofreading the Alabaster galleys. I made it all the way through the afterword. So, it was not an entirely unproductive day, which is more than I can say for most of this past week. Later, I did a Wikipedia entry on the Portuguese ankylosaur, Dracopelta and another on osteoderms, because no one had yet written an entry on osteoderms and it was driving me to distraction. Then we went to the market, and then I lay on the sofa and half dozed to some documentary about the Invasion of Normandy while Spooky fixed chili.

Dr. Who was good last night. Christopher Eccleston, you know. I think, in some ways, the show's begun to fill the part of me that was left vacant by the cancellation of Farscape. There's something of the same sensibility to it. It's fun in the same way, and poignant in the same way. Sure, Battlestar Galactica is quite good, even brilliant at times, but, if you ask me, it's not very much fun. We watched last week's second episode over again, because Spooky had missed it, and this time through I realised how much it put me in mind of Michael Moorecock's Dancer's at the End of Time trilogy. Later, I read Angela Carter's "The Lady in the House of Love" to Spooky (which I rate as both one of the best vampire stories ever written and possibly the best retelling of "Sleeping Beauty"). Then she read "Pickman's Model" aloud to me, because she's talking about making the next doll one of the ghouls from the Yellow House on Benefit Street (and yes, it will be for sale). She began "The Colour Out of Space," but I fell asleep just a few pages in. That was yesterday.

Oh, I almost forgot. The doll she's working on now (which will also be for sale), I've figured out that he's Sweet William's brother, Ignatius. Some people call him Iggy. He still has both legs and is a roustabout at the fairie carnival. He runs the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Ferris Wheel. Ignatius has a foul temper, but can make butterflies out of old tin cans and is a whiz at mathematics. Spooky will post photos soon.

That's probably enough for one morning. I need to go find my chap-stick before my lips fall off. Please have a look at the eBay auctions. And consider the fact that those who subscribe to Sirenia Digest on Saturday, March 24th, 2006 are 67% less likely to be struck upon the head and shoulders by falling wildebeest. Finally, remember, I don't want the world. I just want your half.

Because I am such a very forgetful nixar, I neglected to mention in this morning's entry that Spooky's very first doll auction, the one that will determine the ownership of Lisa, ends tomorrow. It now has about 19 hrs. remaining. Have a look. Really, guys. I want this one out of the house. She's started whispering things to me in the dead of night. Not-nice things...

Click here to save me from the dollish evil.