Caitlín R. Kiernan

Choice comments to recent entries. First, regarding the accelerating acceleration of life at the dawn of the Twenty First Century lady_tigerfish writes:

You just can't Tweet Big Thoughts; they take more than 140 characters. I resent any format that demands my thoughts be small.

– and also –

Making the time--for anything--seems to be a thing of the past. Nearly everyone I know describes themselves as lazy, but as far as I can tell, "laziness" seems to translate to nothing more than "not spending every waking hour doing something." There's an almost Puritanical bent to the way we seem to need to be busy every hour of ever day, to the way stillness is demonized as sloth. Like if we stop moving for two seconds, the devil himself will descend to make use of our idleness. We certainly treat each other that way whenever one of our own dares to step outside the regimen and, say, turns off the cell phone for awhile. Funny, since (as other commenters have pointed out) this pace actually makes us less productive in the long run.

And mrs_ralph writes, of writing and this blog:

I don't think that's what people are looking for when they follow a writer. I can't speak too much for other people but I think I was looking for the deep, dark secret of how to. Turns out there is no deep, dark secret or if there is one it is 'nose to the grindstone, shoulder to wheel and get on with it already!' or as so many writers say 'just write.' The magic isn't something you can beg, borrow, bottle or steal, it is what happens when a person with a unique mindset and a way with words sits down, writes a story and then lets the rest of the world read it.

Thank you both.

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Yesterday, I wrote 1,608 words on the piece that is still called "Blast the Human Flower," but which really needs a different title. I wrote 1,608 words, and found THE END sometime after sunset. It's the sort of story I think of as the biological equivalent of "nuts and bolts" SF, that manly technopron that puts me to sleep. A couple of years back, I was on a panel at Readercon that asked why Darwin has been less of an inspiration to science fiction than, say, Einstein. Or, put another way, why sf authors are usually more concerned with, say, astrophysics, engineering, and robotics than they are with zoology, botany, and geology. It was a good panel. Dune was offered up as an especially good example of science fiction in which biology is the cornerstone of the tale. The sort there needs to be many more of, stories at least as concerned with life and earth sciences as with technology. Oh, and there's the matter of anthropology/sociology/psychology, too – which also seem frequently ignored or frowned upon by the self-appointed gatekeepers of the genre. I could get into the whole Apollonian sf vs. Dionysian sf thing, so-called "hard science" vs. so-called "soft science," writers and readers who don't have the stomach for flesh and sex (sex being, after all, the driving force of evolution)...but I won't.

In the end, of course, it's all matter, viewed at different levels and in different states and configurations, perpetually recycled. So, there. Science fiction, like all literature, is the literature of matter. Distinctions dissolve, as well they ought.

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Since late Friday afternoon, a migraine has been eating at me. I can't tell if the anger's still here, or if my awareness of it has been eclipsed by the headache. Sometimes, my mood swings and chains of angry days would portend a seizure. Now that the meds have those in check, for the most part, I begin to suspect the same anger and mood swings portend the headaches (there's a lot of interesting data drawing parallels between migraines and certain sorts of seizure disorders, and vice versa). Anyway, I think I like the anger better.

Today is an assembly day. I hope to have Sirenia Digest #73 out to subscribers before midnight. This month you get the new vignette I was just discussing, plus part one of "The Lost Language of Mollusca and Crustacea" (with a great Vince Locke illustration), and the second chapter of the original and eventually very reworked text of Silk.

Throbbing,
Aunt Beast

Only five hours sleep last night and the night before, and I'm feeling it. Add to that the fact that winter ended just last week and we've now fast forwarded to July, so my office is sweltering, and I presently feel just a little bit crappy. And sweaty. And sleepy.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,697 words, beginning and completing the second piece for Sirenia Digest #67, which is called simply "Untitled 35." By the way, "Untitled 35" is the 90th piece of short fiction I have written specifically for the digest. Which sort of blew my mind, when I did the math. Anyway, the vignette gets back to the roots of the digest. In fact, this whole issue does. Anyway, Vince is currently working on an illustration for the other story appearing in #67, "Figurehead."

I'm making this entry on the Asus laptop, Zoe, as I've never written anything on her before, and I'm curious to see if I'm as clumsy with this keyboard as I feared I would be. So far, I'm fine.

I have a number of almost, but not quite completely, edited projects piled on top of me that have to be attended to as soon as the digest goes out, before I get back to work on Blood Oranges. The changes to the galley pages of Two Worlds and In Between, and the Crimson Alphabet chapbook. And there's The Drowning Girl, which needs a couple of tweaks. And...stuff I'm too groggy to remember. But it all has to be taken care of ASAP.

Some email yesterday with kylecassidy regarding our impending work on the visual accompaniments for The Drowning Girl. We spoke of crow masks and nuns.

Spooky spent almost the entire day having new tires put on the automobile, and returning overdue library books to the Athenaeum. Well, almost all day on the first thing. The belated book return was, I expect, quick by comparison to sitting at the tire place for three or four hours.

Oh, did I mention it was hot? If not, well, it is. Hot. Here. Which is mostly just funny, because we were having to use the fireplace about a week ago.

Last night, about 10:30, we escaped the sweltering house, crossed the river, and then drove willy-nilly about College Hill, and all the way over to the southern end of Gano Street, where I'm setting part of Blood Oranges. I needed to see it at night. Now, I need to see it at twilight. The interstate looms above it there, and tawdry houses crouch in ominous shadows. Sorry. Just had an attack of Lovecraftitis. All over College Hill, the sidewalks were littered with the crap the deserted apartments of college kids excrete at the end of each school year. We saw two girls wheeling enormous wheeley bin things down the road, evidently cleaning out studios at RISD. On Benefit Street, we saw a very tall boy in a dress, attired rather like Dame Darcy. As Spooky said, he didn't look bad in a dress, but it was a curious sight, there beneath the streetlights. And then, a few minutes afterwards, we threw a hubcap. I assume there's no connection between the Dame Darcy boy and the throwing of the hubcap, but, rather, that someone at the tire place did a poor job of putting the thing back on. Anyway, Spooky managed to retrieve it, so all's well that ends well. It was wonderfully cool Outside, and the air smelled clean (though I expect it wasn't).

In Rift, there was more very good rp. Enthlye, Artemisia, Celinn, and Selwynn, at Lantern Hook in the Droughtlands. Lantern Hook, as I may have mentioned, is essentially a sietch, down to the reservoir. Anyway, the Order's future was discussed, as was Selwyn's sudden change of gender. But, yes. Loving the rp. I've not cared as much about an rp character as I do about Selwyn in quite some time. And it's amazing how Telera lends itself perfectly to rp, whereas Azeroth simply doesn't. Mostly, I think it's a matter of Rift being willing to take itself seriously. As someone said last night in general chat, "It's like WoW, without the suck and fail."

And I read "A new enantiornithine bird from the Lower Cretaceous of western Liaoning, China" and "The osteology of Chubutisaurus insignis del Corro, 1975 (Dinosauria: Neosauropoda) from the 'middle' Cretaceous of central Patagonia, Argentina," both in the January JVP. And tried not to think about sunrise.

Okay, make an end to this entry. Later, kittens.

Perspiring,
Aunt Beast

I absolutely refuse to believe that the Forsaken undead of Undercity celebrate Xmas. The Halloween thing, while annoying as hell, at least sort of made some cockeyed sense. But I draw the line at Xmas. I can only imagine what Silvermoon City must look like right now. Maybe I can force myself to avoid WoW until after the "holidays."

So...the tooth is not being pulled today. My cough, which I've had since early November, has become a complication. What if I cough during the extraction? What if I cough out the blood clot? Etc. The dentist prefers to postpone. So, I'm having to wait and hope the cough clears up before the pain does me in, or the pills for the pain. And I have to get back to work, because this weekend was an utter loss. Sorry to dump health shit into the blog. Right now, it's hard to get around it.

Yeah, anyway. Nothing to say about writing, because I haven't been working.

I did want to mention that, this weekend, we saw Peter Berg's Hancock. The previews caught my eye, but it came and went in theatres with little fanfare, and I forgot the film. Then it wound up on our Netflix cue, and so we saw it. And wow. What starts out as a comedy with the potential to very quickly lose its momentum manages, instead, to go unexpected and delightful places. Indeed, I would even say this is one of my favourite films of the year. It's not perfect, but it's a damn interesting take on "superheroes" (and "gods") and delivers much more than what the trailers promise. Will Smith and Charlize Theron both give great performances. It's not the film I thought it would be, and that's a good thing. I'm also intrigued that Berg is directing a remake of Dune, scheduled for 2010. Maybe someone will finally do it right.

Last night, we watched the last four episodes of Series Four of Doctor Who. Again, wow. "Midnight" joins "Blink" as one of my all-time favorite stand-alone episodes. Marvelously chilling and unresolved. And what a geekfest of a series conclusion. I won't say much more, because I expect a lot of people out there who want to see the episodes haven't yet. "Turn Left" was great. But, as for my Donna Noble/Catherine Tate problem, what I will say is that the conclusion manages to transform her into someone I could care about, but, unfortunately (for the character, not the story), those alterations are revoked, and, in the end, she's that same shrill, annoying person she starts out as. I'm pleased with how the character was employed, but I'll also be glad to see her go.

It's warmer here in Providence, but more cold is on the way.

Today, I'll try to get through my edits on "The Colliers' Venus (1893)", and begin looking towards Sirenia Digest #37. I hope to write two new vignettes for this issue. Also, I need to talk to my agent. So, there's my day, the day I will have instead of the dentist and the removal of this blasted, rotten tooth. Right now, though, I need to go write a "thank you" note that the Iraqi reporter who threw his shoes at President Asshole, and ask why he didn't throw stones, instead.

Also, "World's oldest spider web found." Well, the oldest until an older one is found, which is inevitable.

I'm going to start this off with a very nice email I received yesterday, because, right now, I need something very nice. Matt Stagg writes:

I rarely do this, but I wanted to email you and express how much I admire your work. Discovering your short stories was a revelation for me: I love the way that they flitter back and forth between the sublime, the horrific and mundane. Your novels equally thrill me. How you so easily and successfully weave the disparate elements of genres as diverse as crime fiction and Lovecraftian weird tales will forever escape me; I must satisfy myself instead with the knowledge that some things are both beautiful and unknowable. Such is your fiction.

Thank you, Mr. Stagg. That sounds rather grimly sexy doesn't it? Thank you, Mr. Stagg.

Now. On to yesterday. As you know, we fled this sweat-box, and ended up at the Peace Dale Library in South County (which is actually in Washington County, for them what do not know). I sat in the wonderful air conditioning, not baking for the first time since Friday night, and oil portraits and marble busts of Mr. Rowland Hazard (1855-1890) beamed approvingly down upon me. But...after ten or fifteen minutes, I grew antsy, restless, worried about Hubero, whom we'd left back in the heat (with a bowl of ice water), worried about my writing deadlines, and so forth. But. The library had a copy of To Charles Fort, With Love, which pleased me inordinately. But it depressed me that they had all of the Brian Herbert/Kevin J. Anderson Dune books, but none of Frank Herbert's originals. I tried to do some actual work, reading from books on the history of Rhode Island architecture, the great New England hurricane of 1938, and local sea life. Spooky found Clive Barker's Mister B. Gone (2007), which is a gorgeous, gorgeous book. Honestly, I lost interest in Clive's work somewhere around Galilee (1998), so I'd not seen it. I've not read the Abarat books, either. But I might give Mister B. Gone a try, as it sounds quite good. Anyway, my restlessness increased, and we ventured back out into the heat for lunch. Lunch and tourists. We drove from Peace Dale through Wakefield to Narragansett, and then, after we ate, back to the library. Oh, Spooky took me to a pet store she used to frequent as a child, and they had a gorgeous California kingsnake (Lampropeltis getulus californiae) and also a cornsnake (Pantherophis guttata guttata) that I never got a good look at. I reread the first few chapters of Moby Dick. I always forget how much I adore Melville when it's been a while. Spooky read the first half of Kathe Koja's Stray Dog (2002).

About six pm, we headed over to Spooky's parents' place, because her mother had unexpectedly and kindly acquired for us a portable air-conditioning unit. A Sony CB-10NH, actually, which looks a bit like a shiny black Star Wars droid. We visited briefly, and I hugged Spider the Giant Cat (photo below), then headed back to Providence. Turns out, yesterday set a record high for that date in this city, 98F. It was 8:30 pm when we got home, and the thermostat was reading 93F in the house! Hubero looked utterly pathetic. We hastily set up the portable air conditioner (it needs a name), in the central room. At first, the temp dropped rather rapidly, down to 90F in about fifteen minutes, but then it refused to budge any farther. We sat in front of the AC and ate a late dinner of cold pastrami and Swiss, and sulked and sweated and grumped. Afterwards, I retreated to the swelter of my office, and tried to get into a bit of Second Life rp. Thank you, Gloriana, Pontifex, and Merma/Ardere.

Honestly, I am rethinking Second Life a lot these days. I think all the time away from it moving gave me some perspective, and I see that I abused it the last year, because I was so miserable in Atlanta and just wanted to be anywhere else but there (well, no, not anywhere, but New Babbage, Arrakis, and Toxia were all a step up). No, I'm not about to give it up or anything. But. I can't sink so much time into it. I'd already cut way, way back before the move. It's a tool, a wonderful tool that has helped me write several very good stories, but there's so much else to be done, in this First Life. One reason I make a shitty transhumanist. I fall for the real sand and sky and sex almost every goddamn time. I will say that I am deeply frustrated at the inability to construct stable rp in SL with more than three or four people, and at the plethora of illiterate, immature, ill-mannered, attention-deficit morons clogging up the works. Yeah, well, anyway. Just thinkin' aloud again.

When I went to bed at about 2:25 am, the thermostat was still hovering stubbornly in the high 80s. This sort of heat can drive you to murder your beloved. Or cut off another toe. Or alphabetize all your CDs in reverse order, Z-A. I lay in bed, mine and Spooky's sweat commingling, and watched the first part of Alien while I waited for the Ambien to take effect. Space looked so wonderfully, wonderfully cold. The corridors of the Nostromo never looked so inviting. They say this is the last day of the heatwave. But they were wrong yesterday, and I say meteorologists are going to have to bleed and suffer and die, in vast numbers, to appease Helios. We'll take the meteorologists who don't plan to vote Obama first.

Oh, I think I've found the new "art correspondent" for Sirenia Digest. Thank you all.

Oh, yeah. Photos. A bunch of photos, some of yesterday, and some that are just shots of the new place, because I'm not the only crown-molding whore out there (behind the cut):

( Home and Last Yesterday )

A strange barrage of dreams just before waking this morning, or a barrage of strange dreams. More likely the latter. The dreams were stranger than the barrage itself. You were there, sovay. A staircase that seemed to lead unexpected places, places that it should not. A five-and-a-half-minute staircase. I really wish I could remember more of it.

I have fallen off the horse, as they say. Between the sickness, worrying about the sickness and the bills it has spawned, the exhaustion, the winter, and the easy distractions of technology, I have fallen off the horse.That is, I am not writing. I have not written since the 30th, and I have more dental surgery on Wednesday, which is helping to keep me from getting back on the horse. But...the horse is all that matters. I am now dreadfully behind on this novel — behind in the sense that it has a due date, and I can only write so fast, and I will not rush it. Regardless of my health, regardless of uncertainty, I have to start writing again. As soon as possible or sooner. It does not matter if I only want to go back to bed every day. It matters that Joey Lafaye is written and written well, as I am a writer, and a writer who does not write is no longer a writer. I suppose this is what they call a "pep talk." From me to me and aimed at no one and nothing else.

And now, that I have been shown so much generosity, and now that at least the financial worries have been greatly lessened, that's an excuse I can't use to justify the fact that I am not writing. Since I became a writer, or rather, a published author, I have written through illness and chaos, through pain and doubt, and that's all I have to do now. Something I have done plenty enough times before. What I will do so long as I am alive.

And yes, I am rather saddened by the news of Roy Scheider's death. And despite all the unfortunate films he took part in, he also made some very fine films — Jaws, All That Jazz, Sorcerer, Marathon Man, etc..

---

The eBay auctions continue. Also, if you can, please consider a subscription to Sirenia Digest. Or pick up one of the new mass-market paperback editions of the novels. Once again, here are the links to the correct Amazon pages:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

I think that I am beginning to favor A is for Alien for the title of the sf collection. That was my original title, and I only began to consider others because Neil released M is for Magic last year, and I sort of felt that I'd been beaten to the punch. I was probably being silly.

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Not much else to say about yesterday. There was a walk that should have been longer, but the wind made my teeth and ears ache, so we didn't get very far at all. Last night, I tried to watch a National Geographic channel documentary on the consequences of global warming, but it was one of those cases where things had been dumbed so far down and were being stated so poorly that I gave up after an hour. We watched another episode of Angel ("The Shroud of Rahmon"). We went to bed.

Oh, and once again, the link to the transcript from Shahrazad's Water of Life ceremony, which I finally finished and posted. I tried to make this one less like a transcript, more like prose, where possible. It's sort of like writing.

And lastly, a rather nice review of the Beowulf novelization at "The Book Swede and his Blog."

Another very excellent day off yesterday, and I hardly ever get two very excellent days off in a row. Today it is back to the word mines, but at least I am rested. More than eight hours sleep again last night, so I'm feeling considerably less zombiefied. The warm weather helped (60sF), though it turned rather blustery yesterday, and then we had rain last night.

As for yesterday, first I spent three and a half hours editing a Dune: Apocalypse roleplay transcript from Monday night. I know that doesn't sound like the sort of thing that a writer would do on her day off, but I find editing rp transcripts oddly relaxing in their need for precision and patience. And this was just such a great scene. You can read the transcript here. Anyway, when that was done, I got dressed and we finally made it over to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History. I think we got there about 4 p.m. (CaST). I've been reading the description of a new species of Carcharodontosaurus (C. iguidensis) in the new Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, and there were some features on the Gigonotosaurus mount I wanted to see again up close (Gigonotosaurus is a close relative of Carcharodontosaurus, both part of a radiation of giant allosauroids during the Cretaceous Period). The staff was setting up for a banquet or some such, which always seems to be the case when I visit, and it hampered my access to the skeletons just a little, but not so much to have made the trip a waste. Afterwards, we just sort of wandered about the museum, visiting "old friends." There are photos behind the cut:

( Fernbank stuff )

After the museum, we got noodle bowls at our favourite Thai restaurant. Later still, we watched two more episodes from Season One of Angel ("Under Your Skin" and "Prodigal"), and then I did a little light rp on Arrakis, but nothing to match Monday night. I was actually off SL before one a.m., and in bed before two a.m. Small miracles.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. I really do have to find some alternative to eBay for selling my comp/PC copies, as they've just announced another hike in the cut they take, and it has become unacceptable. No, etsy won't work, as it does not permit auctions. And now I remember there was actually a little bit of work yesterday, as I had to approve the final cover layout for Tales of Pain and Wonder, and send a updated biography for the back cover flap.

Anyway. The platypus says shut up and get to work, so, here we go again...

Winter finally came with a fucking vengeance, and right when I began having the inevitable trouble with Joey Lafaye. Or there is no coincidence here at all, and the cold weather has brought the difficulties. Bitter cold for Atlanta. And wet and just vile. And this house is a sieve, not good in weather of this sort, no insulation to speak of, so hot baths are the only genuine way to escape the cold for a little while. But, it looks as though we have sun today, which should warm things up a little (even if it also means bottomless carnivorous skies).

As I have said before, I can only write, "Yesterday I did not write" so many times before I start wanting to gouge my eyes out with rusty grapefruit spoons. That's why there was no entry yesterday. But yesterday I think I finally found What Happens Next, which was nothing at all like what I thought would happen next, and if I am right and this is the scene I've been looking for, it will violently change the tone of this novel. It'll also mean I have to do a slight rewrite on the prologue. But, so far, it feels like what happens next. We shall see.

On Saturday, the post brought me six copies of the Italian translation of the Beowulf novelization, and I discovered that in Italy it was printed as a hardcover. Then, yesterday, the post brought a big box from HarperCollins with copies of the Portugese, Korean, and Polish translations. All three are trade paperbacks, and all three are more attractive than the little American mmp edition. But the Korean edition, which does not use the movie poster art for the cover, is absolutely beautiful. It even has glitter on the spine! And no, I have no idea what the hell glitter has to do with Beowulf, but damn it's a pretty book. I should also note that the Korean publisher was the only one who bothered to consult with me during the translation, and that there is, of course, irony in that the book recently had that very vocal Korean detractor on Amazon.com. I've never had any American edition of any of my novels look half so wonderful as this Korean translation (excluding, of course, the beautiful subpress editions). So, yeah, that was a welcome diversion, the novelization in all these many languages. I really want to see it in French and German now.

Last night, Spooky dragged me out into the cold, because I'd not left the house since Friday, before the coming of the snow. We had marvelously hot Thai food, and that helped, and then she drove me past the gargantuan snowman someone built in Freedom Park, which will likely take another week to melt.

Tonight is a big night for me in Second Life, as it is the night that my Dune character, Shahrazad al-Anwar, Fremen Naib, has her Taud, her Water of Life ceremony, entering the Sayyadina, undergoing the spice agony, changing the water for the spice orgy, and so forth. I am actually nervous. Like, stage-fright jitters. Plus, assuming Shah survives, she will have become the first Naib who is also her tribe's Reverend Mother (she's already the first female Naib). And there's all sorts of intrigue and weirdness, and all the factions (as observers) and Fremen from the other two Dune sims are invited...so, yeah, stage fright. So, a big night for Dune:Apocalypse this evening, and hence the Shai-Hulud icon for this entry. The ceremony begins at about 7 p.m. SLT, which is 11 p.m. CaST, so I have about ten hours and twenty minutes until the curtain goes up. I think someone's going to shoot video for YouTube, so hopefully I can link to that eventually.

Note that we have eBay auctions ending today, so please do have a look. Thanks!

Coffee's getting cold, so that's all for now. I must make the words. I must stop second guessing myself and write the words. Meanwhile, may Shai-Hulud clear the path before you.

The last two days have been "days off," after eleven days without a day off, and I think I've slept more over those two days than in the two weeks preceding them. Or so it feels. But now it's time to go back to work. Now I go to stand again at the precipice, which is how it so often feels to me, this writing life.

I stand at the edge of a great bluff, and step off.

I'm quite certain I have made this analogy before. It's almost always apt. This morning, the precipice is the knowledge that I now have a month open to do nothing but work on Joey Lafaye, which I've fallen horridly behind on, even when I factor in the deadline extension my publisher gave me in December. I am afraid I am not writing a book that I was "meant" to write. I so despise teleological language. Of course, I have never been "meant" to write any book. So, I shall rephrase that. I am not sure I can write this book. It does not help that I have been sitting on it for more than two years. Way more, actually. And now I have a contract, and now it has to be written. But here I am at the precipice, stepping off. I have a prologue and a chapter, and it's all so very damned odd, this book. Caitlín R. Kiernan writes a novel-length fairy tale. I miss Soldier and Emmie, Deacon and Dancy, Niki and Daria. All those characters I comprehended, because they were only pieces of me. I have to find how it is that these characters, the new ones that must populate Joey Lafaye, can be only pieces of me, for there is nothing else they could be.

The real story here is a girl named Addison Lynch and her missing twin sister, and I have to not lose sight of that, even though half the novel is the carnival and the Barker and Joey and Sweet William and Ignatius and all the rest. I think maybe I know what the book is about. Maybe this time someone has to push me off the precipice. Too rarely do I use this journal to write about how hard writing is for me. Too often, I use it for a hundred other things.

Anyway, Spooky has made another doll, Cecil, who you may see here. I quite love Cecil, in his swimming trunks, and I named him, but if we kept every doll that Spooky made we'd have no room to keep all the blasted books I write.

I'm still relieved at the Publisher's Weekly review of Tales of Pain and Wonder, which you may read in yesterday's entry. Yesterday, I sent all the corrections off to subpress. It is out of my hands, more or less. I think the book is due out in March. There really isn't much to say about yesterday, as it was a day off. There was some decent rp in the Dune sim on Second Life, but the scene was a rather sorrowful affair. And I forgot to take photos. But here's the link to transcripts from the rp (not last night's scene, but the rp in general). I play Shahrazad al-Anwar Godeater, a Fremen Naib. I also post under that name on the forum. Some of it makes for good reading, especially if you are a fan of Herbert's work. Our story assumes that Paul died during his fight with Feyd-Rautha, that an atomic attack on Arrakis followed, and almost a century of civil war. Only now is the Empire beginning to allow various royal houses and factions to return to the planet. I could tell you a lot more, but it would spoil the plot. By the way, if you are on SL and would like to become a part of this Dune story, just IM me (Nareth Nishi), and/or we can talk about it here.

Oh, and "The Ape's Wife" was voted most popular short story of the year at Clarkesworld Magazine. That is, the most popular of those published in 2007 by Clarkesworld Magazine. You may see the poll results here.

Well, here's the coffee, and I should try to at least think about the word mines....

Yesterday was almost entirely spent on Sirenia Digest #24, and I didn't even get to the layout. I did write a longer than usual prolegomena (658 words), and most of the rest of the afternoon was spent proofreading and editing "The Wolf Who Cried Girl" and "The Pearl Diver." And I got through some of the galley pages for the Subterranean Press edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. So, yes, a long and tedious day of proofreading. And I got up this morning to discover I'd not gone over the cover copy for the mmp of Daughter of Hounds, and I had to do that before making this entry, because my editor at Penguin has already been very patient with me. Oh, and Vince sent me a very good sketch for his illustration for "The Wolf Who Cried Girl," and I need to email him back about it.

Thanks and welcome to the new subscribers who signed up for Sirenia Digest yesterday. It occurs to the platypus, who always tells me these things, that today is another very good day to subscribe.

Is it really Wednesday?

A decent walk yesterday, as far west down Sinclair as the dinosaur. Then last night, Spooky and I watched Luc Besson's Nikita (1990). Somehow, I'd managed never to see this film, despite the fact that I'm a great admirer of Besson's, and also despite the fact I was rather fond of the American remake, Point of No Return (1993). I was pleased (but not surprised) to see that Besson's original is the smarter and more complex of the two. And you get Anne Parillaud, in the bargain. Later, there were two very intense rp scenes in the Second Life Dune sim, much more than I'd bargained for, really. They left me sad and tired and just wanting to lie down. So, later still, Spooky read me the seventh chapter of Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. That was yesterday, pretty much.

Because stsisyphus asked yesterday, here's the link to my Amazon.com wishlist, and here's the link to Spooky's. We do not observe Xmas, but we do observe Solstice/Yule (not to mention Cephalopodmas), and books and DVDs are always a welcomed distraction.

Only coffee can save me now.