Caitlín R. Kiernan

The comments to the last entry were much appreciated. Though I think the idea for that novel first occurred only as an angry, vengeful rant, by the time I crawled away to bed last night (4 a.m. CaST), I'd started looking at it much more seriously. If nothing else, it is a safe place where I can pour all my frustration and anger and spite for humanity. Better than going postal with a pointy stick or turning the violence inwards upon myself (my usual strategy).

I started thinking, the story will likely begin a few centuries after the aliens have completed their clensing of the planet. The central character would be an unsuspecting human girl, a teenager who has been befriended by one of the aliens. The aliens would be something completely non-humanoid. insectile, perhaps. This girl lives on the African preserve where humans have been allowed to survive, co-existing with other wildlife and getting by with only the most rudimentary sort of tech (stone tools, at best). All memories of the World Before have been lost. It would seem to the reader, at first, as though we are looking at the Earth in the latest Pleistocene, not the Holocene. These would seem like pre-agricultural humans, hunter-gatherers surrounded by elephants and giraffes and zebra and so forth, who have been visited by an alien civilization. But then this girl is befriended, and the alien teaches her things, and she begins to learn about the purge. She is eventually given access to historical records. This way, it becomes more a novel about the consequences and cultural evolution and conflicts than a space opera about alien invasion. These are, of course, only the most initial ideas. All is yet in flux, back there in my head where stories slowly, slowly take shape. My agent will tell me that there's no money to be made these days in publishing "literary sf" (she's told me that before), but I might just write it, anyway. I feel like it's a book that I need to write, and these days I feel that need all too infrequently.

Today was my first productive day since Tuesday. It has been a black and futile week. An ugly week. The deep trough between the towering waves which bear we forward. Here I cannot afford to lose even a single day, and this morning I had to sit down and mark three full days L. I do not know for sure what dragged me down this time. I never do know for sure. I strongly suspect that proofing Low Red Moon — rearranging those deck chairs — played a role. But it "had" to be done, or I'd have just had to deal with all that nasty regret. Now, at least I know the book that comes out in August will be better than the version released in 2003. And I suspect the nightmares and insomnia played a large role, as well. On Monday, I go back on the damned Ambien. Anyway, I've already canceled plans to see my family in Alabama on the 23rd-24th, to help make up for those three lost days.

The most productive thing about yesterday was an hour or so I spent tinkering with Second Life. I couldn't get very far in my investigations, however, as my iBook's OS is too antiquated to run the requisite software. Once a certain publisher sees fit to finally pay me, there will be a new Mac in Casa de Kiernan y Pollnac, and I won't be limping along on OS 10.2.6 any longer. I can play with the big kids again. Anyway, the thing with Second Life, it's actually research for the piece I started writing today for Sirenia Digest 13 (December), an sf story called "The Path of Silence." Though I'm intrigued by these attempts at creating cyber-environments, I am appalled that they are all so goddamned obsessed with commerce. Linden dollars and the buying of virtual land, the paying of taxes on that virtual land. Shopping in virtual malls, even. What the frell? Isn't there enough tedium in the real world? Is this the best humans can do in their fantasies? Shop? Spend pretend money? Are the masses really that imagination deprived? I'm sure there's more to Second Life than that, but the commercial/capitalist aspect seems awfully front and goddamned center. That shit interests me about as much as fantasy football. Leave the mundane behind, people. It'll still be there when you have to come back.

I believe that the Immaculate Order of the Falling Sky is adopting -H as it logo, in opposition of the singularitarian, transhumanist use of >H and H+.

I wrote 1,101 words this afternoon on "The Path of Silence." Spooky and I had a walk, as it was very warm and sunny, and I'd not set foot outside this dismal house since Wednesday. I read William Gibson's "The Winter Market," which is one of my very favourite sf stories.

All 274 copies of the numbered state of Tales from the Woeful Platypus have, at this point, sold out at Subterranean Press. But there are still copies of the cloth-bound trade hardcover ($20) available.

Also, please have a look at the eBay auctions. These are genuinely unique items. I know Xmas is not the best time to be eBaying (actually, Poppy says it's an excellent time for eBay), but I already explained about the belated check, etc. I really want to see the green-haired boy go to a good home. I'm going to try to list some other items tomorrow, once the writing's done.

As all the gloom began to lift last night, I did get in a couple hours of Final Fantasy XII. Fran, Penello, Ashe, and Co. made their way through the Stilshrine, found the lair of the beautiful Mateus the Corrupter, and kicked her butt. We'll, since she's sort of mermaid-like, maybe it would be more accurate to say we kicked her tail. Either way, we prevailed. Sure beats virtual shopping and paying virtual land taxes.

I find myself rather annoyed that there's not yet a Wikipedia entry for Cephalopodmas (Dec. 22nd). I suppose that I will have to remedy this, unless someone out there beats me to it.

Yesterday was proofreading, editing, slight rewriting, that sort of a day. A lot of e-mail. Spooky and I need to begin proofreading Low Red Moon for the mmp edition. We need to begin very, very soon, as I'm supposed to have my corrections/changes in by December 15th. The new paperback will be released August 7, 2007, by the way.

I also spent some time yesterday figuring out just what will be required to produce a downloadable free e-verson (PDF) of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Short answer, quite a lot. I don't think I'll be able to get this out until sometime late in the Spring, given all my other writing obligations. What I'm thinking is that the PDF will include the original text from the Gauntlet hardback (2000), plus a second revised, corrected text. In short, two complete versions of the collection, back to back. The revised, corrected version will include lots of hypertext, end notes, etc. In fact, I was thinking I'd ask for volunteers to help out with the hypertext links. If you're interested in "adopting" a story and can handle simple HTML, speak up. First come, first served. It would speed things along, and you'll earn a spot in the acknowledgments. You may volunteer right here by claiming a story via a LJ comment. Subterranean Press has agreed to host the PDF (it will also be available on my website). I still have to speak with Richard Kirk about reprinting his artwork, and with Doug and Peter about reprinting their introduction and afterword, respectively. There will be a new author's preface, and if there's time, a new story for the revised, corrected version, possibly the "missing" Salammbô Desvernine story I never got around to writing for the original Gauntlet release.

Oh, and I spent some time working with Vince on the cover/title-page illustration for Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

Spooky spent a good deal of yesterday on photos for my website redesign. I am doing everything in my power to insure it won't look like a "horror writer's" website. I think readers will be pleasantly surprised. Or they will be indifferent. Either is fine.

I was inexplicably pleased this morning to encounter the word "discombobulated" in the description of today's Astronomy Picture of the Day (which happens to be a gorgeous shot of Galaxy NGC 1313, by the way). It's a word which I often use to describe my mental state, "discombobulated," but I hardly ever hear anyone else use it.

No Final Fantasy XII yesterday (I think I almost OD'd on Sunday), but Spooky and I did get into an argument over whether Fran was her girlfriend or my girlfriend, because we're such frelling big dorks. (Fran is my girlfriend, though. I even have the icon to prove it. I cannot help that Spooky is delusional).

The weather here is warm and will remain so at least until Thursday, when the cold returns. The park was good yesterday, except I think it made me long for some genuine wilderness. Trees that have not been planted by men. Land that has not been scaped. But, hey, I'm procrastinating, and all good gardas and nixars know that's one of the Nine Seven Deadly Sins of Writing. The platypus is eying me from the top of a bookshelf, where sheheit has been amusing herhimitself with a volume of William Blake and an action figure (Christopher Walken as the headless horseman, if you must know). So I better go. You know how sheheit gets...

Two days of silence. Things have been odd around here, the last three days, and I've not been up for LJ/Blog. Tonight, we've been watching the Twilight Zone marathon of the Skiffy Channel. So far, I've made it through four of my favourite episodes — "The Invaders," "Night Call," "The Masks," and "The Midnight Sun." But, I must confess that the commercials are about to do me in. They're rather spoiling the whole thing, between some foolishness about new evidence of Atlantis, ads for Eureka and frelling Stargate SG-1 and sundry other bits of crap, breaking in every twelve minutes or so to remind us that Rod Serling has gone the way of the non-avian dinosaur. These days, we get Stan Lee and a superhero reality show.

This afternoon, I played the Final Fantasy XII demo, and it was wonderful enough to make up for the dreadfulness of Radiata Stories. All is forgiven, Square Enix. I think it's going to be a great game. Now, if I can only make it to September.

If I happen to owe you an e-mail, I apologise for the silence and will try to write tomorrow.

setsuled used a marvelous phrase a couple of days back, which I'd meant to mention earlier — "the glamour of dull." To place the phrase in context, he was remarking on the blandness of Kate Bosworth and wrote, "But the kids really go for the glamour of dull these days..." Indeed. Just turn on MTV or check out MySpace, for example, and you will be half-blinded by the glamour of dull, which I think is my new favourite phrase, and I shall use it 'till the cows come home. So to speak.

I have managed a little reading: Angela Carter's "The Scarlet House" and "The Smile of Winter," the first bit of a new piece by sovay which, I hope, will be appearing in Sirenia Digest in August. Also, we watched the remake of The Hills Have Eyes and lots of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

And I hate the new "limited-edition" strawberry ice cream Skittles.

And with any luck at all, these random comments convey nothing whatsoever of my current state of mind.

Please have a look at the latest eBay auctions. Note that Spooky's put up some clothing she's been meaning to auction, literally, for years. Some nice stuff. A black velvet dress that's great, if you're into the whole Gothic Lolita thing. Which I am, as it's a superb antidote for the glamour of dull," those elegant Gothic Lolita kids. Too bad I'm presently stuck here in Atlanta instead of wandering the streets of Tokyo. Oh, and there are books, as well. Don't forget about the books. Or poor, poor Snapdragon. Iggy and Sweet William are trying, doing their best to be brave, but I can see that her impending departure is wearing on them.