greygirlbeast: (Default)
Cold Spring continues. Colder tonight, but at least there's sun today. For now. The pollen's flying, but that's okay. Seagulls over Providence. The tree outside my office window has buds, but not yet any sign of green.

Yesterday, I didn't get back to work on "Fake Plastic Trees." My agent called and we talked and talked and talked, and plans were made. I virtually never plan. I just let shit happen. Which is one reason I've had such a peculiar career so far. Planning always felt so...common. But yesterday we planned. I'm going to write a chapter and synopsis of the "werepire" novel and pitch it to my editor at Penguin, then start Blue Canary. I'll probably write all of Blue Canary before I get back to the "werepires," which would likely be in the autumn. Unless I realize this is all too entirely fucking insane, I may have two new novels written by the end of the 2011. I might call the "werepire" thingy Adapted Dark. I sort of want to see if I can write a decent book in, say, two months. Or if my head will go boom, instead.

Have I mentioned there will be at least one, and probably three, Vince Locke illustrations in The Drowning Girl?

---

My life is a constellation of prescriptions. That's a lousy fucking bit of phraseology, but there you go. A sky dotted with pills. And yesterday a new one was added to the sky maps, and it sort of unexpectedly knocked me for a loop. I went out to the market with Spooky, but by the time we got home, I could hardly sit up. So, I lay down on the chaise in the middle parlor, in front of the fire, and dozed for half an hour or so. Then she woke me, and it was a long groggy evening. We watched Kill Bill Vol. 1 again, mostly so I could moon over Uma's feet and Gogo...and because the climactic fight scene never gets old. I read a paper on the braincase anatomy of the theropod Carnotaurus. But I never really shook off the grogginess. I did some rp with [livejournal.com profile] omika_pearl, but I just wasn't there, and finally apologized and hit the pause button. However, when I went to bed at three, I was asleep as soon as the light went out, and didn't wake until eleven. I wasn't prescribed this drug as a sleep aid, only warned it might make me drowsy. So...damn. Tonight, I don't take it until bedtime.

Oh, and boot money fell, like a Fortean event, from the heavens. Thank you, Jada. You're the bestest.

People have asked for photos of the new piercings, so there are some ears behind the cut (just the ears, but I'll do the labret later):

Holes )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
Some portion of yesterday's sour mood (let's say 24.8%) followed from my having thought I'd lost a tiny silver ankh ring that I've worn on the pinkie finger of my left hand since it was given to me by Jada in 1990. That's twenty years or so that this ring has hardly ever been off my hand. And night before last, I realized it was gone, and figured it was gone for good. But Spooky found it at the foot of the bed yesterday, not long after I posted the entry. I rarely find the things I lose, so it was a huge relief.

Today I have to write. My grand plan of doing 1,500 words a day, every day of the month, is a grand failure. The whole thing was thrown off by my inability to write the Mars story, and the glumness that followed. But here it is the 18th, and the writing has to resume. I've got to write "The Prayer of Ninety Cats" for Sirenia Digest #61, then get back to work on The Drowning Girl. I still have 13 days left in the month. That's a lot of words, if only I stop fucking off.

Yesterday, the weather was warmish and blustery, a very beautiful day, and we crossed the river to College Hill. Somehow, we'd both managed never to visit St. John's Churchyard (formerly King's Cemetery, prior to the Revolutionary War). It's a very small graveyard, located between Benefit Street and North Main. Poe visited it on occasion, and Lovecraft mentions it in "The Shunned House":

I have reared a marble urn to his memory in St. John's churchyard— the place that Poe loved —the hidden grove of giant willows on the hill, where tombs and head stones huddle quietly between the hoary bulk of the church and the houses and bank walls of Benefit Street.

HPL also wrote a poem (an acrostic sonnet), "In a Sequester'd Churchyard Where Poe Once Walk'd." There are graves there dating back long before the Revolution, all sheltered by a gigantic poplar tree, which was still filled with yellow leaves yesterday. There were bright red maple leaves blowing down from a yard above the cemetery. We copied inscriptions and picked up bits of pottery. We found a penny from 1969. An old ivory button. It's a solemn, comforting place, largely hidden from view. The wind was chilly, and the sky was filled with great puffs of cloud, grey-purple below and brilliant white on top. Anyway, there are photos behind the cut, below. It was a good day, and getting out of the House, and going where we went, helped to clear my head.

Last night, with dinner, we had a bottle of Dogfish Head's Pangaea, which I bought back in March just because I couldn't pass up an ale named for the continent of Pangaea. Plus, it's brewed with Antarctic water. Anyway, the bottle got tucked into a cabinet in the pantry and mostly forgotten. But last night, it was finally consumed. Quite good, too.

And now, it's time to make the doughnuts. There are hungry bears in South County.

Gravely yours,
Aunt Beast

17 November 2010 )
greygirlbeast: (Default)
1. A blustery day after a rainy night, just like A.A. Milne might have ordered. But there's more rain on the way. At the moment, it's 55F and the wind's 19mph, gusting to 30 mph. There is a wind advisory in effect.

2. Please note that a number of the current eBay auctions will be ending this afternoon (one or two probably before I post this entry). Most notably, the "napovel" auction ends in 3 hours and 25 minutes. Thanks to everyone who has bid and might yet.

3. I spent yesterday working on "There Will Be Kisses For Us All." I wrote a measly 151 words, over several hours, and finally, again, admitted defeat and shelved the story. This makes twice for this particular story. Last time, two years ago, I couldn't quite find the story in the story. This time, I found the story, but was overwhelmed by everything that needed to go into the story to make it authentic, a hundred details I've been sorting through. And, as Spooky noted, it was threatening to become a full-blown short story, when I only have time to write two vignettes for Sirenia Digest #59. So, with much regret, I put this story away again, and will come back to it at some future date (I promise).

There was a suggestion from a reader yesterday, regarding the possible identity of the Englishman in "Dracula's Guest," who is usually assumed to be Johnathan Harker. [livejournal.com profile] papersteven writes: Am I mistaken that, in the novel, Renfield, before his stay in the sanatorium, had traveled to Castle Dracula? I may be thinking only of the back-story provided in Herzog's remake of Nosferatu, but I always thought it plausible that the Englishman in "Dracula's Guest" was Renfield.

Doesn't work. Renfield as an estate agent was an element introduced in various stage and screen adaptations of the stories. Tod Browning (1931) has Renfield go to Transylvania instead of Harker, for example, and Francis Ford Coppola (1992) presents Renfield as the agent who went to Castle Dracula prior to Harker, and returned insane. But in the novel, Renfield is a patient in Seward's sanitarium, first mentioned in a May 25th diary entry, and not an estate agent.

4. Also, [livejournal.com profile] kaz_mahoney asked of "Pickman's Other Model": Was that in an older Digest? I'm assuming so, as it has a VL illustraion. I keep thinking about that story... When you first wrote it, was it ever a potential novel-length project? I can see that, somehow.

Yes. "Pickman's Other Model" first appeared in Sirenia Digest #28 (March 2008). Can I see it as a novel? Yes, I could. Easily. Will I ever write that longer story it could be? Maybe, who knows. The problem is, of course, that I have very many short stories that could be novels (and vignettes that could be short stories, for that matter).

5. Yesterday, my new keyboard arrived. It was a gift from Jada, so thank you, Jada! Since April 2007, I've been writing on the keyboard that came with my iMac. But it was a bad design, always had sticky keys (that had become very, very sticky), and, because of the design (set into a clear plastic tray) it easily became filthy and was hard as hell to clean. The new keyboard, also an Apple keyboard, is a sleek brushed aluminum affair, and the keys require the application of only the lightest touch. The old keyboard, with which I wrote many, many stories, as well as The Red Tree (and Beowulf, too, but I'm trying to forget that ever happened), will be packed away now.

6. [livejournal.com profile] readingthedark arrived about 7:15 last night, and we got sandwiches from Fellini's, and spent the evening in conversation, about this and that and everything else. I can't begin to remember it all. I read him my introduction for Two Worlds and In Between, about which I was becoming very skittish, and he assured me it's fine (as Spooky had done). At some point, Kathryn called us to her laptop, to see a Second Life Innsmouth sim. There's not much good left that one can say about Second Life. It has become a stagnant backwater. But this sim is a beautiful, beautiful build. You can pose in the arms of a deep one out on Devil's Reef. I recommend you see it before it goes away (all good things on SL go away fairly quickly). The sim is named Innsmouth, so it's easy to find. She'd also downloaded the free Lord of the Rings Online trial (née Middle Earth Online), and we were all rather disgusted with it. Lousy graphics. I mean, sure, it would have looked good in 2002 or 2003. Now...it hardly looks as good as Morrowind looked. All in all, it feels like a WoW knockoff, but with graphics far inferior to WoW. I was very disappointed (though I never would have played anyway, since there's never going to be a Mac version). This is frakkin' Tolkien, people, and you get it right or you leave it the hell alone. Anyway, Geoffrey left a little after 2 a.m., and headed back to Massachusetts and Framingham.

7. And here's another set of photographs from the Portland/HPLFF trip. I hope no one's growing weary of this visual travelogue. I just want to get a goodly portion of it down in the journal, to look back upon in years to come. These are photos taken on our last day in Portland (Monday, October 4th), and in the air, and at the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport before we learned the flight to Providence had been canceled:

H.P. Lovecraft, Part 8 )
greygirlbeast: (walter3)
1. Yesterday, I wrote a very decent 1,466 words on "Hydrarguros," for Sirenia Digest #50. This isn't going to be a vignette. This is going to be my first full-length science-fiction story since I wrote "Galápagos" for Eclipse Three, back in June or July. Er...no. Wait. Shit. I wrote a full-length sf tale, "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics," for the forthcoming Robert Silverberg tribute anthology (Subterranean Press). And that was only December. Gods, it all bleeds together. Anyway, yeah, this story is growing beyond my original concept, and if you're a subscriber to the digest, you'll get to read it. Soon. It's feeling quite a lot like "In View of Nothing" and "A Season of Broken Dolls," and I think Jason Statham is quickly morphing into someone else.

2. Another night of not-quite-enough sleep, thanks to the wonderful rp in Insilico. I meant to get to bed earlier, but the story just kept coming, and I apparently lack the ability to walk away from story. I am a narrative junkie.

3. Yesterday was a day of wonderful gifts arriving by mail. First, a package from Jada in Arkansas, containing a bottle of Crystal Head vodka. I had no idea Dan Ackroyd was pimping vodka in these marvelous bottles. So, the boozery continues to grow. And then, while Kathryn had gone down to the local deli to get sandwiches for dinner, FedEx arrived with a second package (and there's a story here, that I'll come to in Item 4). This one contained a slab of grey stone from the Marecchia River Formation in Italy, bearing the complete skeleton of a 20+ centimeter specimen of Syngnathus acus, an extinct species of pipefish from the Lower Pliocene (about 3-5 million years old). This came from Christa ([livejournal.com profile] faustfatale) in faraway LA. It will now take up residence in my own Wunderkammer.

4. When I went to answer the door, when the FexEx dude knocked, I thought I'd shut the front parlour door behind me. The door leading out into the front hallway. I'd not. When I got back upstairs, it was standing wide fucking open. Sméagol was just outside our door, looking thoroughly freaked. He saw me and dashed back inside. However, Hubero was nowhere to be seen. So, I commenced searching. Our building, circa 1875, has these incredibly narrow, steep spiraling wooden stairwells. They make me think of being inside a lighthouse. I went upstairs and finally located Hubero, who never, ever squirms or wiggles when I puck him up. Except for last night. As I was coming back downstairs with him, he wriggled rather violently, dug in his claws, and one or another of my feet slipped. I missed the next step down, pulled my left Achilles tendon rather painfully, and almost went tumbling to the second floor. For a moment, I clearly saw Spooky coming home to find me crumpled in the hallway, a Siamese cat smooshed flat beneath my broken body. But somehow I caught myself, and doomsday was narrowly averted. Shit like this is one reason Spooky is usually the one who answers the door.

5. Last night, we started watching Season Three of Deadliest Catch. I find this strange show absurdly addictive, and I was partway through Season Three in '08 when we made the move from Atlanta to Providence. We watched the first two episodes, and then I wandered off to rp. Oh, I also read another paper in the December Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology yesterday, "Dyrosaurid remains from the Intertrappean Beds of India and the Late Cretaceous distribution of the Dyrosauridae."

6. The platypus says shut up and get to work....
greygirlbeast: (river2)
On Monday, I wrote 1,249 words and finished "The Bed of Appetite." Which makes my tenth story completed during this so-called (by me) "dry spell." I think that I am pleased with the piece. I read it to Spooky Monday afternoon and she cried, which I always take as a good sign. In this case, it surprised me.

Yesterday was declared a Day Off, so we went to a matinee screening of 30 Days of Night. I suspect that Mother and I are still collating, but I can say that I didn't hate it. And that I can't shake the feeling that it might have been better, though I'm not sure just how. As with Resident Evil: Extinction I went in with zero expectations, as I'm learning that helps, especially with "horror" films. Sadly, no Milla Jovovich, but I very much liked the vampire design (thank you again, Weta Workshop!); quite marvelously creepy, quite alien. The little girl vampire (with her Einstürzende Neubauten tattoo) sort of stole the show. Josh Hartnett was an unfortunate bit of casting, but then he usually is. But Melissa George helped make up for Hartnett. Nice score. Mostly, I have a suspicion that, somehow, the location's potential was never fully realized. I will say more when I see the inevitable "unrated cut" DVD, whenever that may be.

The next few days will be a little weird. Jada's coming in from Little Rock on November 2nd, and we haven't actually had a house guest here, ever. So, there is much to be done in preparation. I'm also going to be doing some more reading for Joey Lafaye and letting the prologue come together in my head, so that as soon as Samhain has come and gone, I can get this thing started. New year, new book.

Well, this is a shorter entry than I expected it to be. But there you go.
greygirlbeast: (chidown)
This morning, the sun is very, very bright. No, really. Brighter than it ought to be. Maybe we're due an unexpected, premature supernova. Or maybe it's only that I have a slight hangover. Either way, I shouldn't have opened the frelling office curtains. Spooky just came back from the post office and I asked her if it looked like supernova weather out there. But she told me to shut the hell up, which happens more than you might think. "Fine," she said, seeing what I'd typed. "Go ahead. Make me out to be an evil bitch." Anyway, she didn't return empty handed. She brought me a very large envelope from Paul Riddell, filled with all manner of cool dren, including copies of Discover Texas Dinosaurs and Dinosaurs of Australia and New Zealand, for which I am very grateful, along with an assortment of take-out menus, stickers, postcards, a Burgess Shale Community day bookmark thingy, a nifty pair of 3-D specs for a special 3-D ep of Medium (a nice sentiment, but people with one eye can't use these), and assorted fliers. I <3 packages like this.

I think I'll be a pirate today. Arrrr! Yeah, that feels good. What did you do on Supernova Day? Oh, I was a pirate. Arrrrr!

And continuing the jaunty nautical theme, here's a photo that Jada sent me yesterday to prove she'd gone snorkeling. I can't remember where it was taken. The Virgin Islands or somewhere like that.



This is just sort of going around in circles, isn't it? I suppose I should blame the liquor, but I'd rather blame the damage the increased solar output (supernova, remember?) is doing to my frontal lobe. The tar-paper shingles on the roof next door have begun to melt, and a flaming squirrel just tumbled over the edge, screaming some shit about the end of the world. I hate that chittery squirrel accent. Like Bubbles, I can understand Squirrelish. Unlike Bubbles, that's my only superpower.

When I threw out the litter box yesterday, I also (finally) threw out the latex catsuit I bought in NYC back in May '98. It was Christa's fault. She forced me to spend $500 on the thing, back in the days when I was writing for Vertigo and had more money than sense. I wore it at the NYC book-release party for Silk and then again at Convergence V in New Orleans in '99. But the years took their toll upon it, as years are wont to do with ultra-thin latex garments in hot and humid climates. It was no longer even remotely wearable. I did keep a small swatch, just because I have so much trouble throwing dren out. There are still photos of me wearing said catsuit up somewhere on the old website, but I'll be frelled if I can find the URL.

Whoops. There went another flaming squirrel. Damn.

I think I'm going to go away and come back later, because we both know that I'm not making a lot of sense. Of course, if the Earth is suddenly consumed in a fireball of superheated plasma, I'm off the hook. Meanwhile, check out our new eBay auctions. We're only selling a few copies of The Dry Salvages trade at that reduced price, so you might want to act now. Before the sun explodes. But, yeah, please have a look at the auctions. Please. Thank you.

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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