Caitlín R. Kiernan

Stardate: 64615.5

The Rift Headstart begins in about an hour and forty-five minutes, and I admit I'm distracted. I'd just take the day off, but I have a doctor's appointment tommorow, and I can't go losing two days in a row.

Yesterday, I wrote 2,104 words and found the end of the ninth chapter of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. This leaves one more chapter and an epilogue, and then THE END.

Last night, we proofed "Onion" for Two Worlds and In Between. I wrote "Onion" in 2001, ten years ago. It won the International Horror Guild award for "Outstanding Achievement in Short Fiction," even though it's not a horror story. I traveled to Chicago, where the award was presented to me by Neil. And it was chosen by Ellen Datlow for Volume 15 of her and Terri Windling's The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. It was later collected in To Charles Fort, With Love. In 2007, A Big Hollywood Movie Producer spent months trying to get me to write a screenplay from it, and I tried. But he insisted the story was only the first half of a film, even though I explained to him that moving beyond the story's last page, where Willa gets up and walks away from Frank, would entirely collapse the story's fundamental mystery. I finally told him I just wasn't up to writing the screenplay. So, "Onion" has had some history. And I was pleased, last night, to discover that I still like the story. I made very few line edits.

I have to write a short essay on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982) for a book on the movie, a book that includes all sorts of incredible people. I should say I get to write, not I have to write. I truly am honored. I've found my essay, but for now it's a secret.

Last night, Shaharrazad moved on to Outland, where she and Suraa are in Shadowmoon Valley, working towards the Outland Loremaster achievement. But, I will admit, the wind's sort of been taken out of my sails. It's hard going back to that candy-colored cartoon world after Telara. I've announced that I'm looking for someone to take over the guild, Eyes of Sylvanas. I would like to see it live on without me.

Spooky and I will be rolling our Rift characters on the Shadefallen shard. They'll be Defiant, of course. Oh, and you only need four people to form a guild on Rift, and we might do that. If you interested, just say so, here or in an email.

A new world begins today.

Postscript (2:52 p.m.): Got both my desired names on Rift— Selwyn (Kelari mage) and Shaharrazad (Bahmi cleric). Woot, I say. Spooky, sadly, is stuck in the queue.

And here, already, it is Mabon. Too, too soon. Even after this dreadful summer, part of me dreads the approach of winter. Those blue skies. My aching feet. Ah, whatever. Here's wishing you a joyful Mabon, or Aban Efed, or Feast of the Ingathering, or simply a pleasant Autumnal Equinox.

As predicted, yesterday was all housecleaning, and now this place is a fair sight less cluttered and dusty. So, today we can return to work on Tales of Pain and Wonder — the last couple hundred line edits — and hopefully, tonight, I'll not be so fried I can't get back to work on the screenplay for "Onion."

Yesterday at dusk, we went out for our evening walk, and heard the screech owl (Megascops asio) that we've been hearing on our street for a couple of months now. Last night, though, we were fortunate enough to catch sight of her or him, perched on a branch near the road and crying out with the distinctive "whinny" of a screech owl, sort of like the sound an Hyracotherium might have made (assuming palaeotheriids whinnied, and they likely did not). It's an eerie, beautiful sound. We walked west almost as far as Inman Park, and returned to find Byron seated on our porch steps. We watched the "new" Torchwood, part of The Graham Norton Show, and then Mike Judge's Idiocracy. On the one hand, I'll admit the movie was funny, sort of like Futurama turned inside out. But on the other, Spooky and I agreed afterwards that its portrayal of a future human population where everyone is an slack-jawed, consumerized idiot to be not so very different from how we perceive the bulk of the present human populace, and in that regard the film is more annoying and creepifying than anything. I note the film has a 6.4 at IMDb, and a 67% fresh rating at Rotten Tomatoes.

Since I started Second Life back in May, I've seen a certain statistic bandied about, something to the effect of "53% of all Second Life women are really men." This morning, I was determined to track down the source of the number, but have so far had no luck. Though I'm quite certain that the number of men using female avatars is indeed extremely high, I also know that there's no reliable way of calculating the actual percentage, if only because most of them aren't going to admit that they're not really female. And I'm wondering, too, does this count as transvestitism...but that's a different kettle of fish. Anyway, the search led me to several articles wherein people were worrying about the possibility of Second Life cracking down on its (very large) furry population, by deeming sex with or between furries to be bestiality and therefore a violation of "community standards." Which got me to thinking where that would leave Nareth Nishi (at this point, she's 100% Nebari) or Miss Paine (25% Neko), as neither of us are genuinely human. And what about Klingon avs, and Vulcan avs, and Elvish avs, and Twi'lek avs, and so on and so forth. Sure, they're all humanoid, but they aren't any more human than a humanoid raccoon or horse or skunk. In fact, from a strictly biological standpoint, the sexual deviation involved in having sex with a humanoid skunk is far, far less than that involving congress with any humanoid alien race, as humans and skunks at least share a common genetic history and, somewhere back there, a shared common ancestor. Not so with humans and Nebari, or humans and Twi'lek, or whatever. Anyway, if anyone can actually find the source of the "53% of all Second Life women are really men" thing, please let me know. You'll get a cookie or something.

Yeah, so the day isn't getting any younger, and this typescript isn't getting any less menacing, so I suppose I should wrap this up.

Somehow, August's heat wave has led directly to early autumn, with virtually no transition, not cooling by slow degrees. I have always found abrupt weather unsettling.

I had to take two Ambien last night, and I am not awake. But there is not time to wake up. At least, though, the Ambien has done its dream-memory suppressing trick, and now I only recall bits and pieces of things I have no wish to remember. Since going back on the Ambien, dreamsickness is a rarity, whereas once it was a daily affair.

The Opportunity rover is now inside Victoria Crater.

Yesterday, I did 1,233 words on "Untitled Grotesque," but did not find THE END. I must find it today. There are too many things waiting to be written. I should have gotten back to work on the "Onion" screenplay on Saturday, and I should have begun work on Joey Lafaye two months ago. I used to be very good at managing my time. I am refusing solicitations for new short stories at this point, so, from here on, it's Sirenia Digest, the screenplay, and Joey Lafaye, and it will likely be that way through the end of April 2008. Oh, wait. No. I still have a little work to be done of the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder: I need to attend to the final edits (a day's work), expand and finish "Salammbô Redux" (née "Little Conversations"; two or three day's work); write a new intro for the collection (a day's work); and write the chapbook that's being released with the collection (hopefully only a day's work). So, with luck and determination, that's something like six more days work I have left to get the book ready for Subterranean Press by my early October deadline. And then I will only have Sirenia Digest, the "Onion" screenplay," and Joey Lafaye to worry about.

Note that you may now read "The Ape's Wife" online (for FREE) at Clarkesworld Magazine, simply by following this link. "The Ape's Wife" will also appear in the anthology Realms: The First Year of Clarkesworld, edited by Nick Mamatas and Sean Wallace, and there will also be a signed, limited print-edition chapbook of Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 12.

A couple of days back, stsisyphus asked, Is this the end of second-life journaling, or shall the adventures of a...uh, well, Nareth's adventures continue to be chronicled?

Well, it has an awfully good ending at this point, doesn't it? It seems that way to me. However, yes, I will likely continue Professor Nishi's journal, as time allows. At the moment, though, the good professor, having almost perished twelve days ago in an effort to delay the return of the Great Old Ones, is trying to live quietly, slowly recovering her health, tending to her Museum, and getting regularly snogged by Miss Paine. So, it may be a while before the adventuring begins again...she hopes.

Last night, we began reading Dune, because Spooky has never read it, and I haven't read it since college, and we're thinking we might take part in a new SL Dune sim soon.

It's almost noon, and no one has bothered to tell me how "Untitled Grotesque" ends, so I must away. But — turn not pale beloved snail, there's coffee!

It seems impossible that six years have now elapsed...

Yesterday, we proofed "Angels You Can See Through," "Lafayette," and "...Between the Gargoyle Trees," so we almost finished the Tales of Pain and Wonder read-through. And I made a decision regarding the "Table of Contents" — the new edition will include "Mercury," which did not appear in the first and second editions (as it wasn't written until late 2003). It will not, however, include "Angels You Can See Through." Reading back over the piece yesterday, I have to admit I found it clumsy and insubstantial. I had already decided to include "Mercury" in this edition, a week or two back, and it is a far better story than "Angels You Can See Through." Today, we proof "Mercury," and then I begin the actually editing, which I hope to have completed by tomorrow evening or Thursday evening at the latest.

There was also a phone call from my lit agent, as we're having some trouble with the wording of my new Penguin contract. And I'm getting gentle nudges from producer D. It is time I remember how to be a "workaholic" once more. I went too easy on myself in August, and now I am dreadfully behind.

Much to my amazement, there is actually one page in the new Tales of Pain and Wonder typescript with no red marks — p. 396, in "Lafayette." I think there's an average of twenty or thirty corrections per page. And at 471 pages...well, you do the math. This falls into the category of work that was definitely not in my best interest, financially, but this collection has been published twice before, and neither time was I happy with the outcome; this time, I am determined that I will be.

Beowulf will be out very soon, and, in the meantime, there's Daughter of Hounds, Threshold, and Low Red Moon, as well as Tales from the Woeful Platypus. The new editions of Silk and Murder of Angels will be along in December and April, respectively. And if you can't find these books at Borders or Barnes and Noble, there's always Amazon, which has everything, in or out of print. Oh, and of course there's also Sirenia Digest, in case, by some odd chance, you have not yet subscribed.

Last night, we walked at sunset, made a big pot of chili, and very late I watched Carol Reed's adaptation of Graham Greene's The Third Man (1949) on TCM, with Joseph Cotton, Orson Welles, and Alida Valli. I adore this film, but I will admit the zither drives me nuts. Oh, and I found time to make another entry to Professor Nishi's journal. All in all, a fine and busy day.

"Shut up and get to work," says the platypus, and who am I to ever argue...

A happy Lughnasadh (or Lammas) to those of you who mark this day as such. The wheel turns.

I hope everyone has received Sirenia Digest #20. If you are a subscriber, but you have not yet received your copy, email Spooky at crkbooks (at) yahoo (dot) com. And if you've had time to read the new issue, comments and feedback would be welcomed.

Yesterday was pretty much consumed with Hollywood. Which is always very weird. I had my film agent at UTA at 3 p.m., and then Producer D at 6 p.m. When I made the decision that I had to step back, move a couple of things off my plate, get some rest, etc., one of the projects that I seriously considered abandoning was the "Onion" screenplay. I am very happy to say that I have been persuaded not to, and that I'll be going back to work on it in September, after I've gotten a good start on Joey Lafaye.

Spooky just reminded me to remind you that the current eBay auctions end this evening. Which means it's not to late to have a look.

Oh, I also got the cover for Beowulf, but I don't know if I'm allowed to post it yet, as we're still waiting on it to be approved by Paramount. I'll post it here as soon as my editor at HarperCollins says I may.

The dreamsickness is bad this morning, so I'm having trouble recalling everything I meant to recall about yesterday. We read more of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows last night, chapters 21 and 22. Our walk went well, though we had to wait until after dark. There was some Second Life, including a relaxing conversation with blu_muse at Loki's Absinthe House in New Babbage. Really, that's about all I can recollect.

Platypus, where's my coffee?

Pain or damage don’t end the world, or despair or fuckin’ beatin’s. The world ends when you’re dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man—and give some back. — Al Swearengen

Setting out from the scabby foothills of Ered Glamoth, yesterday's portion of the Mordorian Death March made it only so far as the banks of the River Culdiun. Being a parched season, the river bed was bone fucking dry, but always fearing sudden and unexpected flood, I made the crossing and reached the eastern banks before calling it a day. The Plains of Nurn stretch out before me. Which is to say, yesterday I made many cuts, most of which made little sense to me, but I made them anyway. A paragraph requiring half an hour to compose may be dispensed of in only an instant. Snip. Delete. Easy peasy. It hardly even hurts. Strictly out-patient stuff. Just don't pick at it, or it'll never heal.

Today, we will linger on the banks of this bedroughted river, and the March will not continue until Monday. A communications breakdown has both permitted and made necessary this early interruption. I'm glad of it, for my part. It means I have today and tomorrow to write a vignette for Sirenia Digest #18 (May '07). Monday, though, the long walk resumes.

Spoke yesterday with producer D, letting him know that the "Onion" screenplay has been sidetracked until after the 23rd, and I was relieved to find him very understanding.

I forgot to mention that we saw Spider-Man 3 with Byron on Wednesday. I was reluctant , but I went. See, I owed Byron, having forced him to sit through X-Men 3, even though we all knew it would suck. My twisted Mystique fetish, what can I say. Anyway, yeah, Spider-Man 3. I enjoyed it more than Spider-Man 2, but not nearly as much as the first film. At least three films were trapped inside Spider-Man 3, and it went on maybe forty-five minutes too long for my liking. The Bruce Campbell cameo was a breath of fresh air. All in all, far too much in the way of touchy-feeliness, the mushy sort of sentimentality that makes me cringe. The film swings wildly between breathtaking and achingly dull. Too much plot, too little substance. But we did get a Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix trailer beforehand, so all was not lost.

Anything else about yesterday? Well, we had a short peregrination in the evening. It would have been longer, but a thunderstorm was moving in. Wonderful thunder and lightning, a marvelous wind sweeping over Freedom Park. Someone in a big red pickup truck stopped and warned us about falling trees. Ah, worry not, Chicken Little. Later, after dinner, we did a Toho Kid Night, first an unedited, undubbed cut of Daikaijû Baran (Varan the Unbelievable; 1958), which I think is actually one of the best of Ishirô Honda's films, moody and dark and fun. However, it's almost impossible to root for anyone but the monster, driven from his primeval sanctuary, where he was bothering no one, then murdered for posing a threat to humanity. Okay, well maybe he ate a few villagers now and again, but these things happen. Anyway, the second feature was Uchu daikaijû Dogora (Dogora, the Space Monster; 1964), and what a difference six years can make. Uchu daikaijû Dogora is a goofy sort of clash between diamond-stealing gangsters. the Tokyo police, and carbon-stealing aliens. It's what might have happened, I think, had Charles Fort lived long enough to write a kaijû eiga which was then rewritten by Maynard G. Krebs. There were some genuinely creepy visuals near the end, as gargantuan jellyfish-like aliens drift gracefully through the clouded sky above a Japanese coal-mining town and rocks rain from the heavens. I think this film must have been made after Ishirô Honda discovered LSD. Later, we watched The Sifl and Olly Show on YouTube, then an episode of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, and, finally, read a chapter of The Children of Húrin before deciding enough was enough, too much fun for us, and that bed must be faced. That was yesterday.

Oh, and Thursday night, while we were cleaning my office, Spooky found a stack of photos I'd meant to scan last month for my MySpace page, but then mislaid. Stuff from 1995-1996, including a shot from the '95 World Horror Con (my first) in Atlanta and one from the grand opening of Pain and Wonder in Athens (also 1995). Gods, I was a young'un. Anyway, they have now been scanned and you can see the photos here. I think I'm making peace with my MySpace page. I seem to have somehow taught myself a method of looking at the pages without seeing all the hideous flashing ads.

The platypus is tapping hisherits wristwatch and muttering that there's weird erotica to be written, and he wants something boy-on-boy this month, I think, so I suppose I should make an end to this. Later, kiddos.

Yesterday, I did 1,627 words on "The Ape's Wife," which makes yesterday quite a good writing day. I'd suspected I would not reach THE END of this story until Sunday, but now I'm thinking it might happen today. Though it was a very difficult story to get started, I'm liking where it's taking me. In short, a dream quest, a reel of film, and an examination of the guilt Ann Darrow might have felt, in some other, alternate version of Merian C. Cooper's story, and the resolution she might have found. It will appear in Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy, to be published by Subterranean Press.

Nothing was written on the "Onion" screenplay last night. I had an acute attack of ohmygodsI'mscrewingthisup and e-mailed the first four pages to producer D, who reassured me that no, I am on exactly the right track. As tonight is Kid Night (and I believe we may have Byron to keep us company), I will resume work on the screenplay tomorrow.

My thanks to Chris Walsh for the marvelous care package that arrived yesterday. And to David Kirkpatrick for the overview of cell population growth curves, etc., even though I have not yet gotten around to reading it. I will soon. Also, I wanted to echo something that Poppy said in her blog yesterday, that I should have said sooner. I have no aversion to receiving used copies of the books on that wish list thing. The pre-read words read just as well. Also also, I need to write replies to several folks who have written me via MySpace, and I'll get to that soon, promise.

Yesterday, as she was proofreading Murder of Angels, Spooky discovered that Walter already had a last name. This is what happens, I suppose, when one has written five or six novels (depending whether I'm in the mood to count The Five of Cups). You forget shit. Going into the recent revision of Silk, I was absolutely convinced that I'd never given Walter a last name, and it's true that it's never mentioned in Silk. However, in MoA, he's Walter Ayers. In the recent Silk revision, I twice give his surname as Walter Lowe. So, now I have to e-mail the production manager at Roc and hope it's not to late to fix this in Silk. I should think it's not, as the mmp won't be released until December. By the way, Spooky has reached page 249 (in the MoA tpb).

Another good walk yesterday, down to Springdale Park and then Virgilee Park, both along Ponce de Leon. These parks are among Atlanta's lesser known gems, designed just after the end of the 19th Century by Frederick Law Olmsted, the same landscape architect who co-designed Central Park in Manhattan. If you're traveling east down Ponce, the parks are on your right (south), just after the intersection with Moreland Avenue, and after Virgilee Park, there are three more: Brightwood Park, Shady Side Park, and Dellwood Park — all designed by Olmsted. Atlanta's large Piedmont Park is also an Olmsted creation.

Last night, we watched Robert Altman's Thieves Like Us (1974), and then read another chapter of The Children of Húrin. I'm doing my best to be asleep by 2:30 a.m. every night, as I have discovered that I cannot allow myself to stay up until 4 a.m., then get up at 10 a.m., and still manage to write as much as I'm writing. Not even with coffee and Red Bull. And I seem entirely incapable of sleeping any later than 10 or 10:30, no matter how late I get to sleep. And when I don't sleep enough, Spooky doesn't sleep enough, and when Spooky doesn't sleep enough, she gets dangerous. Like a zombie.

Yesterday was a preview of what things are going to be like for me over the next two or three months, and it was a little sobering. I did a very respectable 1,738 words on "The Ape's Wife," which is now coming along quite well. So I am celebrating with a Fay Wray icon. After dinner, I went to work on the "Onion" screenplay and did a little more than three pages (or 1,025 words). I finished up just before midnight. D has asked me to confine my blogging about the screenplay to the process of writing it, avoiding particular matters of story — in what ways, for example, the screenplay will differ from the short story. But I will say that the short story will serve as roughly the first half of the screenplay. Everything beyond that "final" scene with Frank and Willa in Central Park is presently terra incognito. Assuming the old screenwriting adage that one page equals one minute of screen time, we're aiming for 115 pp. I've decided (once again) to adapt the Zokutou word meter to a page meter to track my progress through this project. I hope to eventually be doing 4 pages a night and to have the first draft of the screenplay done by early June. Presently, then, it looks like this:

3 / 115 (2.6%)

I also learned yesterday, from my editor at HarperCollins, that my deadline for the dreaded Revision of the Marches is May 23rd, which is just shy of terrifying. As soon as "The Ape's Wife" is written, I'll get back to that ms. and whatever the powers that be want done to it, before I proceed, at last, to The Dinosaurs of Mars. Meanwhile, Spooky's making her way through Murder of Angels, proofreading it for the forthcoming mass-market paperback edition (Roc; April 2008). She did the first 61 pp. yesterday. Of course, she'd much rather be making dolls, and I do not blame her.

We did get in a walk yesterday, all the way to Inman Park. I refuse to allow this body to go and atrophy on me until I'm at least -15, goddamn it. After I read the screenplay pages to Spooky, though it was half past midnight, we figured we could still squeeze in a movie, so we watched Kevin Macdonald's The Last King of Scotland. Spooky's mom and dad spent time in Uganda in the late sixties and early seventies, at the end of Obote's reign and at the beginning of Amin's. Her father, an anthropologist, was doing dissertation work there. I think I got to sleep about 4 a.m., but managed a just barely decent enough 6.5 hours. Screw you, Mister Insomnia Monster.

My thanks to the folks who replied to my call for a web guru. I believe that I have made a decision and will be letting that person know later today.

I'm sort of glad I was unaware that President Asshole had signed a proclamation declaring May 1 to be Loyalty Day. Of course, this foolishness actually dates back to 1921, when it was called Americanization Day and set forth as an effort to take the first of May back from those infernal Communists. It has been an official holiday since 1958, one which everyone pretty much ignores. Anyway, now I shall have to wait until next May 1 to do something disloyal, though, technically, in the eyes of President Asshole and the fascist Xtian Americans* who follow him, being a witch and recognizing May 1 as Beltane must be pretty damn disloyal. At least, I hope they see it that way.

* Please note that I am not saying that all American Xtians are fascists. Just the ones who either admit it or act like it.

Eight hours sleep last night. That seems nothing short of miraculous, and I didn't even have to use Ambien, and today I do feel somewhat better.

I am accustomed to being busy. I generally much prefer being busy to not being busy. But, since December or so, the level of busy has taken on brobdingnagian proportions. I guess it began with the Forced and New Consolidated marches, but now there is no end in sight. I am having to learn new ways to work, new ways to write, as there is so much that has to be written and in such a time-frame that does not allow for my work habits of yore. Was a time, not so long ago, I wrote one thing at a time then moved along to thing number next. Now, this seems like a grand luxury, a leisure I can no longer afford. Maybe in a couple of years I will be able to afford it again. But like I've said, when it comes to work, too much is to be preferred always over none at all. I just have to keep reminding myself that this is true.

I do have some very cool news. Since November, I have been talking with a producer in LA — we shall for now call him simply D — who contacted me via my film agent at UTA to learn whether I'd be interested in writing a screenplay based on "Onion." And I am. And any day now I will finally be starting work on it. Of course, being asked to write a screenplay does not even begin to guarantee there will be a film, but it is a step in that direction. The first part of the process is figuring out how to expand the concept, how to open up a 12,000-word short story into an approx. 120-page screenplay for a two-hour film. But D is acting as mentor, and I am hopeful that it can be done.

Meanwhile, I have The Dinosaurs of Mars to write for Subterranean Press. Spooky and I spent part of yesterday working out the remaining plot wrinkles. This is a good example of how I'm having to learn to write a different way, as, before, I never would have spent time puzzling through the plot prior to actually writing the story. Granted, The Dinosaurs of Mars seems to have become a particularly complex story, but it still feels very strange working out a plot a priori. Anyway, also meanwhile, I have to write "The Ape's Wife" for Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy, and there's a June 1st deadline on that. I need to begin Joey Lafaye by early July, as I have an April '08 delivery date on the book, and I never know how long a novel will take to write. And, of course, there's Sirenia Digest. Someone asked, when I announced that there would likely only be one more erotica collection, whether that meant the digest would also be ending. The answer is no, it does not. I suspect the digest will continue as long as people are reading it, as I have grown very used to having it there as an outlet for those stories that might not otherwise find a home.

The meanwhiles continue. Corrections for the forthcoming Murder of Angels mass-market paperback are due on May 15th, but I've handed that manuscript off to Spooky to proofread. I have an interview for an article on Edward Gorey to finish by Tuesday (generally, I only do interviews by e-mail). And I've promised a short story to Clarkesworld Magazine, which I hope to write late this summer. Plus, there's going to be a rewrite following from the marches of January and February, and I'll likely have to drop everything and attend to that in May. We're waiting on the last round of notes from the relevant production company, as I already have my notes from my editor at HarperCollins and from the people at Paramount.

But looming most large of all these is Frank Woodward's Lovecraft documentary. Yesterday, before the work on The Dinosaurs of Mars, Spooky and I drove over to Oakland Cemetery where Frank wants to film. It is truly a beautiful place, filled with great Victorian mausoleums, enormous magnolias, and graves dating back to the Civil War. I realised yesterday that there must surely be a ghoul necropolis below Oakland, so perhaps that's the story I'll be writing for Clarkesworld Magazine. Anyway, I'm meeting Frank there about three o'clock tomorrow afternoon to find the best spot to shoot the interview, which will actually be filmed on Saturday afternoon. He's flying out today. This is the sort of thing I look forward to and dread at the same time.

So, yeah, that's a fair idea of what my life's going to be like for the immediate future. I'll be spending today reading Lovecraft, which is a pretty fine way to "have" to spend a day. I know I'm going to be asked questions regarding a couple of stories I'm not so familiar with ("Herbert West: Reanimator" and "The Strange Case of Charles Dexter Ward"). Last night, I read "The Call of Cthulhu" aloud to Spooky, though I know it practically by heart. It just seemed like a good way to get this thing started. Oh, and time was spent yesterday writing the prolegomena for Sirenia Digest #17. I have Sonya's story, "Odd Sympathy," a fine bit of steampunk, and Vince is working on this month's illustration. I hope to have the digest out to subscribers on Monday. And I also spoke with my new editor at Roc, Anne Sowards, for the first time yesterday.

Okay. HPL and the platypus beckon. I need to get moving, as we have dinner with "Hannah" and Jim this evening. Behind the cut, you will find some photos I took yesterday at Oakland Cemetery.

( Gardens of the Dead )