greygirlbeast: (zoe1)
And as you cross the circle line,
Well, the ice wall creaks behind.
You´re a rabbit on the run.
~ Jethro Tull

Comment, kittens! Comment!

1) Two "BIG" announcements today, and you might get one now and one later, or both now, depending on when and what I hear from my agent. But. I may proceed with Thing #1: Subterranean Press has begun taking pre-orders for Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart. Yes, now. Right now. The book is scheduled for release in Spring 2012. And I'm just going to say this upfront: Order directly from subpress, because Amazon is very likely to fuck you over. Many people who pre-ordered The Ammonite Violin & Others and Two Worlds and In Between had Amazon cancel their orders. So...don't even go there. Anyway, that's the first announcement. The second is dependent on whether or not I hear back from my agent before she goes to lunch (which now seems unlikely).

2) Yesterday was meant to be the day I wrote the next 1,000-1,500 words of "Another Tale of Two Cities." Instead, it was unexpectedly consumed by the need to unexpectedly leave the house and attend to a legal matter, regarding the second announcement I've not yet made, power-of-attorney stuff related to The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, but I cannot yet say what that is, remember? Anyway, most of the day was spent with legalese and a notary public and UPS and the post office (USPS costs ~$65) and I did at least stop into Myopic Books at Wayland Square and once again drool over used copies of Sankar Chatterjee's The Rise of Birds ($15) and Lowell Dingus and Timothy Rowe's The Mistaken Extinction ($30), but was good and did not buy either (again). That was what happened to yesterday. Oh, and traffic.

3) I hate to keep "hating on" (a phrase for morons, hence shutter quotes) Kermit the iPad, but I fear he is the shape of things to come with Apple. Which is to say, the intuitive nature of Apple products, which is a large part of my loyalty, is missing from the iPad. It's like I'm wrestling with mysterious alien tech. What do all those little (unlabeled) pictographs mean? Which microscopic button in the side did I touch that made the screen go black this time? And so on.

4) I know this might have, so far, seemed like a "happy entry." But I am anywhere but at the moment. Lots of reasons. And this is my blog, so here I may bellyache about these matters. A large part of it is that all those years I had to go without healthcare (mostly neurological and psychiatric) did a great deal of damage to my body. And every time I plug one hole, another pops open. I'm beginning to think I'm going to drown in only a year or two. Sure, money's not so tight now, but "not so tight" is a long way from I can afford to have my rotten teeth and gums attended to, for example. Or from we can afford to get Spooky the checkup she's needed for years. And there are days it would scare the hell out of me, were I not so suicidal. By the way, the suicidal hypochondriac, there's a funny one, no? No, not really. But it does embody the true meaning of irony, and it does bring a smile to my face (a rare thing, that). And maybe the next year or two will change all this. And maybe it won't.

5) There is a game I like to play with myself. What if my life had taken a completely different course? It's no secret I do not love writing, no matter how good I might be at it. It's no secret my first love is vertebrate paleontology, and one of the great tragedies of my life was the derailment of my paleo' career in the late '80s by an elaborate combination of factors, too complex to here explain. That the writing career was a fallback (I was lucky to have) that arose from the ashes. I played the game last night. I would post the results here (seven steps were involved), but it would seem too much like self-pity, and while I may pity another, I may not feel pity for myself. We have all been conditioned to believe that's wrong.

6) Three matters I need to attend to, and I'm posting them here because it'll help me not forget (the Lamictal [Lamotrigine] plays havoc with my memory). Firstly, I need to send ReaderCon an updated biography, because the one they have now is very out of date. Secondly, and on a related note, I need to get new bibliographical and biographical data to the Writer's Directory before December 17th. Thirdly, back to ReaderCon, I need to send Rose Fox a list of any programming I'd like as one of the two Guests of Honor, and I need to do it before the end of the month (suggestions welcome).

7. Question @ Hand #5, kittens! Do not disappoint me. We've gotten a couple of good entries, but I need about five more, or Sirenia Digest will be the poorer for the absence of any at all. I'm not asking for great literature, okay? Oh, and don't email me your answer, please. Write them in LJ; this makes my life easier.

8. Spooky and I had a HUGE Rift binge last night, leveling my Eth warrior, Indus (she has a spectral feline companion named River) from Level 32 to 34, and we got Dancy (yes; a Kelari cleric) leveled the same. Please come and play with us (Faeblight shard, guild Watchers of the Unseen). Here is your chance to take part in an interactive story written by "one of our essential writers of dark fiction" (the NYT says so!), and you're letting it pass you by? Inconceivable!

Oh, gods. That's enough.

Spun About,
Aunt Beast
greygirlbeast: (redeye)
Running a bit late this morning. I did my daily email before this entry, when I usually do things the other way around.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,062 words on Chapter Two of The Red Tree. Which made it a decent writing day, but not as decent as I needed it to be. The office was just too hot to think clearly. The sun blasting through the blinds, I thought my brain would bake. I feared I'd written nothing but several pages of crap, though when I read it back to Spooky afterwards, it seemed okay. One of my greatest regrets about this book is that I almost certainly will not be able to see it printed as it should be printed, but different typefaces and various drawings and photographs included.

Also, I got word that Frank Woodward's Lovecraft documentary has been accepted for its first film festival, the 2008 Comic Con International Film Festival in San Diego, California. Specifically, for those attending the festival, it will be screened Thursday, July 24th, in Room 26AB from 8-9:45 p.m.

When the writing was done, about 5 p.m., I told Spooky that I just couldn't take the heat anymore, and asked could we please, please flee the house south to Moonstone Beach. She was looking pretty wrung out, as well, having spent the day hanging pictures. She agreed at once. By the time we reached South County, the sky was overcast and a fog was settling across everything. We missed the turn off from the Matunuck School House Road onto Moonstone Beach Road, because we were distracted by great hoards of young rabbits. So, we had to backtrack a bit. The beach was beautiful, the fog getting thicker and thicker, the sky a slaty grey-blue. The surf was rougher than I'd ever seen it at Moonstone, the breakers roaring over the sand as the tide rose. Spooky went off to search for shells and stones, and I sat down and worked on my Book Of Shadows, something I'm writing there about Panthalassa. But the sound of the sea soon distracted me, and I joined Spooky. She'd made one of her impromptu arrangements of pebbles and cobbles. We picked through the the debris washed up along the strand. She found another long frond of kelp, which I think must have been Saccorhiza dermatodea, but now I'm confused over whether or not it's the same species Sonya ([ profile] sovay) found at Beavertail last weekend, which I identified as another genus and species altogether, Laminaria agardhii. I'm trying very hard to become familiar with the local marine fauna and flora, but I'm starting the accept it may take me years (and unpacking my microscope). Other taxa I identified yesterday included a convex slipper shell (Crepidula plana; shells of any sort are rare at Moonstone), sea potato (Leathesia difformis), a large and very dead common spider crab (Libinia emarginata), Irish moss (Chrondrus crispus) and sea lettuce (Ulva latuca).

After a while, we sat back down on the sand, and I worked on a meditation exercise involving drawing mandalas in the sand, within which Spooky built still more stone mounds. There were still remains of the altars she'd made back on June 10th. We watched several Piping Plovers (Charadrius melodus) racing about on the sand. It was, genuinely, a magickal evening, and when we finally left, about 8 p..m., the day's heat was forgotten, my clothes and hair covered in sand, damp from sea spray and the fog. There's still sand in my hair this morning. Before making the trip back to Providence, we swung by Spooky's mom and dad's farm in Saunderstown, to get eggs (we also got a jar of rather spicy bread-and-butter pickles). Her parents had just returned by train from Brooklyn, where they'd spent a couple of days visiting with her sister, Stephanie, and infant nephew, whose name is Miles. There are photos from the beach, but I have not yet edited them for the journal. Maybe tomorrow.

It was almost ten by the time we made it back home. We warmed up Saturday night's chili, and then I slipped into Second Life for a several hours of good rp (thank you, Lorne and Pontifex). The story of Labyrinth grows and grows.

And I should really go now, because that novel refuses to write itself.

Postscript (1:41 p.m.): I almost forgot. Today marks our one-month anniversary since the escape from Atlanta and our arrival in Providence.
greygirlbeast: (grey)
So, immediately after I posted this morning's entry, I discovered that Christiane Cegavske, Little Miss Crow, my new stop-motion infatuation, is Christa's ([ profile] faustfatale) neighbor. Small frelling world, yes. I just checked out her website, and you should, too (follow the link above, click'a da name). Be sure to watch the clip from The Doll Maker.

Also, I'd meant to post this marvelous bit regarding art and passion, something that turned up in a footnote near the end of House of Leaves (p. 527):

"Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It's not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer."

Damn straight.

My plans to finish "The Lovesong of Lady Ratteanrufer" this afternoon were crushed by a sudden barrage of phone calls and E-Mails That Could Not Wait Until Later. Moreover, it's become necessary to postpone the office move, perhaps for two or three weeks. And so it goes...


greygirlbeast: (Default)
Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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