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meager pay, but recognition
Mar. 27th, 2007 12:31 pmOnly half awake, because that's what happens when I can't get to sleep until sometime after 4 a.m., then wake up at 10:30 a.m. But, here at La Casa de Hubero, we can type in our sleep. It's an acquired taste.
Sorry the Digest hasn't gone out yet. I decided that both "In View of Nothing" and "Untitled 26" could stand a little more work, and that consumed almost all of yesterday. But I have now reached a point where I can say that I'm very happy with both stories. In theory, Sirenia Digest #16 will go out this evening. Also, I've been working the last couple of days on the copy of the Silk limited (Gauntlet hardback, 1999) that I will soon be auctioning via eBay. This involves transferring all the edits (hundreds upon hundreds, it seems) from the photostat that's being used for the Roc mmp to the hardback copy, as well as adding other smart-ass comments and little squiggles and suchlike. I think this may wind up being one of the most interesting things I've ever auctioned. Coming soon.
Some good news! Turns out, our Canon PowerShot A75 died because of a defective part (the DCC image sensor or something like that) and Canon is fixing it for free. If only this thing with my feet were that simple, and I could just stick 'em in a box and UPS them back to the manufacturer.
If you have not yet heard, the Spring 2007 issue of Subterranean Online includes my story "A Season of Broken Dolls," along with stories by Joe Lansdale and Neal Barrett, Jr., and it's 100% free. If you should enjoy "A Season of Broken Dolls," please consider a subscription to Sirenia Digest, please and thank you.
A good walk late yesterday through Freedom Park. I had a very close encounter with one of the local hawks. It swooped down directly in front of me, passing no more than a few feet from my face. Amazing. I could see every detail of its face. Back home, Spooky made spaghetti with roasted red peppers and baby porta bellas, and we accompanied it with a cheap but serviceable Italian merlot. We spent most of the evening finishing up Sweet Thursday, which, along with Cannery Row, I could praise for pages and pages and never praise it strongly enough. Always, I am in awe of John Steinbeck.
On April 28th, Frank Woodward and crew are descending upon Atlanta to interview me for his upcoming documentary on H. P. Lovecraft, and it has me a little freaked out. Not only have I never done this sort of thing before, and not only is Howard Hughes slightly agoraphobic and somewhat camera shy, I have the fear that I will simply not be able to think of anything to say. Last night I told Spooky maybe I should dress as Quentin Crisp and relate my recurring dreams of eldritch Cyclopean ruins on abyssal plains, wherein I have glorious tentacled sex with with HPL while the Old Ones watch on. Yes, I know HPL would not approve. But still. In my dreams he approves. Anyway, somehow, this led to a conversation about boys wearing dresses — a subject of which I never seem to tire. Which is a shame, because I doubt Frank Woodward wants to hear about my thing for pretty boys in frocks. Ah, well.
The platypus says times up, I'm burnin' daylight, no one's getting any younger, those words won't wait forever, so I guess I should wrap this up. Now, if I could just decide where I should put my New Bedford Whaling Museum sticker...
Sorry the Digest hasn't gone out yet. I decided that both "In View of Nothing" and "Untitled 26" could stand a little more work, and that consumed almost all of yesterday. But I have now reached a point where I can say that I'm very happy with both stories. In theory, Sirenia Digest #16 will go out this evening. Also, I've been working the last couple of days on the copy of the Silk limited (Gauntlet hardback, 1999) that I will soon be auctioning via eBay. This involves transferring all the edits (hundreds upon hundreds, it seems) from the photostat that's being used for the Roc mmp to the hardback copy, as well as adding other smart-ass comments and little squiggles and suchlike. I think this may wind up being one of the most interesting things I've ever auctioned. Coming soon.
Some good news! Turns out, our Canon PowerShot A75 died because of a defective part (the DCC image sensor or something like that) and Canon is fixing it for free. If only this thing with my feet were that simple, and I could just stick 'em in a box and UPS them back to the manufacturer.
If you have not yet heard, the Spring 2007 issue of Subterranean Online includes my story "A Season of Broken Dolls," along with stories by Joe Lansdale and Neal Barrett, Jr., and it's 100% free. If you should enjoy "A Season of Broken Dolls," please consider a subscription to Sirenia Digest, please and thank you.
A good walk late yesterday through Freedom Park. I had a very close encounter with one of the local hawks. It swooped down directly in front of me, passing no more than a few feet from my face. Amazing. I could see every detail of its face. Back home, Spooky made spaghetti with roasted red peppers and baby porta bellas, and we accompanied it with a cheap but serviceable Italian merlot. We spent most of the evening finishing up Sweet Thursday, which, along with Cannery Row, I could praise for pages and pages and never praise it strongly enough. Always, I am in awe of John Steinbeck.
On April 28th, Frank Woodward and crew are descending upon Atlanta to interview me for his upcoming documentary on H. P. Lovecraft, and it has me a little freaked out. Not only have I never done this sort of thing before, and not only is Howard Hughes slightly agoraphobic and somewhat camera shy, I have the fear that I will simply not be able to think of anything to say. Last night I told Spooky maybe I should dress as Quentin Crisp and relate my recurring dreams of eldritch Cyclopean ruins on abyssal plains, wherein I have glorious tentacled sex with with HPL while the Old Ones watch on. Yes, I know HPL would not approve. But still. In my dreams he approves. Anyway, somehow, this led to a conversation about boys wearing dresses — a subject of which I never seem to tire. Which is a shame, because I doubt Frank Woodward wants to hear about my thing for pretty boys in frocks. Ah, well.
The platypus says times up, I'm burnin' daylight, no one's getting any younger, those words won't wait forever, so I guess I should wrap this up. Now, if I could just decide where I should put my New Bedford Whaling Museum sticker...
