Caitlín R. Kiernan

Slowly, slowly, spring is coming to Providence. I try not to think how fast it must be coming on in Birmingham, and Atlanta, and Athens. Here, it comes slowly. And I am here, and, in all ways, that's better than my being in Birmingham, or Atlanta, or Athens. But the slow-coming spring, it's still odd and difficult, especially after a winter like the one we just had. The days are averaging 40sF, the nights 30sF or high 20sF, which actually seems warm. We can acclimate to almost anything.

The nice thing about knowing that virtually no one reads this blog is that I don't have to worry about whether or not I'm boring people.

Anyway, yesterday was warm. The official high in Providence was 71˚F, I think. As it was day one of the three-day vacation, we decided to drive to West Cove on Conanicut Island. It was very comfortable when we left the city, but there was a wind advisory, with gusts up to 50 mph. When we got out of the van at West Cove, it felt like the temperature was in the thirties, and I spent the first hour of beach combing shivering and trying to keep my hands from going numb. Then the sun came out, and the afternoon warmed. I was able to remove my gloves and unzip my coat. Yesterday, it will likely go down in the annals of West Cove days as the day I stepped on a dead, rotten, beached skunk. That was surely yesterday's most dramatic moment. I found two specimens of a pelecypod I've never seen in the cove before, Cerastoderma pinnulatum (the Small cockle). I found a few good bird bones, including another cormorant beak. We stayed until late, then headed back to the city.

On the way home, I watched the moon through my Orion 10x42 monocular. Of course, this weekend's moon is Big News, but it really was beautiful. I could identify so many landmarks: mountains, craters, basins, etc., all in reflected silver and shades of grey. We stopped by the market, and were home before dark.

There are photos from yesterday, below the cut (at the end of the entry).

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I won't write about the post-novel depression, just now, and certainly not the whys of it. It only gets worse when you look directly at it, or speak its name.

There's always an odd sort of embarrassment when I see a review of an anthology, and the reviewer hated most of the book, but really loved my contribution. Case in point, a review of Steampunk II: Steampunk Reloaded at Green Man Reviews. The book reprints "The Steam Dancer (1896)," and the reviewer writes:

It’s a beautiful achievement, this story, a very human, rather squalid life offered for our perusal in terms that are neither sentimental nor cruel, managing an effect at once intimate and remote. Now there’s so much that’s peddled as artistic today simply because it’s depressing that I must stress that this tale is depressing, in a quiet sort of way… but that’s not what makes it art. What makes it art is the command of voice and personality Kiernan displays, the things she says and the things she leaves unsaid, and the fact that she can deliver this character-driven gem while still conjuring up a whole world of clanking, steam-driven marvels in the background, almost all through hints and allusions. This story lingers. I hope it gets a good deal of attention; it deserves to.

Okay, aside from the snarky, bizarre "so much that’s peddled as artistic today simply because it’s depressing" bit, very nice. I continue to believe "The Steam Dancer (1896)" is, in fact, one of my best stories.

Also, I've seen a review of The Ammonite Violin & Others by ST Joshi that I think will be appearing in Dead Reckonings (I think). Also, very flattering. A short excerpt:

Purely on the level of prose, Kiernan already ranks with the most distinctive stylists of our field—Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, Lord Dunsany, Thomas Ligotti. With Ligotti’s regrettable retreat into fictional silence, hers is now the most recognizable voice in weird fiction. No one is ever likely to mistake a sentence by Caitlín R. Kiernan for a sentence by any other writer.

That ought to cheer me up, right? I know that it should. But...

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Also, yesterday I read David H. Keller's "The Jelly-Fish" and F. Marion Crawford's "For the Blood is the Life." Neither was very good, but the latter was almost unreadable in its dullness. Also read, from the last JVP, "A new partial skeleton of a cryptocleidoid plesiosaur from the Upper Jurassic Sundance Formation of Wyoming" and "A possible azhdarchid pterosaur from the Lower Cretaceous Qingshan Group of Laiyang, Shandong, China."

Right. I'm not supposed to work today. That's the truth. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do, instead, to busy my restless, fretting mind.

Here are yesterday's photographs:

( 18 March 2011 )

1. A few flurries Outside as I type. This is the north edge of the monster storm that walloped D.C. and Philadelphia yesterday. But we're not even expecting the tiniest bit of accumulation. Go figure.

2. The platypus says this is the best possible day on which to order The Ammonite Violin & Others, and being merely a lowly minion of the platypus, I am forced to relay hisherits every message. Remember, the limited edition comes with a FREE chapbook, "Sanderlings," the short-story set in Green Hill, RI, which I wrote back in November. Oh, and I did the cover for "Sanderlings." So, yeah. Do like the platypus says.

3. A question from James Maier, via email: Basically, my question is this: Which books are “grouped” together and in what order? i.e. the same characters, sequels, etc. Though I’m sure the novels all stand alone just fine, I kind of want to read along with the characters’ chronology and I’d like to avoid any more spoilers from reading Amazon’s descriptions.

Okay, it works something like this. Silk and Murder of Angels pretty much form a duology, the latter being a fairly straightforward sequel to the former. Same with Threshold and Low Red Moon, though you also get Daughter of Hounds, which sort of makes a trilogy of the whole affair. But it's a very loose sort of trilogy. And, of course, all five of these novels are interconnected here and there. There's also Alabaster, which very much ties into that "trilogy." Finally, yes, there's The Red Tree, which has echoes of many of the novels before it, but is definitely set apart. That said, if anyone wants my opinion, read The Red Tree first, then Daughter of Hounds, and after that...read them in what ever order pleases you.

4. Yesterday I butched up and risked that carnivorous sky all over again. That is I went Outside, second day in a row. I wanted to get photographs of the continuing demolition of the Bridge Street Bridge that crosses Wickenden Street (you will recall the photos from the early stages of the demolition that were included in my January 13th and January 14th entries). The bridge is mostly down, and you can now stand and look up at the sky where, for the better part of a century, the sky was hidden. There are photos below, behind the cut. The day was cold, numbing my fingers as I tried to get the shots. Afterwards, we headed to Eastside Marketplace and Whole Foods, then spent a little time picking over the bones of a Blockbuster Video that's going out of business any day now. I assume they all are, but I don't know that for sure. Oddly, we came away without buying any of the super-cheap DVDs (everything we wanted was scratched to hell and back), but I did get two books, very cheap, and I didn't even know Blockbuster had started selling books. The Smithsonian Book of Mars by Joseph M. Boyce (2002) and Postcards from Mars: The First Photographer on the Red Planet by Jim Bell (2006), because I can never have too many reference books on Mars. Oh, and we dropped by the post office in Olneyville, so I could send in the contracts on "The Steam Dancer (1896)" (to be reprinted in Steampunk Reloaded) and a copy of Peter's A Dark Matter to my mother.

5. We watched the new episode of Fringe last night, possibly one of the best so far, and refreshing after the disappointing "monster of the week" episodes of the previous three weeks.

6. I have a plan. I will spend the remainder of February writing the vignettes that will comprise Sirenia Digest 51 and 52, so that I can set aside all of March and April for the writing of The Wolf Who Cried Girl. I'd hoped to get the novel written this winter, but what I want and what happens are too often not the same.

7. I stayed up far too late last night, roleplaying in Insilico, because I just don't know how to walk away from story when it's coming at me. Xiang was hired as bartender at the Blue Ant (now that she's registered and legal), and has proven that androids can make perfectly fine White Russians. Later, after "work," there was intrigue and adventure and dizzying heights. I fucking adore this place.

( 5 February 2010 )

By the way...I just spent about an hour and a half on this LJ entry....

In a rush this morning, because I stayed up an hour too late, and slept likewise. So, I'm making this short. No, I really am. No kidding. Shortish, at any rate.

Yesterday, I finally found the beginning of "The Apprentice's Daughter" (new title to arrive ASAP), and wrote 1,101 words. And gods I hope it's not a false start. I can't afford one of those just now. The story has refused to be a vignette, insisting, instead, that it will be a short story. I remain skeptical about the whole endeavor, but Spooky likes it, and I hate it when that happens, when we have that sort of divided opinion over what I'm writing (though it's happening a lot lately). As it turns out, "The Appretice's Daughter" is set in Ulthar in Lovecraft's dreamlands, and yes, there will be a dragon. And yes, it will be erotica. Eventually. I hope this to be the story that Vince will be illustrating for Sirenia Digest #43.

And there was this question from corucia:

If you're hunting around for the next novel, might I suggest something? I'd love to see a novel connecting 'Derma Sutra', 'The Steam Dancer' and 'The Melusine' together, perhaps as a series of seemingly-unrelated stories wherein the underlying history of the world gets laid out in the background and interstitials between stories. I'm thinking of a 'Cannery Row' kind of book, where each story builds the world and moves things forward, without ever really directly addressing what would be major plot elements in other authors' hands. I think your writing style would lend itself wonderfully to such an oblique approach...

Plus, I really like that world and want to see more of it!

To which I reply, you will likely someday get your wish. Just not for the next novel. To date, I've written (I think) four stories set in Cherry Creek, Colorado (an alternate-history, steampunk version of Denver). The plan is to eventually write eleven of these stories, one for each year from 1890 through 1900 (to date, I've done 1891, 1893, 1896, and 1898). But it could easily be another two or three years before this project is finished, so you'll have to be patient. I still have seven stories to write before it can be a book. Maybe it can appear by 2012 or so.

Spooky is beginning a round of eBay auctions to offset our ReaderCon 20 expenses in July. I'll be doing a solo presentation on Dr. Seuss as weird fiction, and another on the writing of A is for Alien, as well as numerous panels, and a reading, I suppose.

The platypus says it's time to go, and we do not argue with the platypus (well, we do, but not today).

A truly stunningly hideous dream this morning, even by my standards. So, just a tad dreamsick right now.

Yesterday, I wrote only 839 words on "The Colliers' Venus (1893)," which looks rather pathetic compared to Sunday's word count. I fear the story might have derailed, and I may have to spend today getting it back on track. This is another one set in my alternate-hitsory steampunk Colorado, in the city of Cherry Creek (known in this worldline as Denver), which was also the setting for "The Steam Dancer" (1896)," "The Melusine (1898)," and "Derma Sutra (1891)."

I should give some sort of historical context for the stuff I'm reposting at crk_blog_vault, for those who are following it. It's very strange for me, reading back over and reposting those old entries. At the time I began the blog, I'd just returned from my first (and bloody disastrous) move to Atlanta. I was once again living in Liberty House in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, in a loft (#304) next door to the loft (#303) I'd moved out of just a few months earlier. I adored Liberty House, though, sadly, it has since been devoured by the condo monster. Once upon a time, it was the Liberty Overall's factory, there on Morris Avenue, and Jada's grandmother worked there when she was young. The building was built in the 1920s. The ceilings in that second loft were, at their highest point, eighteen feet from the hardwood floors (there was a slope from the back of the loft to the front, with the ceiling becoming progressively higher). Threshold had just been released, and I was, obviously, trying to begin Low Red Moon. I was still doing research on mosasaurs and the Upper Cretaceous of Alabama, and would soon begin doing volunteer work at the McWane Science Center. I was thirty-seven years old, which seems very young now. Spooky had gone back to Rhode Island by the time I started the blog. Sophie (the cat) was getting old, but still had five years to live. I was scripting the last book I'd do for DC/Vertigo, Bast: Eternity Game. My office roof leaked when it rained. Anyway, I'm putting the entries up pretty much as written, making only spelling corrections and such.

Back to yesterday...

While I wrote, Spooky took the car to a mechanic down in Wakefield, to have fixed whatever went wrong with the windshield wipers back in September. She visited her mom, and they went to the Toy Vault (wicked cheap) in the Wakefield mall and found the Severus Snape action figure I've been coveting. Now, if I can just find Dumbledore. Anyway, Spooky drove her mother's van back to Providence, and tomorrow we should get our car. There was a big pot of chili for dinner. We made it through Chapter Two of The Red Tree. But I took a hot bath before we started reading and had a great deal of trouble staying awake for the first few pages. Later, when work was finally done, we played a little WoW. Shah and Suraa wandered from the Arathi Highlands all the way south to Booty Bay, where they drank cherry-flavoured grog in the company of goblins. Shaharrazad got a fancy new wand (35-66 arcane damage, 29 damage/second, speed 1.8) off a Dalaran summoner (human) that Suraa killed, which is pretty cool, considering there's only a 1% drop rate for that wand. Later still, we watched more Firefly.

Right. Coffee. Platypus. Deadlines. Here we go again....

And no, I do not celebrate Veteran's Day. I recognize Armistice Day (thank you, Mr. Vonnegut).

Yesterday, after I finally managed to deal with the great hillocks of email that had accumulated during the trip from Atlanta to Providence, and having learned that our furniture would not be delivered until this afternoon, we reluctantly got back into the car and headed west out of Providence. Oh, but before I tell that part, I should say these other things.

First, Sirenia Digest #30.1 has now gone out to subscribers. It differs in no significant way from #30, except that it includes Vince's illustration for "Rappaccini's Dragon," which I neglected to include in the first version of May's issue. It's the first time an artist has reproduced one of Albert Perrault's dreadful paintings, though they have figured — more or less prominently — in at least four of my stories, beginning, I believe, with "The Road of Pins." Also, please have a look at kambriel's Unexpected Moving Sale. You will find many a wonderful notion, have no doubt. My thanks to Greg Fox for the photos he sent me yesterday of Charles Fort's grave at Albany Rural Cemetery in Menands, New York. Another place I have to visit very, very soon. Also, there's been quite a positive review of Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy in Locus. It's far too long for me to quote in its entirety, but has this to say about "The Steamdancer (1896)," my contribution to the anthology:

...an effective steampunk sketch of a crippled woman who obtains new life from her artificial eye and limbs, ugliness made beauty for many a kinkily lustful eye...

Okay. Now back to the events of yesterday. Though the weather was cold, windy, and wet, I needed to have my first firsthand look at the Moosup Valley/Barbs Hill Road area, south of Foster, in western Rhode Island, the area that is the setting for The Red Tree. So, we headed west through North Scituate, turning onto 102 at Chopmist, which we followed south to Plainfield Pike, which, in turn, took us to Moosup Valley Road. Unfortunately, the old Tyler Library, which I'd wanted to have a better look at, is closed on Thursdays. Instead, we stopped to have a look at the pond behind the cemetery across the street from the library, as it will be one of the models for the novel's fictional "Ramswool Pond." At once, we were astounded at a truly amazing amount of scat littering the soggy, sandy ground. I guessed we were seeing raccoon droppings, but the only tracks I could locate were those of a very large species of anseriformid bird. As we marveled at the acres of poo, two Canadian geese (Branta canadensis) flew by overhead. Clearly, a very large flock of geese had stopped at the pond shortly before our arrival. We walked about the place for a bit, noting plants, birds, a beaver-notched tree, and what we could see of the local geology. But the great quantities of goose scat were, to say the least, off-putting, and we soon left. We did spot a goldfinch (Carduelis tristis), happily bathing in the stream flowing from the pond into the marshes at the edge of the Moosup River. Inspired by Edward Gorey's The Deranged Cousins; or Whatever., we christened the pond "The Goose's Restroom," then got back into the car and headed south along Barbs Hill Road. In the summer, the country in this part of the state seems truly wild, the fern-fringed macadam road vaulted by an incredibly green and shadowy forest of second-growth pines, maples, and oaks. There were skunk cabbages, wild grapes, green briers, honeysuckle, daisy fleabane, cowslip — I didn't keep a list of all the flora. Maybe next trip. We saw several farmhouses along the road, some dating back to the 18th Century. There was a small herd of goats, and a couple of collies. We crossed the Moosup River again near where it empties into Briggs Pond, pausing there on the bridge for a bit.

The long, curving road ends at Rice City and Vaughn Hollow, and we headed east again, to visit Spooky's mother at her parents' farm near the University of Rhode Island (where her father is a professor and department head; he's currently doing work in some faraway place I cannot now recall). It was the first time we'd had a chance to stop by her parent's place since we arrived. We played with Spider (a truly enormous cat), looked through photographs of Spooky's great-grandmother and grandmother (her mom's engaged in an elaborate geneological project involving the letters of Margaret Russell —— née, Winslow —— Spooky's great-grandmother, who left Appleton, WI, and moved away to the wilds of South Dakota in the first decade of the 20th Century). We got fresh eggs and a number of other things that we needed (all our pots and pans being on a moving truck somewhere*), then headed back to Providence. I think we got home about 7 pm. Here are some photos, behind the cut:

( Moosup Valley and Barbs Hill )

My thanks for the amazing number of comments yesterday. There were even MySpace comments, which are rare, in my experience. Most everyone who commented was of the opinion that I shouldn't censor myself for fear of alienating readers, though many also understood my fears and thought them justified. At any rate, I'm thinking the whole matter over, and, in the meanwhile, will say that I am very relieved that Hillary Clinton has finally bowed out of the race for the Democratic nomination. Also, I'll point you towards this article on the impending demise of the SUV, Hummer, and other conspicuously obscene gas-guzzlers, as sales plummet and auto manufacturers move towards smaller, fuel-efficient vehicles. Also, note that "Republicans have blocked efforts to bring a global warming bill up for a final Senate vote after a bitter debate over its economic costs and whether it would push gasoline prices higher." The proposed bill "...would cap carbon dioxide coming from power plants and factories with a target of cutting greenhouse gas emissions by 71 percent by mid-century."** On the one hand, these bastards are shortsighted idiots, worrying about gas prices while the planet bakes and melts and sea levels rise. And on the other, even if the bill were to be passed and enforced, given how far global warming has already advanced, and all the other nations that won't enact such legislation, the U.S. lowering emissions to 71% of present levels by 2050 would be much too little, much too late. By then...well, you'll see, if you should live so long. Meanwhile, please check out 350.org.

* Our moving coordinator at United Van Lines called while I was typing this, and we're expecting our belongings to arrive between 4-5 pm this evening.
** Quotations from the Associated Press.

Sirens in the distance, but that's nothing unusual.

Yesterday, I did 1,180 words on "Little Conversations" (née "Salammbô Redux"), which will be appearing next month in Clarkesworld. So, a good writing day.

Later, there was Doctor Who; a fine episode, I thought. Martha Jones wins hands down over Rose Tyler, I fear. Others would say I'm arguing apples and oranges.

Also, my first steampunk story, "The Steam Dancer," will be appearing in the Fall 2007 Subterranean. The contents of each issue are not posted all at once, and "The Steam Dancer" isn't up yet, but should be any day now. Note that this story originally appeared in Sirenia Digest #19 in June. And the platypus says I should remind everyone that it's never too late to subscribe.