greygirlbeast: (Heavy Horses)
Well, truthfully, this year's Jethro Tull Season began at 1:15 p.m. on Saturday, but everyone knows I'm a big fat liar. So, there you go. Screw St. Nick and shopping malls and all those damn dead turkeys! Break out the heavy horses and the locomotives and the dirty old homeless men with pneumonia! Yes, this is how Caitlín copes with winter. Jethro Tull.

Thanks to Elizabeth Bear ([livejournal.com profile] matociquala, a fellow Tullite), I wasted over an hour this morning destroying most of the earth's population with a viral pandemic. I failed, though I did manage to wipe out the entire populations of Russia (where it began), North America, Europe, India, Greenland, much of South America, China, and most of Africa, before the disease finally burned itself out. I even bested the attempt to create a vaccine. Every day should begin so triumphantly (even though I failed).

Also, 149 years ago today, Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species was first published. 149 years later, we are still beleaguered by creationist numbnuts.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,125 words on "The Collier's Venus (1893)," and I almost found THE END. There will be one last short scene today. It's an odd story, another of my Cherry Creek steampunk tales (this will be the fourth), revisiting much of the territory covered by "In the Waterworks (1889)" and Threshold. After the writing, and a dinner of chili, we read and proofed Chapter Six of The Red Tree. I am pleased to say I like this novel even more now than when I "finished" it last month.

We lit the fireplace last night, for the first time this year. I haven't lived anywhere with a functional fireplace since 1982.

After the reading, we watched Mike Nichols' Charlie Wilson's War, which I found extremely effective and chilling. A study in unforeseen consequences. The more things change, the more things keep getting worse. Meet the new boss, same as the old. You know the score. Tom Hanks was good, but Philip Seymour Hoffman was brilliant. Julia Roberts was just scary. And then, after the movie, there was WoW.

I think that I am finally beginning to become disenchanted with World of Warcraft. That makes what? Almost three months? It's just starting to feel far too much like a game (which, of course, is what it is), and I am too entirely disappointed by its utter failure as rp. I'm going to try and stick with it longer by scaling back the number of characters I'm playing, so there's not so much repetition (part of the undesired "gaminess"). I hate games. I want a simulation. I want roleplay, not gameplay. I want full immersion. I want to lose myself in alternate realities. And, so, I suspect it's time to forsake the visual interface and start reading more again. Reading, at least I am not bombarded by REAL LIVE idiots and by stats and leveling and all those other things that only serve to destroy suspension of disbelief. Last night, Mithwen reached Lvl 35. Scaling back, I'll most likely confine myself to Shaharrazad, my blood-elf warlock, and her little sister, Hanifah (a paladin). Spooky's talking about concentrating on her Tauren shaman, Usiku. Total, I presently have six characters, which looks pretty bad, until you consider that Blizzard permits you to have fifty. Anyway, I will continue to hope that at some point within the next few years a genuine rp "simulation" will emerge from the chaos of SL and mmorpgs and whatnot.
greygirlbeast: (white)
First off, for those in the Manhattan area, as announced, I will be reading at KGB Bar this Wednesday evening (November 19th) at some point between 7 and 9 p.m. (EST). I know I'm reading second, but I have not yet decided what I'm reading. Check out the KGB website for maps, directions, etc. It's a marvelous bar, which I last visited in May 2001. If you can make it, I urge you to do so. Benjamin Parzybok will read before me. KGB is located at 85 E. 4th Street. Sonya ([livejournal.com profile] sovay) will be accompanying me and Spooky, as it seems I need at least two handlers these days, if I am to venture out into the wide, wide world. We'll be heading back to Providence shortly after the reading. I think I have meetings with my agent and editor before the reading, but I need to check on that today.

I'm in an especially wicked mood this morning. Which is to say, I find myself wanting to corrupt something. Corruption for the sake of corruption, for whatever satisfaction the act of corruption brings. Just about anything would do. Maybe the writing will satisfy...maybe.

A good writing day yesterday. I'm not sure that I'd claim that "The Collier's Venus (1893)" is now on an even keel. But I did 1,209 words on the story yesterday, and I think I at least see how to get to THE END. As Sonya has pointed out to me, the story retraces some of the territory I covered when I wrote "In the Waterworks (1889)," though the parallel wasn't exactly intentional. It's just sort of worked out that way. Mostly, I was relieved that the writing proceeded with very little resistance yesterday. Four Valium, a Klonopin, coffee, and Red Bull made it all relatively painless. I can only hope it goes as well today, since tomorrow has to be spent pulling myself together for Wednesday. I fear I actually have to visit a mall. Something to wear, a warm hat, new shoes (you should see the state of my old Converse All Stars; we're talking duct-tape time), and, later in the day, I have an appointment to make the grey in my hair go away again.

Last night, we watched the first three episodes of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. I was pleasantly surprised. I figured, at the very least, the series would need several eps to build momentum and find it's footing. Nope. It hit the ground running, literally. And, hey, Summer Glau as an android. What the hell more do I need? I had my doubts about Lena Headey, and yeah, she's no Linda Hamilton, but I think she's doing okay. Thomas Dekker is a bit on the bland side, but then I was never very interested in John, and this is a story about Sarah, after all. We're looking forward to the next disc.

WoW has taken a turn for the weird(er). Spooky and I both needed to create "mules," that is, characters who exist primarily to hold loot and provide extra bank slots. I created a blood-elf paladin named Hanifah (another name recycled from the old Dune rp) and a human priest named Celebriän (yes, Celebriän; so sue me). But the lure of quick leveling and a curiosity about other races and classes has led to my turning them both into full-fledged characters. I've played Hanifah to Lvl. 11, already, and Celebriän is at Lvl. 9. And I think I've discovered that blood elf/paladin is my very favorite flavor combination so far. Perfect for soloing. Poor Celebriän, though. I don't know what the people at Blizzard were thinking when they designed the human avatars. Maybe they have the same disdain for humans that I do. The poor girl runs (or, rather, galumphs, while slouching) like Bigfoot in the Patterson-Gimlin film (1967). I mean, really. It's just fucking sad. And "priest" is probably the least playable class I've encountered so far. The whole cloth armor thing is unpardonably silly, so far as I'm concerned. Blizzard could have at least provided a reasonable "in-world" explanation for why priests and mages and warlocks can't wear better armor (if they have, I've missed it), or let them wear something decent. Even Shaharrazad, who has now reached Lvl. 34, is still pretty useless, despite her fancy magick and minions, unless she has Suraa (a paladin) backing her up. Oh, and I've discovered a whole backstory uniting Hanifah and Shah. They're sisters. Shah is the older, and, at an early age, when both were beginning to show magical abilities, Shaharrazad "accidentally" placed a curse on herself and her sister. Having parted company, if they ever again meet face to face, one has to die. Shah is deeply resentful of the "good" sister. I'm sorry. I can't help myself. This stuff just comes.

Okay, a long, long day ahead of me, so...here we go.
greygirlbeast: (chi (in all her fears))
Clarification: I was not meaning to imply, yesterday, that one should never, ever, in any instance, paint a house pink. Or that all houses should be painted drab earthtones. I have seen, in my lifetime, any number of perfectly tasteful pink houses. However, that house on North Avenue, the one I posted photos of, is not a tasteful pink house. In truth, I've grown rather fond of pink. For example, my leather iPod case is a pale shade of pink. Pink has its place, especially when paired with black and/or grey. However, I do believe that houses should be integrated into the environment which they occupy. They should not dominate that environment. And they should not make my eyes hurt or induce nausea. I know that many Victorians painted their houses perfectly hideous colours. To some degree, as John Fowles pointed out, they can, perhaps, be forgiven their infatuation with garish colours. Aniline dyes were new, and people were a little giddy. The ability to dye clothing and paint houses such hideous colors was a novelty. However, the house in question was not built a hundred and fifty years ago. It was built last year. And now it's ugly.

It can't be good that I began June with a Lost Day. I had every intention of taking up the job of finishing "The Black Alphabet" with the letter T and making it at least as far as V. But my mood was too weighted by the morning's dreamsickness. It's one thing to write polymorphously perverse erotica, and it's quite another to try to do it in a mood like that. I sat here until three p.m., staring at the letter T, trying to start. And then I gave up. Because discretion is the better part of valour. So, I got dressed, and we spent the remainder of the afternoon at the Fernbank Museum of Natural History. I stepped into the atrium just in time to see some guy dusting the head of the Gigonotosaurus (photos below). We walked through the chocolate exhibit, undoubtedly the least interesting traveling exhibit that Fernbank has hosted since I started visiting regularly in 2004. At five, we caught Amazon in the IMax, which was beautiful and breathtaking.

Museum photos. )


After the museum, we had an early dinner from the salad bar at Whole Foods. Back home, I finally saw The Whole Wide World (1996). It only took me ten years. And Jada giving us a one-year membership to Netflix for our birthdays. I loved the film. Vincent D'Onofrio was perfect. And this is the first time, I think, that I've seen Renée Zellweger that she hasn't annoyed me. She was superb. Which makes all that Bridget Jones nonsense later on even more inexcusable. Now, I want to track down a copy of Novalyne Price Ellis' memoirs, One Who Walked Alone, upon which the movie was based. After the film, we read Chapter 13 of The Triumph of the Moon ("The Wider Context: Hostility"), and I did more work with the Ogham. By the way, in answer to an e-mail yesterday, I do not use the Ogham or Tarot or scrying (or anything else) for divination, as I don't believe these systems are any more likely to permit divinatory revelations than a halfway educated guess. Less, actually. I use these tools purely for purposes of introspection and meditation. Oh, and I re-read the first few pages of The Silmarillion.

I wish I could say that I was in a better state of mind today than yesterday. But I'm not. The dreams were worse this morning, despite the Ambien CR which usually at least makes it almost impossible for me to remember them. So, I can't know how the writing will go today. I do know I haven't time for this foolishness.

Here's something cool. I shall consider it my silver lining. S. T. Joshi has chosen "In the Water Works (Birmingham, Alabama 1888)" for American Supernatural Tales, to be released by Penguin at Halloween 2007 (or thereabouts). I admit I'm very proud of this one. It might even make up for the way that "Bradbury Weather" was generally ignored last year. Joshi kindly allowed me to do a bit of a rewrite on the story, fixing a lot of grammatical errors and a few other problems. So, yes, very drad.

It's only 12:32. Anything could happen...

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Caitlín R. Kiernan

February 2012

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