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Eli2
We are being made to suffer for the brief hint of spring we had last week. Okay, no. I do not engage in that sort of magical thinking (or any other sort, if I can help it), but it seems that way. As I wrote my blog entry yesterday, the temperature here in Providence was 34F, with a windchill at 24F, thanks to a 21 mph wind. As I write this one, it's once again 34F out there, though the windchill is only 27F. That is a sarcastic "only," in case you're wondering.

No actual writing yesterday. I sat here for hours, searching for a story, after discovering the story I'd thought I was going to write after "Houndwife" isn't yet ready to be written. I dusted two bookshelves in my office. That took half an hour. I stared at the screen some more. I reread portions of Michael E. Bell's Food for the Dead (2001), and might have found an idea, which is currently known only as "Untitled 37." I read about sauropods. I made notes. I stared out the window at a late March that looks like early February. I made more notes. I reread Angela Carter's "Peter and the Wolf" (1982). I gazed forlornly at the screen of the iMac. I did a little straightening up in the kitchen. I fretted about my lousy, rotten feet, and my bad teeth, and not having health insurance, and getting old, and all the grey hair. I drank pomegranate-flavored limeade. I drank lime-flavored ice tea. I made a late lunch of a can of Progresso soup and Saltines and Izze ginger ale. I shelved books that needed shelving. I closed the curtain in my office so I couldn't see the cold blue sky. It was that sort of writing day.

And, at some point, I thought, I ask absurd things of myself. Finish one story on Thursday, begin another on Friday.

Spooky, on the other hand, had a productive day. She's working on a March Hare and sort of cameo thing, both for her Dreaming Squid Dollworks Shop on Etsy.

Oh, a good day to preorder The Ammonite Violin & Others, if you've not already done so. Thanks. It's a simple enough equation: if these books don't sell, there likely will not be future books. It's the vicious maxim by which all working authors live.

Early last night, just after dinner (leftover meatloaf), I had the worst seizure I've had since at least January. It caught us both by surprise, as the seizures have become infrequent. It left me feeling empty and wasted, but no real harm done. Spooky was there to catch me. I lay on the bed for an hour or so, trying to watch the new episode of Spartacus: Blood and Sand, but my head was very full of a fog that only began to lift later in the evening.

I was unable to sleep until sometime after four ayem, and then only with the help of Ambien (first dose in eight nights).

Oh, there are gratuitous photographs of Hubero:





Hubero has decided to begin his memoirs, Confessions of an Affectionate Bastard. He insists that, in the inevitable film adaptation, he will be played by Jack Black.



One must not rush into these things.

Photographs © Copyright 2010 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac.

Comments

( 11 comments — Have your say! )
captaincurt81
Mar. 27th, 2010 04:56 pm (UTC)
Perhaps Hubero has an idea ripe enough to spin into one of your vignettes. 'Meow' is full of meanings.
greygirlbeast
Mar. 27th, 2010 04:59 pm (UTC)

Perhaps Hubero has an idea ripe enough to spin into one of your vignettes.

If only.
sovay
Mar. 27th, 2010 05:23 pm (UTC)
We are being made to suffer for the brief hint of spring we had last week.

It snowed here yesterday morning. You knew it was coming, because spring in New England is a cruel and finicky process and last week was too lovely to stay, but still: today it's hard bright February, and I could have done without the wind chill.

Have a song that has been stuck in my head for several days: Uh Huh Her, "Explode."

So won't you pay if you want to go down?
greygirlbeast
Mar. 27th, 2010 05:37 pm (UTC)

It snowed here yesterday morning. You knew it was coming, because spring in New England is a cruel and finicky process and last week was too lovely to stay, but still: today it's hard bright February, and I could have done without the wind chill.

Have I mentioned moving to Vietnam?
sovay
Mar. 28th, 2010 02:32 am (UTC)
Have I mentioned moving to Vietnam?

Once or twice. Or if it were not so cold, you could move to Siberia, where the new hominid fossils are.

(Reminds me more of the almas than the yeti, but I don't name these things . . .)
martianmooncrab
Mar. 27th, 2010 05:37 pm (UTC)
despite the seizure, it still sounded like a productive day, just not for writing.

Huberto looks like the crack reporter, ready to interview you.
readingthedark
Mar. 27th, 2010 07:02 pm (UTC)
Delightful pictures of Hubero. He is more Jack Black than I realized, yes. Sorry to hear of the seizure.

greygirlbeast
Mar. 27th, 2010 07:10 pm (UTC)

He is more Jack Black than I realized, yes.

Oddly, we think he'll be Ian McShane in a few years more.
thehousesparrow
Mar. 28th, 2010 03:22 pm (UTC)
About the seizure: Please take care of yourself!
fusijui
Mar. 29th, 2010 02:33 pm (UTC)
there are gratuitous photographs of Hubero

Pshaw! Aren't you confusing "gratuitous" with "obligatory"? Writers these days, I tell you...
fusijui
Mar. 29th, 2010 10:15 pm (UTC)
Staircase witlessness struck: All I meant to imply by that is that Huberto is a handsome and photogenic beast, of whom photographs should always be judged mandatory and never "gratuitous"!
( 11 comments — Have your say! )