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Sunny and coolish here in Providence. It's currently 51˚F.

I tried to work yesterday, and that didn't go so well. I cannot spin fancies and fairy tales with the the election pressing in at me on all sides, with the fate of our nation and the world hanging in the balance. But I will say, today I am far more optimistic then I've been in the last couple of weeks. Now that Comey has – once again – cleared Clinton of any criminality in the whole silly email kerfuffle, things are looking up. As I type, the Washington Post is declaring that Clinton now has sufficient electoral votes to win the White House, at 290. That's a win with twenty to spare, while Trump trails behind at 209 electoral votes. Also, FiveThirtyEight.com is reporting very strong new polls numbers for Clinton, indicating she will likely carry both Nevada and North Carolina. But we cannot let cause for hope make us complacent. Vote, people. Please just fucking vote. None of us has a right to sit this one out.

For me, voting necessarily involves setting aside certain personal agendas and choosing the candidate who stands to do the *most good and the least harm,* based on their campaign platform and their history as a politician (and human being). My own ego is secondary to the common good, what the constitution calls the general welfare. And this is why I'm voting for Hillary Clinton, and this is also why I view – in this historical race – third-party voters and write-ins and those who refuse to vote as acting from a place of profound self-interest, egomania, and civic irresponsibility. This isn't about *you*. This is about all of us. We must act as a nation, not as a conglomerate of self-serving individuals.

We had a short stroll in the park before a trip to the market and the post office this afternoon, and I took a photo, just for you, something that feels somehow hopeful, despite the autumn and despite the wide carnivorous sky:



Later Taters,
Aunt Beast

"We were not born in sin." (Five Vicodin)

Mostly cloudy here in Providence, and the temperature is currently 48˚F.

I took two benadryl to sleep last night, and I'm still not awake.

"If you sit this election out and Trump wins by a few votes, many people are going to be dealing with that reality for their entire lives." ~ Senator Bernie Sanders

Yesterday, out of the blue, I somehow cleared away enough of the fear and anxiety of the election madness to begin a new piece for Sirenia Digest #130. It doesn't have a title yet, but I'm hopeful it will still be there today. Last night, I dropped in at Lovecraft Arts and Sciences Council for a top-secret ninja reading from Agents of Dreamland. It went well, and it buoyed my spirits just a bit. It also left me looking forward to the book tour this spring. I am greatly encouraged by how much people seem to like the book, my divergent Lovecraftiness spy noir by way of John Le Carré and William S. Burroughs and...well, maybe you get the picture. I know how I wear my influences on my sleeve. By the way, the first date on the Agents of Dreamland book tour will be at Lovecraft Arts and Sciences Council at the Providence Arcade in late February.

Victoria Dalpe, Catherine Grant, Hazel Hill, and Farah Rose Smith also read last night. My grateful thanks to Niels Hobbs and crew.

Finding a parking place was an utter bitch, and we had to drive around downtown for at least twenty minutes, maybe longer. There was a WaterFire going on, and The King and I at the Providence Performing Arts Center and something at Trinity Rep and all the Saturday night people flooding into the bars and restaurants. The reading itself wasn't very photogenic, but I have a great shot of us driving along Westminster trying to find a place to fucking park:



Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
Mostly cloudy today, and it's currently 48˚F in Providence, land of lobsters, mobsters, and quohogs. Tonight will mark the twelfth year that I've refused to "fall back," remaining blissfully on Daylight Savings Time. One day, the whole country will follow suit.

And here, again, my view for the last 3,079 days (photo from 9:54 a.m.). It's a lot like prison, but the food's better and no one restricts my access to internet porn:



Yesterday was an utter loss. I now know what it feels like to be stuck inside a presidential election cowritten by Philip K. Dick and James Ellroy. But things are looking up just a tiny bit, and today I am trying to rally the shreds of my hope.

To you people who still adamantly refuse to vote, and you "third party" voters, and you write-in folks, if you won't do the right thing and vote for Clinton because it is the right thing, stop and think of someone you care about – some one person – who would surely be hurt by a Trump presidency – a PoC, a woman, someone LGBT, someone disabled, someone poor, children, someone of a non-Christian faith – and you try to find it in your heart to get your head out of your ass, get over your ego, and do it because you love that person and it matters to you what happens to her or to him.

In all honesty, I can forgive the very young voters their hesitation, the millennials, some of whom are voting for the first time, men and women who grew up under the prosperity and expanding social freedoms of the Obama presidency. And they likely don't remember the mess that Nader's third-party voters made in the Gore-Bush race in 2000, and they may not clearly recall the nightmare of W's eight long and terrible years, and they definitely don't recall the healthy economy and peace of the nineties and Bill Clinton's (vastly underrated) administration. They didn't suffer through the damage that Bush Mark 1 and Reagen and his cronies did to this country and its people in the eighties and the early nineties. You get old, you live through fourteen presidential elections, and you grow a sense of history, of perspective. Doesn't make me foolproof, but it does give me insight. Regardless, I am trusting young voters to do the right thing. I refuse *not* to believe in the potential and humanity the young people of America.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Sunny and autumnal today. The temperature is currently 56˚F.

With a lot of help from Tor.com, we're in the early planning stages on the Agents of Dreamland tour that will begin February 27th and end in early April. At the moment, we're looking at dates in Manhattan and Brooklyn, Providence, a couple in Boston, a couple in the Amherst/Northampton area, and maybe Portland (Maine). I'll post dates when they're available. I posted this on Facebook yesterday, and there were a lot of people asking if I'd come to places much, much farther from home – Toronto, Chicago, Salt Lake City, San Francisco. I can't, of course. While Tor is setting all this up for me, handling all the scheduling, promotion, coordinating with bookstores, etc., all the travel expenses are coming out of my pocket. My profoundly empty pockets. Really, the moths get lonely in there. When all is said and done, these appearances could easily end up costing me a thousand dollars, and that's with driving everywhere and staying in cheap motels. And, of course, all the time I spend on the road is time I don't spend writing, which is a hidden cost of book tours. All that said, I'm very excited about this, and I'm enormously grateful to Tor.com for the enthusiasm they're showing and the push they're putting behind this book, far more than Roc ever did in the seventeen years I was with them (eleven novels). Oh, and I'm thinking there will be an official tour T-shirt via Red Bubble.

No writing yesterday. Surprise.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
This morning I awoke from a dream of walking through a tangled tropical jungle. Even the air seemed lush, each breath impregnated with green. I'd come upon the ruins of a once great estate, there in the middle of the wilderness. To my left was a clearing in the trees where once an enormous house had stood, and on my right was a sort of mall or promenade, stretching away for hundreds of yards. Once, it had been a beautiful garden, but was now being rapidly reclaimed by the jungle. There was the ruin of a fountain and there were crumbling walls and underfoot was a vast, shattered mosaic of small, variegated ceramic tiles. Immense vines clung to everything. The whole scene was one part Charles Foster Kane's Xanadu, one part Skull Island, simultaneously beautiful, terrible, and tragic.

At least I slept last night, probably more than six hours. It's cloudy here today. It was unseasonably warm yesterday, with a high near 70˚F. I was able to keep my office window open well into the night.

I didn't write yesterday.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Well, the headache's gone, but I only managed to sleep about two hours last night. I was awake at 4:30 and that was that. I'm trying to get a little work – this entry, correspondence, etc. – done before the inevitable crash this afternoon. I spent two days doing hardly anything but following the election on Twitter, and the headache and attendant sickness was the result. So, I'm going to try to limit my time on Twitter and Facebook until next Wednesday. But it's hard to look away when you're watching your country flirt with suicide, aided by Russia and Wikileaks. I'm more afraid than I've been since 9/11, and I might be more afraid than I was on that awful day. Everything we are is in danger.

Yeah, that's where things stand.

It's sunny today and warm.

And I need to be writing, more than anything. I had six extremely productive weeks, in September and the first half of October. But then I had to stop for proofreading and the trip to Manhattan, and then the election crises hit me full force, and I've been unable to get back in the swing of things. Impending apocalypse, I've discovered, is goddamn distracting.

I promised a few photos from Halloween, and here they are:

31 October 2016Collapse )


Later Taters,
Aunt Beast

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I'd planned to do a real entry today, with neighborhood Halloween photos. Then I woke up at 7:30 this morning, after only three hours sleep, with one of the worst headaches I've had in many months. I've spent most of the day in bed, not sleeping, taking Vicodin and fighting nausea. So, hopefully I'll be better tomorrow, and I can do the entry then.

It was a warmish, sunny day here in Providence. A shame I was trapped inside.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Twenty Years Ago

I'm entirely too stressed out about the election to even think about Halloween this year. No, "stressed lout" doesn't come close. I'm entirely too fucking terrified.

But I do want to note that tonight is the twentieth anniversary of the first Death's Little Sister show. Here's something I wrote for the tenth anniversary:

"So, anyway, as mentioned earlier, yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the first performance of Death's Little Sister. A whole damn decade. How fucked is that? It seems entirely impossible that so much time has passed and so much has transpired since that freezing night in Athens, Georgia. There were two other bands playing Galaxy 500 that evening, La Guano and Static Lounge, and I cannot remember even the first thing about either of them. I can't even recall the order in which we played. But I was somewhat drunk and sleep deprived and pretty sure we'd get booed offstage. We brought jack-o'-lanterns, and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was projected onto the wall behind us while we played. Our asshole drummer tried to set the stage on fire (he skipped out on us right after the show and was never seen again). After we played, I got about an hour's sleep before driving to Atlanta and flying to Chicago for the '96 World Fantasy Convention. Those were the days. Anyway, here's a gothedy band photo to commemorate the date (behind the cut; the asshole drummer is not in the photo), courtesy Matthew C. Grasse":



I would add, looking back twenty years after that night, that I have often wished I'd chosen music over fiction writing. I left the band in February 1997, just as we were sort of getting our shit together, because my agent suggested that the time I was devoting to DLS was hurting my nascent writing career (I'd just sold Silk and had been working with DC/Vertigo for almost a year). They were right, of course, and I took their advice and quit a few days later. But I think I might have been happier today if I hadn't. There's no way to know if that's true; it's just a suspicion I've had for a very, very long time, and fuck knows writing has never given me even half the satisfaction that music did.

TTFn,
Aunt Beast

A Rainy Night in Providence

Entry No. 4,783

Tags:

Ugh. I think I slept maybe five hours. It's mostly cloudy here and currently 48˚F.

The next few days are gonna be photo heavy posts, while I adjust and try to get my shit back together – again.



Yesterday, I didn't work. We went out searching for jigsaw puzzles and Halloween candy and a pumpkin. I was startled at how cold the day was, the wind coming in off the bay and biting like frost. Last night, after a very mediocre pizza, we watched the finale of Season Eight of RuPaul's Drag Race, and I was very happy that Bob the Drag Queen won. Somehow, my favorites won from seasons Five, Six, Seven, and Eight all were crowned. If only I were always so good at picking winners. Later, we watched three episodes of Black Mirror. I was extremely skeptical. There hasn't been good anthology television since the nineteen sixties. It's a format that TV briefly excelled at, a very long time ago. But I was pleasantly surprised by Black Mirror. We watched three episodes, out of order – "Fifteen Million Merits" (ep. 1:2), "Playtest" (ep. 3:3), and "Hated in the Nation" (3:6). Both "Fifteen Million Merits" and "Hated in the Nation" are excellent. I wasn't very impressed with "Playtest," though, which was just a silly, predictable horror tale.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Howard Hughes, Back at Square One

I woke to clouds, but they're beginning to clear and the cold October sun is shining. It's a windy day, currently 48˚F here in Providence. I have a photo from two days ago. Today doesn't look that different. A portrait of the death of a year, from my office window, 2:55 p.m.



My psychiatrist is putting me back on Lamictal. The bipolar symptoms are back, and the lows are just too low. I shouldn't have stopped taking it, back in July, but it fucks up my stomach and makes my hands shake.

Today, I'm going to try to start something new for Sirenia Digest #130. Maybe something Halloween. Maybe not. But I need to get the digest together now, so that I can spend November working on NOTHING AT ALL BUT THE NEXT NEW NOVEL, for fuck's sake. Please.

Bob the Drag Queen is a righteous broad.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

"And behond, a white horse."

Cloudy and cold this morning. Currently, it's 40˚F. It's 71˚F in Birmingham.

Yesterday gets marked as a lost day. And today I have a doctor's appointment at 3 p.m. I may be able to get some work done beforehand.

If you've not yet preordered Dear Sweet Filthy World or Agents of Dreamland, please, please do so. Thank you.

I was both surprised and very pleased to see that Violet won Season Seven of RuPaul's Drag Race. Violet makes my nethers flutter, and I care not who knows.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Naked Lovecraft in Drag

Sunny and cold in Providence. The high is currently 46˚F. In Birmingham, it's 69˚F.

But Birmingham is well inside the boundaries of Trumpland.

It's been a hard and trying few days, the tedious handful of days since the return from Manhattan, what with the rush to get all the proofreading finished and gets manuscripts back to Subterranean Press and Tor so that everything would stay on schedule. I need to be working on new fiction, not nitpicking over things I wrote in 2015 and 2012 and 2011 and 2010. It's done now, and everything has been mailed away, but the focus I was struggling to hang onto back in September and the first half of October is now sorely lacking. I have vowed I will do no more major proofreading until I'm done with a new novel. Let's see if I can stick to that. Truthfully, the way I feel at this moment I don't even want to try and write. I want to get in the car and go somewhere far away from this goddamn suffocating room, away from these four red walls and these two windows looking out on houses built much too near to one another and that crushing blue sky.

I don't know what's going to happen today. I'm not going to hazard a guess.

I keep meaning to sit down and write something about the Season 7 premier of The Walking Dead, but I haven't been able to summon the requisite whatthefuckver. So, read this review by someone at Tor. It pretty much sums up my own feelings. I call it "audience fatigue," what I feel. I fell in love with TWD in Season 2, but it began to lose me in Season 5, and the Sunday night's episode was, as they say, the final straw. Enough is enough. It's one thing to portray a sadistic character, and it's quite another for the creators of the series creators to sadistically manipulate their viewers.

On the other hand, Kathryn and I are foam-rubber ass over silicone tits in love with RuPaul's Drag Race. We watched Season 5 first, skipped back to Season 4, then forward again to Season 6, and now we're almost done with Season 7 – all since October 14th! We were delighted when Bianca Del Rio won. And does anyone else think that Max (Season 7) is a dead ringer for H.P. Lovecraft? Learning her sexual hangups made the resemblance all the eerier.

I did get out of the house yesterday. I went with Spooky to the post office on Thayer and to the UPS place at Wayland Square and to Eastside Market. It wasn't much, but it was someplace that isn't this room.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Sunny and chilly this morning. Currently, it's 49˚F. There's talk of snow flurries on Thursday morning.

The proofreading is done, finally. Today, I'll send the galley pages for Dear Sweet Filthy World back to Subterranean Press and the galley pages for Agents of Dreamland back to Tor. Few things wear me out the way proofreading does, but I can't afford more than one day to try and clear my head and get my bearings. That day will be today. Tomorrow, I need to be writing.

I haven't left the house since we got home from the bus station last Thursday night. I should probably go to the post office and to UPS with Kathryn, just to get outside.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Sunny today. The high is currently 57˚F.

This is the last day I can spend on these two sets of galleys, for Dear Sweet Filthy World and Agents of Dreamland. Which means it's going to be a very, very long day. Yesterday, from the former, I proofed "Interstate Love Song (Murder Ballad No. 8)" and the whole of the The Aubergine Alphabet. Today, I'll be making a final pass through the novella, while Spooky attends to about 300 (no exaggeration) possible corrections in the collection that Subterranean Press marked. Tomorrow, it all goes back into the mail.

I'm going to lose Thursday and Friday to doctors appointments.

The wind has pulled most the leaves off the tree outside my office window.The cold is closing in. I have to keep it from dragging me down, and I have to keep it from becoming a distraction.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
Sunny and windy and much cooler today, only 55˚F at this moment. We still have a wind advisory.

Yesterday was consumed by proofreading. I was still proofreading at 10 p.m., but, even so, I did not manage to finish. I made it through "Latitude 41°21'45.89"N, Longitude 71°29'0.62"W" (Sirenia Digest #71, October 2011), "Another Tale of Two Cities" (Sirenia Digest #72, November 2011), "Blast the Human Flower" (Sirenia Digest #73, December 2011), "Cammufare" (Sirenia Digest #74, January 2012), "Here Is No Why" (Sirenia Digest #75, February 2012), "Hauplatte/Gegenplatte" (Sirenia Digest #77, April 2012), and "Sanderlings (2010; Subterranean Press)." But I still have to read "Interstate Love Song" to be finished with Dear Sweet Filthy World, and I want to make another stab at writing a short preface.

Monday is the last day I will permit to be devoured by this round of proofreading. Then, I have a story to write for a very patient editor, and then I am pushing everything aside to get back to the Next New Novel. Please.

Last night we watched more RuPaul's Drag Race (having finished Season Four, we're on Season Six) and Alex Berry's Jinkx Monsoon documentary, Drag Becomes Him (2015), which I recommend unconditionally. Sweet and sexy and hilarious.

I'll have more NYC photos tomorrow.

Now, it's time to make the doughnuts.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

"Don't look back, them days are gone."

Ugh. Overcast and rainy and windy today. The wind is plucking yellowed leaves from the trees. We actually have "wind advisory" tonight, after flash-flood warnings last night. Currently, it's 62˚F. But cold weather is coming.

After six triumphant weeks, I haven't written anything since the 12th of October. My life has become mired in proofreading, first the galleys for Dear Sweet Filthy World and then the CEM for Agents of Dreamland. I haven't yet finished with either. Today, I'm making a huge fucking push to get through with the collection, and I need to finish with the novella ASAP, as Tor needs my notes yesterday. I need to be writing, not correcting and futzing and dithering. I have two novels and a shit-ton of short stories to write. And I can't risk slipping back into a malaise I've hardly escaped.

All of yesterday went to the CEM for Agents of Dreamland and to being utterly fucking exhausted from the two-day trip. If I'm really going to do this book tour thing in March, I have got to get myself in vastly better physical shape before then.

I have a few photos from the trip. I may have a few more tomorrow. I made the mistake of using the phone for a camera, because it takes wonderful photos, but getting the photos off is annoyingly slow (compared to downloading them from a camera). Anyway, behind the cut, all disorganized.

Wednesday night and ThursdayCollapse )


TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Lobsters and Mobsters, once again.

By turns, cloudy and sunny. Another unseasonably warm day today. Currently, it's 73˚F; the high was forecast at 71˚F.

The trip to New York went well. After the long bus ride, I was extremely haggard on Wednesday evening. I had a meeting with my agent at the Bowery Hotel Bar, and then she and Spooky and I caught a taxi and headed over to KGB for the reading. Apparently, I did okay. My voice was going, but people seemed pleased. I read the second section of Agents of Dreamland, "Words Written Backwards," and then, since I had a little extra time, I read a few pages of the first section, "Oddfellows Local 171." Afterwards, we went with the KGB group to dinner at the Kitchen Sink. Unfortunately, the debate was on two enormous televisions, and it rather dominated the meal. I'd actually hoped to avoid it by having to do the reading on Wednesday. No such luck. It was good, though, getting to talk with Jack Ketchum after so many years. I think I had an embarrassing fangirlish moment, when I started telling him about my copy of Off Season, bought at a grocery store in Leeds, Alabama in 1982.

Kathryn and I stayed at the Carlton Arms Hotel in Gramercy, and I have a feeling I'm going to have to write a short story about the place to do it justice. It's easy to throw around adjectives like "Bohemian" and "fleabag" and "bizarre" and only hint at the actual weirdness. I suspect we'll be heading back sometime this winter for two or three nights, as winter rates at the Carlton are cheaper. We stayed in a room that I described, fairly accurately, as the Hipster Jesus LSD Dungeon. I'll post photos later. I don't have time today, as I have to get some emergency copyediting done.

I caught a second wind after dinner, and we had a late-night stroll in the city. Well, with these feet, I don't so much stroll as hobble. We had a brisk late-night hobble. The city is so much more pleasant, I find, long after dark. And then I couldn't sleep, and I was up until sometime after four a.m.

Thursday, we spend some time exploring the city from the Carlton to Madison Sqaure Park to the Flatiron District. And then we met up with folks from Tor.com for lunch at a Thai place (Thai Villa, 5 East 19th St.). My thanks to Irene Gallo, Katharine Duckett, and Theresa DeLucci for a fine meal. Spooky and I headed back to Port Authority after that, and our bus left NYC at 5 p.m. We should have been back home by 9, but we pulled into Providence more like 9:45. I have no idea what the source of the holdup was.

The trip set up back about three hundred dollars, between bus fare, the hotel, and taxis. But it was worth it. It helps that all our meals were covered.

As I said on Facebook this morning, for the release of Agents of Dreamland, I'm going to do something I've never done before, not in eighteen years of publishing: A book tour. It's going to be a small regional book tour, probably limited to New England and New York. This will be late in February and in March, as the book is being published on February 28th. I'll be announcing dates as they're confirmed. But I can say upfront that there will be appearances in Manhattan, Boston, Providence, and in the Amherst/Northampton area. Katharine at Tor.com will be helping me set up the dates. I think there will also be an official tour T-shirt, available via Red Bubble.

And now, I gotta go work! Oh, hey...it got cloudy.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Jiggity Jig.

We're back in Providence, and the trip was grand, and the reading went marvelously, and I'll make a real blog entry tomorrow.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

Not Awake

The sun is far too bright this morning. It's 69˚F here in Providence.

I hope to see you tonight at KGB Bar. I go on at 7 p.m. If not, I'll be back tomorrow night.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Ugh. Another rough night. Currently, it's overcast and 64˚F here in Providence, with 90% humidity. We're about to have a little bit of an Indian Summer, just in time for the trip to NYC. I think the high in Manhattan tomorrow is supposed to be 83˚F, and I guess I'm going to be stuck wearing a T-shirt and jeans to the reading. We'll be taking the bus down in the morning, staying over one night, then taking the bus back on Thursday.

Yesterday might best be described as a series of minor calamities, strung together. Trouble with the CEM for Agents of Dreamland. Trouble with the galley pages for Dear Sweet Filthy World. I need to be writing, not wasting days with editing. It's been six days since I actually wrote anything; most of that time has been spent working on the galleys. But there was also a good conversation with my lit agent about, well, a little of everything. I'll be meeting with her on Wednesday, before the reading at KGB. I do hope people make it out. I'm just grateful that I have something to do that night that will keep me from watching the third presidential debate. Tomorrow will be my fifth time to read at KGB. The first was May 2001. The second was November 2008. The third was October 2013. The fourth was March 2015.

This will be my first trip into Manhattan since the last time I read at KGB, an awful, freezing day, March 18th, 2015. We'd spent the night before in a windstorm in an unheated cabin in the Catskills, then had to drive from Woodstock to catch the train at Rhinecliff to Manhattan. It was one of the coldest, most uncomfortable, most thoroughly exhausting days I think I ever have endured. We left Woodstock about noon, and we were back at the cabin by 1 A.M. I doubt we were in NYC for more than four hours. Hopefully, this trip will be much less unpleasant.

I'm utterly in love with RuPauls's Drag Race. I avoided the show for years, and I'll explain that some other day. We're watching Season Four now (yeah, we're doing it out of order), and it's not quite as thoroughly delightful as Season Five, but it's thoroughly delightful.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
This needs to be quick, because I have a call from my agent at 11:30 a.m., which is hellishly early for me to be articulate. It's sunny here, and a little warmer than yesterday, currently 73˚F. Which is good because the latest cheap space heater, Clank Mark III, konked out day before yesterday. We'd only had the fucker for a year. Our cheap-ass space heaters usually last three years. Anyway, the sky out there is That Blue. I hear people screaming. It's a Cloverfield Day.

Yesterday was an improvement over Saturday. I proofread the galleys for Dear Sweet Filthy World and made it through "The Carnival is Dead and Gone" (Sirenia Digest #65, April 2011), "Figurehead" (Sirenia Digest #66, May 2011), "Down to Gehenna" (Sirenia Digest #67, June 2011), and "The Granting Cabinet" (Sirenia Digest #68, July 2011). Then my eyes gave out. By the way, if you have not yet preordered you copy of Dear Sweet Filthy World, you should soon. The limited edition is guaranteed to sell out before publication, and it's possible that the trade edition could as well.

What I want to know is why Assange's internet wasn't cut a long damn time ago.

Last night we finished Season Five of RuPaul's Drag Race, and I was delighted and surprised Jinkx Monsoon won. I have a very serious Jinkx Monsoon crush.

Now, I gotta wake up fast.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Sunny today and chilly. It's 63˚F. In Birmingham, it's a more congenial 71˚F, but Birmingham is Trump country.

Yesterday was pretty much a loss. I managed to proofread one story from Dear Sweet Filthy World, "–30–" (Sirenia Digest #61, December 2010). Today has to be vastly more productive. I'm going to lose two days next week to the reading in Manhattan; I can't afford this.

Later,
Aunt Beast
Not well this morning. But I'm sort of awake. It's sunny. The sky is painfully blue. It's 55˚F.

Yesterday, I read through everything written so far on The Starkeeper, which comes to a paltry 22 pages. The last couple of weeks I've been dithering over whether to go back to work on it or set it aside and write Interstate Love Song first, then come back to The Starkeeper at a later date. Yesterday, I may have made the decision to do just that. There are a lot of good reasons for doing this. Also, yesterday I proofread two more stories from the Dear Sweet Filthy World galleys, "Tempest Witch" (Sirenia Digest #54, May 2010) and "Fairy Tale of the Maritime" (Sirenia Digest #57, August 2010). The latter is a really fine little tale, and I'd entirely forgotten about it. This is what happens when you write too damn much. You begin to forget entire short stories. Oh, and Sirenia Digest #129 went out to subscribers last night.

Ugh. I may be going back to bed.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thank you.

Yesterday, I quit the RP group I'd been a part of since April 2013. Today, I'm not sure how I feel about having left.

I had no idea how wonderfully fucking hilarious RuPaul's Drag Race is, never having watched it. Oh, and refreshingly raunchy. We watched three episodes last night, and it's just every sort of delightful. Maybe the eight seasons can see us through the election and another bitter New England winter.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Ugh. This morning, I feel like the sticky floor of a movie theatre. For various reasons, I doubt I slept more than three hours. The day is sunny. Currently, it's 53˚F here. We have a frost warning for tonight.

Yesterday, I proofread "Antedivulian Homesick Blues" and part two of The Chartreuse Alphabet for the digest, and then I wrote the prolegomenon for Sirenia Digest #129 and did the layout. Then I sent it away to Gorden to PDF, but late last night Spooky discovered that I'd dated the prolegomenon November 13th, instead of dating it October 13th, and also that the header said Sirenia Digest #128. Which is why subscribers don't yet have the issue. But they should by tonight. Also, I proofread three more stories from the galley pages for Dear Sweet Filthy World: "Apsinthion" (Sirenia Digest #51, February 2010), "Three Months, Three Scenes, With Snow" (Sirenia Digest #53, April 2010), and "Workprint" (Sirenia Digest #53, April 2010). I didn't write a preface for the collection, though. It just wouldn't come to me, and I've told Yanni at SubPress to send the ARCs to the printer without one.

And I talked with Josh Boone about The Red Tree film. It is moving forward. These wheels turn slowly, but they do turn.

Today, I turn my attention back to the writing of The Next New Novel.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thank you!

The September Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology arrived day before yesterday, and so far I've read "A New Crocodile Displaying Extreme Constriction of the Mandible, from the Late Oligocene of Riversleigh, Australia" and "New Rebbachisaurid (Sauropoda, Diplodocoidea) Cranial Remains from the Cretaceous oF Patagonia, Argentina, and the First Endocranial Description for a South American Representative of the Clade."

And I think that's all for now. It surely is plenty.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
Sunny today, and I slept better last night. Currently, it's 66˚F.

Bookkeeping.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,200 words and found THE END of the new story. I also changed the title from "Build Your Houses With Their Backs to the Sea" to "Antediluvian Homesick Blues." I think I'm almost ready to believe that the dry spell has passed. Work since September 2 includes:

1. The Chartreuse Alphabet (Parts 1 and 2)
2. "Animals Pull the Night Around Their Shoulders"
3. "M is for Mars"
4. "Antediluvian Homesick Blues"

Plus assorted editing and an interview. All told, something like 28,000 words. Which is quite reasonable for me during any given forty-one day period of time. Now, I just have to manage to successfully switch gears from short fiction to the novel.

Yesterday, I also continued proofreading Dear Sweet Filthy World, and I made it through "The Dissevered Heart" (Sirenia Digest #47, October 2009), "Exuvium" (Sirenia Digest #48, November 2009), "Drawing from Life" (Sirenia Digest #49, December 2009; originally "Untitled 43"), and "The Eighth Veil" (Sirenia Digest #51, February 2010).

Today, I need to proofread the second half of The Chartreuse Alphabet and "Antediluvian Homesick Blues," put together Sirenia Digest #129, and write a preface for Dear Sweet Filthy World. Subscribers will have #129 by sometime tomorrow, probably.

Oh, and I figured out yesterday that "Antediluvian Homesick Blues" is the 145th story that I've written for Sirenia Digest since November 2005.

Okay, enough facts and figures for one LJ entry.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions.

Last night, we saw the two-hour finale for Season Three of Half and Catch Fire, which truly is one of the best things on television, one of those shows that transcends television. Sadly, there's only one season left to go.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

"Yes, we may be hidden by rags..."

I didn't sleep much last night, maybe four hours. And it's awfully fucking bright outside my window. And I am mildly hungover. Strung out. Whatever. It's 60˚F.

Yesterday sort of derailed, and I only managed 338 new words on "Build Your Houses With Their Backs To the Sea." Given that I'm likely no more than 500 words from THE END, that was especially frustrating. I tried to make up for the poor writing day with proofreading last night. I worked on proofing the galleys for Dear Sweet Filthy World until 3:15 a.m., when I could no longer keep my eyes from crossing. I made it through "Vicaria Draconis" (from Sirenia Digest #44, July 2009), "Paleozoic Annunciation" (Sirenia Digest #45, August 2009), "Charcloth, Firesteel, and Flint" (Sirenia Digest #46, September 2009), and "Shipwrecks Above" (Sirenia Digest #46, September 2009).

My thanks to the 247 people on Facebook who voiced their appreciation of Silk yesterday, and to the half dozen who did so here and at Twitter. I'm always a little surprised by how many people love that book, especially after all these years.

Now, I'm gonna go suck on this Red Bull can until I feel better.

Later,
Aunt Beast
Sunny and 57˚F today, a little warmer than yesterday.

On this day in 1993, when I was twenty-nine. I began work on Silk. It's been twenty-three years. Which seems like a really enormously long time, though I know it isn't. I was living alone in an apartment on the Southside of Birmingham, about halfway up the north slope of Red Mountain. It was still six months before I would move to Athens, Georgia. I'd only had tow fiction sales, "Between the Flat Irons and the Deep Green Sea" and "Persephone." I have a couple of photos of that apartment building, taken when Spooky and I were visiting Birmingham and Leeds in 2014:



View from 16th Avenue South. The building was built in 1923. The place is a lot nicer these days then when I lived there. In 1993, it was just a step or two up from "dump." But it was my home from December 1989 until April 1994.



My apartment was upstairs and around back.



I somehow managed to salvage yesterday. It helped that the short-lived Republican coup wasn't a total loss. I did 1,002 words on "Build Your Houses With Their Backs to the Sea." Today, I need to find THE END. I also need to answer a bunch of email I let slide yesterday. Oh, and the galley pages for Dear Sweet Filthy World were delivered, because UPS doesn't shut down for Columbus Day, which is more than I can say for quite a lot of Providence. Here, Columbus Day is treated as Italian Pride Day. Last night, I proofread the first story in the collection, "Werewolf Smile," which was written in August 2009.

Oh, and I signed tax forms yesterday.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thank you.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast
The sun is back today, after yesterday's brush with Matthew. Currently, the sky is wide and carnivorous, and the temperature is only 54˚F. In Birmingham, it's 68˚F.

I tried to write yesterday, but managed only a few hundred words, and those were all rewrite. This story may have stalled. Today will tell, though, frankly I've come to a place where I am having trouble seeing the point of bothering.

I shouldn't be making an entry today, but I've not missed a day all year.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast

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