Unfit for Mass Consumption

"We are each of us a multitude."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 21:17:53 GMT

Another wonderful video from the people at Symphony of Science, this one featuring David Attenborough, Jane Goodall, and Carl Sagan...

"The mental and diva's hands..."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 15:47:03 GMT

Scary stuff for a Thursday morning. "An unprecedented extreme in the northern hemisphere atmospheric circulation has driven a strong direct connecting current between the Gulf Stream and the West Greenland current."

---

This is me writing about not writing. Four days after I "typed" the title page for The Wolf Who Cried Girl, I've still not found my way into the beginning. I cannot even figure out if there should be a prologue or not. I suspect not, though omitting one, in this instance, creates a cascade of structural problems within the novel.

Still a great deal of ice and snow here in Providence.

I'm not sleeping well, though I am, at least, sleeping.

I'm back to that place where I'd rather be anyone but me. Withdrawal into alternate lifelines and avatars. Not into easier lives, or personalities, mind you; a withdrawal into those not so choked by this particular monotony.

The Audible.com contracts were located at the offices of the Audible.com editors. I think that's what I have to show for good news for this week thus far. And I cling to splinters these days.

Swings through the tunnels,
And claws his way.
Is small life so manic?
Are these really the days? (David Bowie, "A Small Plot of Land")

"A house on fire or a rising sea?" (2)

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 16:50:50 GMT

No writing yesterday. And I don't much feel like writing about that just now. More and more, I do not feel like writing about writing. I'm even less inclined to write about not writing. Except, yesterday I learned from my agent that the signed Audible.com contracts that were mailed back to NYC on December 11th never made it to NYC. So...I'm waiting to see what I'm supposed to do now.

Yesterday, we did the same thing we did last January 4th. Maybe this is the beginning of an annual pilgrimage. Maybe it's only a coincidence (yes, I do believe in those). We drove from Providence to Conanicut Island, to Beavertail State Park. Like last year, there was snow. Actually, quite a bit more snow this year than last. And colder, I think. And I wasn't dressed as well for the weather. All that ice and snow made it too treacherous to attempt to make it down onto the rocks. But we watched gulls and murres, cormorants and crows.

Last night, in a moment of weakness, I bought asparagus from Peru. That's fucking insane. Asparagus from Peru. How much fucking fuel was burned, how much C02 released into the atmosphere, to get that asparagus some 3,500 to 4,000 miles from Peru to Rhode Island? We have perfectly good asparagus grown right here in the state, a few miles from our house. But it's not asparagus season in Rhode Island, and I had a moment of weakness. This civilization (and much of the present biosphere) will fall at the mercy of a trillion trillion moments of seemingly insignificant luxury. Seemingly insignificant, that is, when each is considered alone. It's not so much the big things that kill worlds; it's all the little fucking things that come before the big, inevitable things.

There are photographs from yesterday:

Crossing the Jamestown Verrazzano Bridge to Conanicut Island. View to the southeast.

At Mackeral Cove on the island. View to the southwest.

Beavertail Lighthouse in the snow. View to the southeast.

A half-hearted snowman built on the rocks north of the lighthouse.

Looking back towards the lighthouse. View to the southwest.

Snow on Cambrian-age phyllite. View to the southeast.

More snow on Cambrian phyllite. View to the northeast.

The author and her walking stick. View to the northeast.

A gull track in the snow.

North of Jamestown, looking southeast towards the Newport Bridge.

The old windmill north of Jamestown. The blades were removed recently due to a windstorm, and presumably will be replaced soon. View to the northeast.

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

"Take the poison of your age. Don't lick your fingers when you turn the page."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 15:58:50 GMT

After four days of snow, the sun is out this morning. I assume the melting will begin in earnest. Right now, it's 27F, but the windchill has it feeling like 16F. I've not left the House since New Year's Eve.

I sat here all day yesterday, trying my best to begin the next novel, The Wolf Who Cried Girl. I managed to type the title page, and I know section one will be called "Imago," and section two of the novel will be called "For I Shall Do Thee Mischief in the Woods." If there's a prologue, it may be called "The Heaven of Animals" (for a James Dickey poem). Much of yesterday was spent dithering over whether or not there will be a prologue. I am in that space at the beginning of a novel where there is, effectively, an infinitude of possibility. Anything at all can occur. But the moment I write the first sentence, the infinitude collapses into a mere multitude of possibility. It would be so easy to make the wrong decision. And yesterday I just sat and stared, for about five hours, while the snow fell outside my office window. A bottle of truly disagreeable absinthe didn't help (a French brand I'd not tried before, La Muse Verte, and it louches a muddy yellow). Well, it disagreed with me. Spooky likes it. Anyway, I assume today will be more sitting here trying to find the beginning.

I'm getting some intriguing responses to the question I posed on the evening of December 30th: If you had me alone, locked up in your house, for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me/you/us do? I think I'll be taking replies most of the month, and the best will be included in Sirenia Digest #50 (printed anonymously, and the responses are being screened, so I'm the only person who will see your reply to the post with your screen name attached). You can reply here. And remember, honesty is worthless in situations like this. Right now, I need pretty lies. And some of the prettiest lies are hideous. At this point, I've received forty-one replies, I think.

I have a mountain of email to answer this morning, and I need to send the corrected ms. for The Ammonite Violin and Others back to Bill Schafer. Everyone who's a subscriber should have Sirenia Digest #49, but if you don't, let me know. And comments are welcome.

My coffee's getting cold. Here are a few photos I look yesterday from the front parlor. The bleak things that we shut-ins see through our dirty windows:

All photographs Copyright © 2010 by Caitlín R. Kiernan.

"A vial of hope and a vial of pain. In the light they both looked the same."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 16:46:28 GMT

Here in Providence, it's snowing rather furiously, and we have several inches of snow on the ground. Hubero's sitting on my desk, staring out at the snow-covered world.

A dream from this morning. I have not been writing about my dreams, not here, not lately. It used to be a staple of this journal. I'm not sure when or why I shifted away from that. Perhaps I felt I was showing the world things that were best kept private. I don't recall making a conscious decision to stop recording my dreams here. Anyway...I was alone in an abandoned house. At least, I think I was the only person there. The house itself, I came to realize, was conscious, and also I realized that it and I were somehow fused. I flowed through the house, and the house flowed through me. The house was ancient and crumbling, sitting alone at the top of a street in a city that seemed deserted. I could see the streets whenever I passed windows. It was intensely cold, though I was naked, or nearly so. I can't recall saying a single word. But the thoughts of the house flowed through my mind, and my thoughts flowed through it. I saw all the decades of the house's existence, times when it had been inhabited, when the city around it had been alive and bustling. The house was lonely. I recall that sense of loneliness most distinctly. I would crouch in a corner and stare at the moldering wallpaper coming off in strips, and my skin would take on the same colors and patterns as the wallpaper. I would pause on the stairs and my hand resting on the banister would have the same wood grain. Likewise, I would glance at a wall and see it covered in skin. I would find a place the plaster wall had rotted to show my bones. Somehow, the house and I were becoming indistinguishable. And I understood that the longer I remained in it, the more inseparable we would become. But I wasn't afraid. I felt the house's loneliness, and I felt a terrible sadness, but there was no fear, and I had no desire to leave the house alone.

I think, probably, it's fairly obvious where this is coming from.

----

I suppose I should say something about what I accomplished, writing-wise, in 2009. There was no novel this year. I mean, I did not write a novel. I'm not the sort of author who is always working on at least one novel (though I sort of wish I were). In January, Subterranean Press released A is for Alien, which was not as well received as we'd expected; indeed, it hardly seemed to be noticed (though it sold decently). The Red Tree was released on August 4th, and is doing better than anticipated. I did begin planning The Wolf Who Cried Girl, which I should have begun writing in June or July, but will, instead, begin this coming week. They come when they come. Mostly, I wrote short fiction. Here is a more or less complete list for the year:

For Sirenia Digest:

1. "The Thousand-and-Third Tale of Scheherazade"
2. "The Belated Burial"
3. "The Bone's Prayer"
4. "A Canvas for Incoherent Arts"
5. "The Peril of Liberated Objects, or the Voyeur's Seduction"
6. "At the Gate of Deeper Slumber"
7. "Fish Bride"
8. "The Mermaid of the Concrete Ocean"
9. "The Alchemist's Daughter (a fragment)"
10. "Vicaria Draconis"
11. "January 28, 1926"
12. "Werewolf Smile"
13. "Paleozoic Annunciation"
14. "Charcloth, Firesteel, and Flint"
15. "Shipwrecks Above"
16. "The Dissevered Heart"
17. "Exuvium"
18. "Untitled 34"

For a Subterranean Press chapbook:

1. "Sanderlings"

For various anthologies:

1. "As Red As Red"
2. "The Sea Troll's Daughter"
3. "Galápagos"
4. "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics"

So, that's twenty-three new stories for 2009. There were also some reprints of which I am especially proud (and a few reprint sales I cannot yet announce), including "The Long Hall on the Top Floor" to Peter Straub's American Fantastic Tales and "Houses Under the Sea" to Ellen Datlow's Lovecraft Unbound.

---

Yesterday was sort of a washout. No work. Mostly boredom bordering on self-loathing fury, and me wandering about the house wishing I was anywhere else. I made black-eyed peas for dinner, and Spooky made collards and corn bread. We watched J.J. Abrams Star Trek again, because I wanted to watch something off my "best of 2009" list, and we saw another episode of Fringe.

Today, I have to pull Sirenia Digest #49 together (though I'm still waiting on Vince's illustration for "Untitled 34").

---

Still taking submissions for what is shaping up to be a very interesting article for #50. Just answer this question: If you had me alone, locked up in your house, for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me/you/us do? Leave your answer here (all are screened, so no one but me sees them).

Addendum

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 21:47:39 GMT

All is quiet on New Year's Day.
A world in white gets underway.
And I want to be with you,
Be with you night and day.
Nothing changes on New Year's Day.

I will be with you again.
I will be with you again.

Under a blood-red sky,
A crowd has gathered in black and white.
Arms entwined, the chosen few.
The newspapers,
Say, say, say it's true,
And we can break through.
Though torn in two, we can be one

I will begin again. I will begin again.
Oh, and maybe the time is right.
Oh, maybe tonight.

I will be with you again.
I will be with you again.

And so we are told this is the Golden Age,
And gold is the reason for the wars we wage.
Though I want to be with you,
Be with you night and day,
Nothing changes on New Year's Day.

2010, whether we like it or not.

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 16:51:08 GMT

There was absolutely nothing whatsoever remarkable about last night. At midnight (ET, 1 a.m. CaST), Spooky and I sat in the front parlor and listened to the snowbound silence. The city seemed all but dead. I could hear music playing in another house nearby, but that was it.

The snow is with us. There may be more today and tonight.

I had one of my rare migraines all day and night yesterday, which made me pretty much useless. I did try to get some reading done, more of Alan Weisman's The World Without Us and a paper in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology on the ankylosaurid Dyoplosaurus acutosquameus. We watched more episodes of Fringe. It was not a New Year's Eve to write home about. Or even to blog about.

I continue to be pleased with many of the answers I'm getting to that question I posed night before last: If you had me alone, locked up in your house, for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me/you/us do? If you've not yet replied, there's still lots of time. Just follow this link. Blow my mind. Or whatever.

Neil tweeted last night, to ask why I wasn't at Amanda's Boston Pops' show, and I blamed the snow. But I begin to think the agoraphobia is becoming something to be reckoned with, especially when you toss in the unpredictability of the seizures. This isn't what I had in mind when I left the South. I had in mind actually going places and seeing people again. Maybe I shall, in this new year....

Oh, I did take a few rather crappy photographs yesterday, when we went out to the market. But at least they give you an idea:

Looking east, towards Dexter Training Grounds.

View to the east, Dexter Training Grounds.

Looking north up Brook Street; we'd stopped at the liquor store.

Snow in the branches on Brook Street. View to the west.

Looking out the window of the front parlor.

Look! More snowy branches! And power lines! And even rooftops! Wow!

All photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kernan.

Fuck off, 2009!

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 16:38:37 GMT

1. First off, this is not the end of the first decade of the new millennium. The last year of the first decade is 2010, just as the last year of the last decade was 2000, not 1999. Still, happy new years and all that rot.

2. I'm getting some really...delicious...answers to the post I made last night. The one asking: If you had me alone, locked up in your house, for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me/you/us do? Please take your time with the answers (which are screened so that only I can read them). I already have several good ones that will appear in Sirenia Digest #50. You can go to the post here. I'll keep reading these for at least a few more days. But, just so you know, it's going to be hard to beat having my nude body covered in crested geckos.

3. And here is my list of my twelve "Top Ten Favorite Fantasy and Speculative Films of 2009" (in order of how much I loved them):

1. The Road (John Hillcoat)
2. Avatar (James Cameron)
3. The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (Terry Gilliam)*
4. Where the Wild Things Are (Spike Jonez)
5. Moon (Duncan Jones)
6. Watchmen (Zack Snyder)/Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino)** [TIE]
7. Star Trek (J.J. Abrams)
8. 9 (Shane Acker)
9. District 9 (Neill Blomkamp)/Knowing (Alex Proyas)*** [TIE]
10. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (David Yates)

* No, I have yet seen this film. But I am sure.
** Do not try to tell me that a film wherein WWII is ended by a successful attempt to assassinate Hitler isn't sf.
*** One of the year's most underrated films.
Please note that I have not included The Fantastic Mister Fox, even though Wes Anderson is one of my favorite directors. I've not yet seen it, and have misgivings. But when I have seen it, I may be revising the list.

A very good year for film.

4. Yesterday...well, we spent many hours dealing with line edits on The Ammonite Violin, and then for "Untitled 34." The latter will be appearing in Sirenia Digest #49. Yesterday I saw the rough pencils for Vince's illustration for the story, and it's going to be gorgeous. Anyway, by the time we were done editing "Untitled 34," I was too tired to deal with the edits to "Pickman's Other Model," which will have to wait. Instead, I renewed my membership to the Society of Vertebrate Paleontology and lay by the fire for a while.

5. Yesterday, the Amazon.com sales ranking for The Red Tree went to 1,831, so far the best I've ever seen for any of my books. My great thanks to everyone who has supported this novel. I know it's my best one yet.

6. Presently, it's snowing here in Providence. Spooky has to get to the market before it closes. Goodbye, 2009. You were neither my best nor my worst year. You were just sort of a pain in the ass. I have higher expectations of 2010 (not to be confused with having hope). A toast. 2009, may it rot in peace.

Me and you and a corkscrew...hypothetically speaking...

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 22:42:46 GMT

A question (often called a "meme," though it's not) going around the web, and it piqued my interest:

If you had me alone, locked up in your house, for twenty-four hours and I had to do whatever you wanted me to, what would you have me/you/us do?

And here's what I propose. Answer the question. Answer it honestly, and don't hold back. Go wherever you wish it to go. If you've seen what I write, you know that odds are, you're not going to even get close to disturbing me. You'll be lucky to amuse me. I'll pick the responses I like best and publish them (anonymously) in Sirenia Digest #50, January 2010.

All comments are screened.* That means, no one but me can read them. That's an extra incentive for you to leave the inhibitions behind. Only I will read these. Then, if I want to use a comment for next month's Digest, I'll contact you and ask permission before doing so. Have fun.

Alas, I'll be surprised if there's a single response....

* If you're reading this via Facebook, obviously I cannot screen your comments.

A Sky Before Closure

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 15:59:30 GMT

Today, Elizabeth would have been 39.

There was a seizure late yesterday afternoon, the worst in months, so if this entry is a little off, that's what you blame. I still feel as though I'm thinking through a film of cheesecloth dipped in Vaseline. Fortunately, all I have to do today is attend to line edits.

Monday (12/28/09)— We drove to Attleboro, Massachusetts late in the day. I was looking for a CD, which I didn't find. As a consolation, we stopped at Yankee Spirits, or as I prefer to think of it, the Boozery (on Washington St./Rt. 1). We came away with French absinthe, Russian lager, and a bottle of Dogfish Head's Pangaea. The place really is a marvel. On the way home, the sun was setting, and the sky was like the last moments before apocalypse. I took photos, because lately I seem obsessed with the sky. In Atlanta and Birmingham, the sky is an entirely different beast. The photos are behind the cut, below. There was rain Monday morning, and a few slushy snow flakes as we were leaving Providence.

Monday evening, Spooky baked kielbasa with apples, red potatoes, red onions, garlic, and bay. We drank the Russian lager with it (Baltica No. 4, which ellen_datlow introduced me to last November, in NYC). I read more of the Rapetosaurus paper, and more of Alan Weisman's The World Without Us (a Solstice gift from David Szydloski). The latter is a brilliant book. It's almost enough to inspire in me some weak spark of hope. We watched an episode of Fringe. There was WoW, and we both made Level 75.

Tuesday (12/29/09)— A windy and very cold day. Maybe the coldest day I've felt since coming to Rhode Island. There was a vicious wind. We saw Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes, and I thought it was delightful. When we got back home, a package was waiting for me, the ARCs for The Ammonite Violin & Others, which is now that much closer to being an actual book. Also, I discovered a very nice review of The Red Tree at SFFWorld.

There was Chinese takeout for dinner. I read more of Weisman's book, and we watched three more episodes of Fringe (which we're watching entirely out of order, and I think that's making it more interesting).

Tomorrow I will post my "Top Ten" list of fantasy and science-fiction films from 2009.

Today will be a day of line edits. But I said that already. Final corrections to The Ammonite Violin & Others, and "Untitled 34," and "Pickman's Other Model" (on the last one, actually, all I need to do is to copy the list of line edits into an email to send to Joshi). It should be easy. I just have to keep squinting through the cheesecloth and Vaseline. And here are the photos from Monday:

All Photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan

"If I seem lost, well I weighed the cost. And chose my crime. Now it's mine, all mine."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 16:24:18 GMT

Cold and sunny here in Providence.

Yesterday, the Amazon.com sales ranking for The Red Tree went at least as high as 2,115, which is the highest I've ever seen a book of mine (they may well have gone higher without my seeing). This beats the previous record— 2,962 —set by The Red Tree on December 20th.

These little benchmarks keep me moving forward. Or, at least they present some rough illusion of forward momentum into which I am willing to buy.

No actual writing yesterday. That is, no word count. I spent the afternoon sitting here looking for a story, which I think I have found. Back at the beginning of the month, I started a sort of zombie story, "(Dead) Love Among the Ruins." Then I set it aside to write "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." Then I wrote "Untitled 34." And I'd actually forgotten the zombie story until I stumbled across it yesterday. Anyway, as I sat here pondering its viability, it changed into a completely different story. That happens, and, usually, I allow it to happen. Today, I will try to write the story it has changed into. And a note to Sirenia Digest subscribers: I'm running late this month, and I'm thinking #49 will be out a day or three late, say sometime between January 1st and 3rd. Vince is working on the illustration for "Untitled 34," and I still have the second story to write.

My thanks to those people who sent Solstice/Cephalopodmas gifts: Adam Fish, Edward V. Helmers, Michael J. Boley, Karen Mahoney, David Szydloski, my Aunt Joanne (who is celebrating her 75th birthday!), and my mom. All gifts have been (and will be) greatly appreciated.

In yesterday's entry I wrote "...and there's a popular delusion, that turning a calendar page, or changing calendars, will lead to better times." And someone on Twitter replied, "...turning the calendar page is Hope." Perhaps it is for some. For me, though, it's really just what happens next. More days. The idea of a tomorrow does not, for me, inherently suggest that anything will get better in any way. I listen to the past, and the past suggests exactly the opposite. But, you know how it goes. Your mileage may vary. Right now, I can only take solace in the fact that, at least, the days are growing longer again, bit by bit.

We went to the market just before dusk yesterday, and there was the most beautiful sunset. I usually take the camera along whenever I leave the House, but yesterday I'd forgotten. But it was an amazing, fiery sunset.

Cautiously Surfacing

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 17:49:21 GMT

I've just not been up for much in the way of blogging since an especially black mood settled over me on Wednesday evening. It was the gaudy fucking tyranny of Xmas and all the ghosts it dredges up every year (only, this year, hitting harder than I've come to expect). It was my usual depression and the bad dreams and having too much to write and not enough time and energy to get it all written. It was the peculiar homesickness I get for places that never much wanted me around to start with, so it seems odd and masochistic to miss them. It was the way I begin to feel when I do not leave the House frequently enough. It was all of these things, and then the news of Vic Chesnutt's suicide.*

I don't think 2010 can come soon enough, because 2009's been bloody brutal (and there's a popular delusion, that turning a calendar page, or changing calendars, will lead to better times). Anyway, at least I had a nice assortment of sweets and pain pills and benzodiazepines on hand to help get me through the so-called "holiday." I was thinking I'd try to recap the last four days...but I'm not sure I'll do anything but make a mess of it. And it's nothing very exciting. But, here goes:

Wednesday (12/23): I wrote 1,010 words on a new vignette for Sirenia Digest #49, which after monumental dithering and near lock-up, I called "Untitled 34." Truthfully, I've no idea how I wrote that much, as I was in a rage most of the day. It's my first Skogsrå story.

Thursday (12/24): I wrote another 1,074 words on "Untitled 34." The writing was much easier on Thursday than on Wednesday. It helped that I didn't have to fret over the silly artifice of a title. Later, I went with Spooky to the market, and saw that the snow had hardly even begun to melt. Later still, what better way to show Xmas the middle finger than watch Bad(der) Santa (2003) on Xmas Eve? Willie and the Kid and Mrs. Santa's Sister actually lifted my spirits for the first time in days ("Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa! Fuck me, Santa!").

Friday (12/25): I usually make it a point to work on Xmas, but this year I figured if the rest of the country can fuck off for no good reason, then so could I. We had an all afternoon marathon (stretching into the evening) of Die Hard films. Seemed sort of appropriate. John McTiernan's Die Hard (1988) is still probably the best of the four, and I was glad to see it has aged so well (despite all the 80s horridness). Not such a fan of Renny Harlin's Die Harder (1990), though. It's a bit of a mess, and lacks much of what made the first film work. But, fortunately, McTiernan returned in 1995 with Die Hard With A Vengeance, which is really rather delightful. There's a great chemistry between Willis and Jackson, plus we get Sam Phillips and Jeremy Irons as villains. I think it's best to pretend that Die Harder never happened. Die Hard With A Vengeance is a far, far better sequel to the original film. Alas, we didn't watch Len Wiseman's Live Free or Die Hard (2007), because we don't have a copy. Oh, we had hot dogs for "Xmas dinner," because, more importantly, it was Kindernacht. Spooky baked gingerbread.

Saturday (12/26): I sat down at the keyboard yesterday determined to finish "Untitled 34," and finish it I did. I wrote a very respectable 1,707 words. Later, we watched Doctor Who— "The Next Doctor" —and Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenenbaums (2001). Somehow, it often seems this is the film that all but defines mine and Kathryn's relationship. Make of that what you will. And it is a comfort film. Also, yesterday I finished reading the paper on Massospondylus kaalae and began reading "The Postcranial Osteology of Rapetosaurus [Sauropoda; Titanosauria] from the Late Cretaceous of Madagascar."

Yeah...I sort of made a mess of that. But you should get the gist. I left out all the WoW. We've played a lot of WoW the last few days. We'd decided to forsake the Borean Tundra and return to Dragonblight, but then we wound up fighting with the Tuskarr against the ghosts of sea giants, and that was actually very cool. Seeing Suraa and Shaharrazad, flanked by Tuskarr warriors, charging across the ice towards a line of phantom Vrykul sailors who were just clambering off their boat– exquisite. For that, I can almost forgive the ugliness and mess of Warsong Hold. Then we entered the Scourge's Temple City of En'kilah and the floating city of Naxxanar above it and assassinated Prince Valanar and his two lieutenants Luthion the Vile and Vanthryn the Merciless. After that, we aided in the evacuation of Taunka'le, which took us back Dragonblight and Agmar's Hammer. And...well, lots and lots more. We're now at Level 74, halfway to 75, and finally made it to Dalaran, where Shah's taken residence at the Filthy Animal in the Horde Quarter.

You know...it's been time to make the doughnuts for the last half hour. Sheesh. No one's going to read all this crap.

* Here's a link to Kristin Hersh's eulogy.

Vic Chesnutt (1964-2009), RIP

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 04:37:57 GMT

We were acquainted briefly. I was first introduced to Vic by Michael Stipe at (I think) the Manhattan in Athens, Georgia in (I think) 1996. I was drinking a lot in those days, and details are hazy. But Vic was just one of those good things about Athens I took for granted. He was amazing, and beautiful, and brave.

Yes, I hate Xmas, but...

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 01:50:18 GMT

Why I Love Ursula K. Le Guin

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 04:59:35 GMT

This is Spooky, posting this for Caitlin who will not be making LJ entries for the next 2 or 3 days, as she is in an exceptionally foul mood and fears she would break the internet:

18 December 2009

To Whom it may concern at the Authors Guild:

I have been a member of the Authors Guild since 1972.

At no time during those thirty-seven years was I able to attend the functions, parties, and so forth offered by the Guild to members who happen to live on the other side of the continent. I have naturally resented this geographical discrimination, reflected also in the officership of the Guild, always almost all Easterners. But it was a petty gripe when I compared it to my gratitude to the Guild for the work you were doing in defending writers’ rights. I went on paying top dues and thought it worth it.

And now you have sold us down the river.

I am not going to rehearse any arguments pro and anti the “Google settlement.” You decided to deal with the devil, as it were, and have presented your arguments for doing so. I wish I could accept them. I can’t. There are principles involved, above all the whole concept of copyright; and these you have seen fit to abandon to a corporation, on their terms, without a struggle.

So, after being a loyal if invisible member for so long, I am resigning from the Guild. I am, however, retaining membership in the National Writers Union and the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, both of which opposed the “Google settlement.” They don’t have your clout, but their judgment, I think, is sounder, and their courage greater.

Yours truly,
Ursula K. Le Guin

"What a fantastic death abyss."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 16:04:56 GMT

2009 is winding down fast. Winding down, wrapping up, whichever. And a strange year it has been. Every year, the years grow shorter— at least when viewed from my subjective personal perspective —shorter and more bizarre. Every year, I feel a greater degree of cognitive disconnect between NOW and THEN, and find it increasingly difficult to reconcile the past with the present; the future, somehow, seems more solid than the present.

No writing yesterday. I did send "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics" to subpress, but it would be a lie to say that was work. Yesterday earns an L, as it was a lost day. However, were I to try to explain why, I'd only get myself into a mood that would make working today extremely unlikely. So, let's just say nothing was written.

The most peculiar thing about "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics" is that it contains no contractions. Not a single one. It was a conscious nod to the style employed by Silverberg when he wrote Nightwings. And it yielded an oddly formal, and oddly innocent, voice. Nothing I would likely ever do again, but it worked for this story.

Yesterday, I had a long hot bath. I napped. Day before yesterday, I finished reading the paper on Tethyshadros and began reading "A new basal sauropodomorph dinosaur from the upper Elliot Formation [Lower Jurassic] of South Africa."

There's a photo behind the cut that I took on Monday, of a rather daunting ice/snow formation hanging from the roof of the house next door:

Photograph Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan.

Have your squid and eat it, too.

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 16:20:32 GMT

A few minutes ago, Spooky said, "I think if the Crawling Chaos offered me an apple, I'd have to run the other way." Which makes quite a bit more sense if you've seen my "Miskatonic Valley Yuletide Faire" T-shirt (thank you, Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs), and I know you probably haven't.

Merry Cephalopodmas, one and all.

Yesterday, I read "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics" to Spooky, and then tended to an awful lot of line edits. I think it's as good a story as it's ever going to be, so today I'll be sending it to subpress. By the way, this story will appear in an anthology of short stories inspired by the works of Robert Silverberg, edited by Gardner Doizois and Bill Schafer. Not sure of the publication date, but I'll post it when I know. My piece is a sort of "prequel" to Silveberg's Nightwings (1968, 1969). Also, yesterday I received the finished cover art for The Ammonite Violin & Others from Richard Kirk, and I'll post it here sometime in the next few days. It is truly, truly gorgeous. This is going to be a marvelous volume.

When work was done yesterday, Spooky and I bundled up and ventured out into the snowy world. Mountains of snow everywhere. We made it as far as the house at 599/597 Angell Street that was Deacon and Emmie's house in Daughter of Hounds. I'd not visited it since we moved here last summer, and, indeed, not since June 28th, 2004, when Spooky and I first happened upon it while I was researching the novel. It sits directly across the street from 598 Angell Street, where Lovecraft lived from 1904-1924. And after I took a few photos (below, behind the cut), we stopped by the market, then headed back home as the sun was setting.

Last night, we snacked on strawberry hamantashen and fresh Mandarin oranges and a huge tin of chocolate cookies, and watched a couple more episodes of Fringe. I rather enjoyed "August," no matter how blatantly the "observers" are ripped off from Dark City. And after that, there was WoW. We're fifty quests into the Borean Tundra (out of one hundred and fifty), and I really, really hate the region. After questing at Vengeance Landing and Dragonblight, it's just too disjointed and garish and noisy and hokey, too much like Outland, and I just want to be finished with it and get back to Dragonblight, which actually feels like a place. We both made Level 73. Shaharrazad has let her hair grow longer, what with the cold and all.

Sadly, there was very little in the way of Soltice ritual. I'm afraid that the whole "solitary practioner" thing just isn't working for me (I've been at it for five years now), and in the coming year I am going to make an earnest effort to either find or found a coven. I may even resort to WitchVox. There has to be at least one good GLBT-friendly coven in the area, one that isn't all fluffy bunnies and white-light nonsense.

Anyway, here are the photos from yesterday:

The house where, in my mind, Emmie and Deacon will always live (though, in my mind, it's not a duplex).

Emmie's bedroom is in the attic.

And just across the street, Lovecraft lived and wrote here, long ago...

All photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan.

Winter Solstice '09

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 16:10:41 GMT

And, already, it is Solstice, and finally the days will begin to grow longer again.

Yesterday, I did not go out and marvel at the snow. I sat here and wrote, 1,609 words, and early in the evening I managed to finish "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." It may be a good story. I honestly could not tell you. It needs a bit of polishing, and then I'll send it off to the anthology's editor (I'll announce the book a bit later). And then I've got to get to work on Sirenia Digest #49. Though, truthfully, the last thing I want to be doing is writing.

I didn't leave the House yesterday, so I've not been out in the snow. I don't think it's going anywhere, not any time soon. The temperatures here in Providence will be below freezing until the weekend, I think. Spooky went out briefly yesterday, just a short walk, and took some photos (behind the cut, below).

Last night, we watched David Fincher's The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008), which I somehow missed last year. I am pleased to see that it won three Oscars, as I enjoyed it a great deal. Fincher remains one of my favorite directors.

And I don't really think there's much else to say about yesterday. It was mostly writing and a movie and looking at the snow through windows:

View from one of our front parlor windows, to the east. This is essentially the same view as the photo from Saturday night (in yesterday's entry), only by daylight and with the ugly, annoying-ass inflatable Santa.

Our driveway. View to the south.

The eastern edge of the Dexter Training Grounds, view to the east.

A mailbox and telephone pole that Spooky found somewhere.

And I got this shot of an amazing sunset, though it's a pretty lousy photo. It does not begin to convey what I saw. The snow on the street was washed reddish pink. View to the southwest.

All photographs Copyright © 2009 by Kathryn A. Pollnac and Caitlín R. Kiernan.

"You always fall for what you desire or what you fear."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 16:29:07 GMT

The snow found us sometime after 11 p.m. last night, and it's still snowing, though only lightly. It was a wild night in Providence last night, something I'd never seen before. So much wind with the snow. So, that's what happens when we get a blizzard warning. But it's beautiful. All the ugly, sharp edges of winter smoothed away for the time being. And what's sort of neat, the first big Providence snows of both '09 and '08 arrived on the same date. We'll have snow for Solstice. It's currently 21F, but with the windchill it feels like 8F. Spooky's reading me official snowfall reports of 18" in North Kingstown and 22" in West Greenwich. So we may actually have a foot or so here in Providence.

---

There were so many distractions yesterday, I got precious little written. I did 563 words on "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." Today, I have to finish the story. The month has grown perilously short. I still have an issue of Sirenia Digest to produce, and I've not even begun work on it.

This morning The Red Tree had an Amazon sales ranking of 2,962, which is the highest I've ever seen for any of my books, since Silk debuted in May 1998.

---

I'm still in awe of James Cameron's Avatar, and wishing I had time just now for a second viewing. I know there was so much I didn't see. The eye can only take in so much in any given moment, and the brain can only consciously process just so much of what is seen. There's a good deal more I want to write about this wonderful film, but I don't have the time this morning, not to get into any depth. Maybe tomorrow. I am very pleased to have seen it score the third best December opening-day box office ever, and to have watched it's imdb rating go from 8.7 on Friday to 8.9 yesterday. So, yeah, more on Avatar tomorrow...or the next day. But you should see it, if you can. Definitely one of the finest movies of 2009.

---

Not much else to say about yesterday. We watched the Season Two premiere of Fringe last night. We tried, months and months ago, to watch this show, and it was too awful to enjoy on any level. But it's improved a great deal. If it survives another season, it might actually be good. I'm especially taken with the character of Walter (played by John Noble).

We played some WoW, finishing up at the Howling Fjord, then spending some time in Dragonblight before taking a Tuskarr ship west to the Borean Tundra and Warsong Hold. I have these observations:

1) If I ever do get around to writing a Big Epic Fantasy Novel, I sure as hell best do better than to name a walrus-like humanoid race the Tuskarr and a wolverine-like humanoid race the Wolvar. That's just fucking lazy. That said, both these races are beautifully designed, and I'm especially fond of the Tuskarr, I just wish someone had taken more care naming them.

2) I was much, much more impressed with the design and gameplay in Howling Fjord and Dragonblight than I am with what we've seen of the Borean Tundra (and we've seen quite a lot, having come by way of Moa'ki Harbor, rather than a zeppelin from Orgrimmar). To me, the Borean Tundra (another example of lazy-ass naming) feels a lot more like older regions of the game. I'd head back to Dragonblight, but I don't want to pass up however many quests are set there. I think, in the story I cannot help but build as I play, Shaharrazad desires to eventually settle at Vengeance Landing. She's growing weary of war, and now feels more at home among the Forsaken than she does the Sin'dorei. She felt an odd lack of enthusiasm upon entering Warsong yesterday; she's always had great admiration for the orcs, but it just wasn't there.

---

Okay, I have one photo from the storm last night. Time to make the doughnuts.

Photograph Copyright © 2009 by Kathryn A. Pollnac.

"...bows and arrows against the lightning."*

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 17:40:51 GMT

There was no time yesterday for a blog entry, as we had to drive to Massachusetts to find a screening of Avatar that wasn't 3-D.But, had I made an entry yesterday, I would have said that, on Thursday I somehow went from completely locked up (first half of the day, carrying over from Wednesday and Tuesday) to writing 1,106 words on "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." Which was a huge relief. I might survive this month, after all. Today, I'll go back to work on the story, and hopefully it will be finished by Sunday evening, and I can move along to Sirenia Digest #49.

---

So, yesterday we drove to Massachusetts for a 1:30 (CaST) showing of James Cameron's Avatar. And I think (given how many times I've said I'm not someone who can write actual film reviews) I'll just cut to the chase and say that this is a brilliant, stunning, and terrifying film. In some ways, it's a film I've been waiting my whole life to see. Not merely because Cameron and Weta have created such a convincing extraterrestrial biosphere, and not only because it speaks to my "parahuman" psyche, but because that "alien" landscape is merely one part of such a grandly sublime package. During and after the film, my head was crammed full of things I wanted to say here, and I should have written those things down, because now I can't seem to find the words. The film affected me deeply, and on a level I'm not sure I can articulate. Generally, reviews are either evaluations, arguments, or a combination of those two things. I can evaluate this film, and if I had a good deal more time at my disposal (and the requisite motivation), I could also argue why this film is not only a great film, but why it is an important film. They might even be convincing arguments for some. But I'm going to have to settle for something more to the point.

With Avatar, Cameron (and all those who worked with him) have created a film that places humanity in the role of alien invader, inverting Wells' War of the Worlds formula. Which is exactly what I was hoping to see. Indeed, I would say that Cameron inverts one of his own earlier efforts, Aliens (1986). In 2154, a joint military/corporate effort from a dying earth seeks to exploit the mineral resources of an earth-like moon circling a gas giant in a distant solar system. The problem, of course, is that a sentient race lives on the moon, one that is....well, we get into spoiler territory here, and I very much don't want to spoil this for anyone. I'm honestly not sure what to say (as I may have said above). Roger Ebert and other genuine reviewers have already said so much that needed saying about the film.

I'm not so much impressed that, with Avatar, Cameron was willing to make a film with such a strong pro-environmentalist and anti-war message. Lots of people are doing that (though none have risked this sort of budget in the process). What truly impresses me is that Cameron has made what is essentially an anti-human film. On Pandora, in the conflicts between mankind and the Na'vi, we see what we've seen on Earth for the entirety of human history. In general and with precious few exceptions, humans will go to any length to exploit Nature for short-term and short-sighted gains. And "contacts" between technological and not-so technological civilizations pretty much always end with the latter getting throttled, displaced, and often driven to the brink of extinction. Avatar says, as I have always said, that there's no reason whatsoever to think things would be any different were "we" to encounter another civilization on another planet. But there's more here than some hackneyed, naive fairy-tale of the "noble savage." At the core of this film is an ingenious sort of evolutionary surprise that gives the Na'vi a fighting chance.

I'll also say that Avatar impressed me as a profoundly pagan film, but I know that it's too easy to see what we want to see in art that we love. So I'm not going to dwell on that (though Avatar already has some Xtians in a lather for this very reason).

I could go on and on, but I won't. I will say that I thought the science was pretty decent. Sure, there are a few holes here and there, but they're nothing serious, nothing that interferes with the story. I could believe in the animals and plants I saw on Pandora, that I was seeing viable ecosystems. The creatures are as amazing and gorgeous as any fictional fauna and flora that have ever graced a screen, and I very much hope that we'll see a book from Weta Workshop like the "natural history" of Skull Island they released back in 2005, because I very much want to know more.

Go see this film. It's a damn good movie. Like The Road, It's terrible and beautiful and true. Which means that it's important.

* H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds (1898)

Yes, I laughed.

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 00:54:57 GMT

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

"But I could sleep with you there. I could sleep with you there."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 16:20:19 GMT

The Red Tree is having a particularly good week. Indeed, last night its sales ranking went as high as 3,949, which is the highest I've seen it. The numbers went up some time ago, right after Amazon.com posted that "Top 10 Books: Science Fiction & Fantasy" list back in early November, which includes The Red Tree at #2. With luck, the numbers will stay high for at least another month or so. By the way, this absolutely does not mean I'm suddenly making money off the book; it only means that the book is selling, and so some part of my debt to the publisher, incurred via my advance, is being paid off, and so the publisher is more likely to continue publishing my novels. If it kept selling like this for a year or so, I might see a royalty check.

---

No Writing yesterday. I tried. The best I managed was proofreading the galleys for the reprint of "Pickman's Other Model (1929)" in Joshi's forthcoming Black Wings: New Tales of Lovecraftian Horror. It's a very good story, one I'm quite proud of, and I found a small number of errors.

It's bitterly cold here in Providence, and will be more bitter tonight. What is it Amanda Palmer said in "Coin-Operated Boy"? Oh. "Bitterer." Tonight will be bitterer than today. The sun is out, at least.

Yesterday, the December '09 issue of the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology arrived. Lots of good papers in this one. I began reading "Tethyshadros insularis, a new hadrosauroid dinosaur (Ornithischia) from the Upper Cretaceous of Italy." Oh, and I had no idea that, last year, Greg Paul (a notorious taxonomic "lumper" since at least the '80s) split the taxon Iguanodon into Iguanodon, Mantellisaurus, and Dollodon. I'm extremely skeptical, and it should be noted that most of Paul's "lumping" of taxa has failed to withstand the test of time (for example, his attempt in 1988 to combine Deinonychus, Velociraptor, and Saurornitholestes into a single genus).

We read more of Greer Gilman's amazing Cloud and Ashes last night.

Oh...almost forgot. We also watched Roar Uthaug's Fritt vilt (2006, aka Cold Prey) yesterday evening. I was very, very underwhelmed. To start with, the version we could stream from Netflix was dubbed from Norwegian into English, only it sounded like the dubbing had been done in Japan. Dubbing is never a good idea (possible exception, some animated films). It mutilates a film as surely as do pan-and-scan prints. Regardless, it's not a very bright film, only a very formulaic slasher flick. Five kids trapped in an abandoned ski lodge and pursued and picked off one by one by a lumbering serial killer. Blah, blah, blah. It's a shame the director could not have done more with the setting, which manages to simultaneously inspire a sense of claustrophobia and agoraphobia. I will say that the last ten minutes or so were almost interesting, but coming, as they do, after all that dullness, they were hardly worth the wait. Sure, it was definitely an improvement over Deadline, which we watched on Tuesday night. At least the murders aren't bloodless. But I would not recommend Fritt vilt, unless maybe the Ambien's not working for you.

On the other hand, here's something both beautiful and terrible, the art of Monica Cook.

Okay. Time to make the doughnuts.

"There's a shark-shaped fin, in the water of my dreams..."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 16:59:46 GMT

Yesterday was almost, and perhaps actually, a total loss, so far as writing is concerned. I managed only 285 words on "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics," and then I just...locked up. I couldn't tell if what I was writing was good enough. I was suddenly no longer certain if any part of the story was anything but trite, hollow...and so I locked up. I sat here another hour or so, angry and baffled and aware that it might all have stemmed from my having used Ambien to get to sleep Tuesday morning. Finally, Spooky said I should get up, that we should get out of the house. And so we did.

Though it was late in the day when we left, we headed across town to the Bell Gallery (Brown University) at 64 College Street, which is currently featuring Rachel Berwick's installation "Zugunruhe." Berick's work generally concerns species that have recently become extinct, or were thought to be extinct until recently, or may soon be extinct— the Tasmanian tiger, the Galapagos tortoise, the coelacanth, etc. "Zugunruhe" is devoted to the passenger pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius), a bird that once inhabited North America in almost unimaginable numbers, but was wiped out during the 1800's by hunting and deforestation. The species was effectively extinct in the wild by the early 20th Century. The last captive specimen died at the Cincinnati Zoo on September 1, 1914 (the last authenticated sighting in the wild was made in Pike County, Ohio, on March 22, 1900).

The instillation is startling in its simplicity. First, we are greeted by an enormous copy of Audubon's 1840 Birds of America (five feet wide when opened), displaying his life-sized illustration of the passenger pigeon. And then there are grey walls on which have been recorded excerpts from the writings of 19th Century naturalists and hunters, describing the almost unbelievable size of Ectopistes migratorius flocks. On a pedestal stands a glass bell jar or globe, inside of which is an odd contraption with a large brass needle which rotates erratically, almost compass like, both recalling migratory instincts and pointing to the quotes on the walls. The final part of the instillation is a great heptagonal glass case in a darkened room. The case contains a tree, and the branches of the tree are festooned with hundreds of passenger pigeons cast in orange copal (a million or so years old, an immature form of amber).

By the way, "zugunruhe" is a an obscure German ornithological term for the nighttime restlessness displayed by migratory birds.

---

Leaving the gallery, just as the bells at Brown were tolling four p.m. (EST), I had a minor absence seizure. Which may explain the trouble I'd been having with the story, as work often becomes difficult before a seizure. We stopped by the market before heading home. There was Chinese takeout for dinner, as no one felt like cooking. We streamed a truly dreadful film from Netflix, Thora Birch and some other people in Sean McConville's Deadline (2009). This has to be one of the dullest films of the year, and I'm not sure why we didn't shut it off after the first twenty minutes. I will say, the ghost story is one of the most difficult supernatural tales to pull off effectively, especially in film, and one does not manage that trick by regurgitating every tiresome gimmick from the last decade of American and Japanese cinema (most of which never worked to begin with). Avoid this film. And you might also want to avoid WoW until after the "holidays," as its been infested with inappropriate Xmas idiocy again. We quested a bit in remote parts of the Howling Fjord and reached Level 71. There was a genuinely creepy encounter with the Lich King inside a sepulcher at the Vrykul city of Gjalerbron. Shaharrazad and Suraa slew the Vrykul queen Angerboda as she was attempting to resurrect King Ymiron. But the Lich King made a brief appearance and spirited the two giants away.

And that was yesterday. But there are photos:

Point Street, heading towards the bridge (view to the east).

Passing Narragansett Electric (view to the south).

Wickendon Street (view to the east).

Text from "Zugunruhe."

The erratic needle.

Passenger pigeons in copal.

Extinct birds on dead branches.

Downtown Providence, seen from College Hill just outside the Bell Gallery (view to the southwest).

Photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan.

"'Cos underneath the steel and rust and oil and shit, there's chrome, just shining chrome."

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:48:11 GMT

Yesterday, I did 1,027 words on "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." Precisely the same word count as on Sunday, which is odd, but there you go. It's beginning to seem unlikely that I'll have the story finished by tomorrow evening as I'd originally hoped. It's turning out longer than I'd "planned," which is, of course, its prerogative.

I suspect that thing has happened again, that thing that happens almost every December. So far as publishing is concerned, all NYC is on holiday, and I'm left waiting for three checks I'll likely not see until early January, though I needed them in late November.

Really not much else to say about yesterday. I got the page proofs for Black Wings, the anthology of Lovecraftian fiction edited by S.T. Joshi that's reprinting "Pickman's Other Model" (Sirenia Digest #28, March 2008). The anthology is due out from PS Publishing in March 2010, I think.

Last night, we almost went to the Avon on Thayer Street to see Werner Herzog's The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call — New Orleans. We got dressed and were about to leave the house, when I pointed out that it was a film that we'd likely enjoy just as much on DVD, and we've got three films coming up that we have to see in the theatre (Avatar, Sherlock Holmes, and The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus). The last few years, we've mostly reserved the theatre for films that need to be seen on a big screen, which is a somewhat shitty thing to have to do, but given the steep price of tickets it's also become necessary. See a film at the Avon for almost $20, or wait a few months and see it just shy of free via Netflix. So...we didn't go to the movie, but we did leave the apartment, which I'd not done since Tuesday of last week, though we only went to the market and to check the p.o. box.

Back home, we watched two fairly awful and all but incoherent episodes of Dollhouse. But at least Summer Glau was hot in sling and black glove. And then there was more WoW, mostly doing errands for the Taunka camp in the Grizzly Hills. We did get to see female Vrykul, and it's good to know they're out there (and just as hot as I thought they'd be). We fought Vrykul shield maidens at Skorn. I think Shaharrazad, weary from all her years away from Silvermoon City, is growing tired of the fight. I can imagine her never going back to the Eastern Kingdoms, deciding instead to remain at Vengeance Landing to continue her occult studies in seclusion and obscurity. Anyway, later still, I read more of Greer Gilman's superb Cloud and Ashes to Spooky, just before bed.

And there are two photos of Hubero on my desk, from yesterday:

Sunshine and squirrels, two of Hubero's greatest weaknesses.

At least until the nap attack hits.

Photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan.

Sense of (Virtual) Space

greygirlbeast@gmail.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 17:15:04 GMT

Cold and clear here in Providence. And I have not left the house since Tuesday afternoon, almost a full week. But we shall remedy that as soon as possible.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,027 words on "The Jetsam of Disremembered Mechanics." It's slow going, as this story is not set in one of my fictional universes, but in that of another author (I don't think I'm supposed to say who, not yet). Someone on Facebook had the gall to say, yesterday, that this constitutes "cheating," to which I reply "bullshit." I'd always much rather be playing in my own world and by my own rules, no matter how honored I might be at being allowed into that of another author. Staying true to their vision, not only the facts of that world but also the spirit of that world, it's no easy undertaking. I think I might be halfway through this story. If so, I should finish it on Wednesday.

And I'll post these links one last time, as there was another Solstice/Cephalopodmas gift inquiry yesterday evening. Here's the link to my Amazon wishlist, and here's the link to Spooky's. We are always just as happy to receive used copies of books, DVDs, and movies, by the way.

Back on Thursday, when the news went out that Kirkus Reviews is folding after seventy-six years (and I never got a bad review from them), I was dumbfounded and a bit saddened. After all, it's yet another sign that the publishing industry has been much healthier than it is right now. But, at the same time, I have been heartened to see that competent, literate bloggers who are also competent readers have begun picking up the slack. This has been more evident with The Red Tree than with any of my previous novels. Indeed, a number of the blurbs that will be included when the mass-market paperback is released next year will be from such blog reviews. Even as the easy chirping of Twitter and snarking of Facebook seem to be supplanting mass blogging, literary blogging seems to be coming into its own. For example, this morning I was greeted by this very fine review of The Red Tree at "The Black Letters" (even if it does deem me "snarly").

---

So, last night Spooky and I took Suraa and Shaharrazad (respectively) away from Outland and into Northrend, by way of the Howling Fjord. And it seems only fair that I should bestow upon Blizzard some deserved praise, after yesterday bestowing all that deserved scorn. Which is to say that Northrend is fucking beautiful, and the quests are great. My impression so far is that this extension is a vast improvement over the mismatched chaos and chintz of The Burning Crusade extension. We've only made it as far as the Tauren encampment of Winterhoof and the southern slopes of the Grizzly Hills, but these environments are gorgeous. The graphics are of an entirely different level than those from Outland. We found ourselves pausing in gameplay last night, just to stare at the sun sparkling off the snow, or the aurora coruscating above the fjord, or the mist lying thick in the boreal forests. This is a far more mature and fully realized world than we've previously seen on Azeroth, and I hope that when the big Cataclysm reboot roles around in 2010, the whole world is given this sort of face lift. Because Northrend makes the rest of WoW look shabby and cartoonish, it's that good. Also, nice to be fighting the "good" fight against the Alliance again, and hopefully all that Aldor vs. Scryers crap is behind us. No more Argent Dawn, please.

Before heading off to Winterhoof, we relocated to the inn at Vengeance Landing, fought the Alliance bastards at the Derelict Strand and then went off to battle the Vrykul at Baleheim. By the way, I thought the Vrykul were especially well realized, though I'd have liked to see women among them. WoW has this habit of tossing races at you, races which exist primarily to offer up adversaries, and making every member of that race male. They've done it with the orges, the trogs, the kobolds, and so forth. Are we supposed to suspect that these races are hermaphroditic or reproduce by budding? Is this just more neglect of female gamers? Come on, the boys would love to see giant Vrykul boobies. Well, the gay boys probably wouldn't. Maybe that's it. WoW is pandering to teh gay...

Anyway, yes, Northrend is absolutely amazing.

And now I have to go write.