A good writing day yesterday. I did 1,345 words on the new piece for Sirenia Digest #30. I should be able to finish it today. It still has no title. By the way, this piece is not for the next issue of the digest, but the issue after next. #29 will include my vignette "Flotsam," and as well another vignette by Sonya Taaffe (sovay).

As soon as I'm done with the piece for #30, I need to take care of the line edits on A is for Alien (thank you, Sonya) and write a foreword so that the ms. can go to Subterranean Press.

Also, it would appear that Amazon.com is finally offering the new mmp of Murder of Angels. Just follow the link, unless you'd rather get it from Barnes & Noble, in which case you should follow this link.

Also, the good news is I should be able to get back to The Red Tree much sooner than expected, as Spooky's mother has kindly agreed to investigate the length of Barbs Hill Road between Coventry (to the south) and Moosup Valley (to the north), where the novel will be set, in far western Rhode Island and send me a CD of photos that should allow me to write the editor's note bit that should allow me to return to work on Chapter One. Oh, and Spooky's dad is in Bangkok again, doing his anthropologist thing.

As to the non-writing, non-work part of yesterday, not much to say. I packed six boxes (books and videotapes, mostly). I've not left the house since Monday. There is this hope that once we are in New England, I will wander out more frequently, as there will be new things to see, friends to visit, etc., but, for my part, I am skeptical that my reclusive ways will change a great deal. Last night, we watched two more episodes from Season One of Millennium, and then I did a few hours of Second Life rp. Nareth was severely chastised by her Sire for being such a boastful, unfeeling beast, and, so, once again, Nareth is hiding in the sea. And that was yesterday, near as I recall. There was a bad seizure towards dusk, and it left me feeling brittle and unanchored the rest of the night.

I wish I could spend the day beneath a tree, getting bugs in my hair and smelling the sky...and, yet, I know that I will likely not even step Outside.

I have tried, the last year or so, to ignore "reviews" on Amazon.com, as well as those posted to blogs and suchlike. I am aware that in the eyes of some, it appears unseemly when an author replies to her critics (and I'm being rather generous here with the word "critic"). However, myself, I have always felt that it is only reasonable that the author be permitted an equal opportunity to reply, especially when the criticism in question is demonstrably wrong or wrong-headed and may, in theory, adversely affect book sales. Anyway. Yes. I have been good. But this morning I saw a "review" of Low Red Moon on Amazon.com, posted maybe a month back, and it annoyed me, and then I had a hard day, and so I am allowing myself to fall off the wagon (for one day only). The "review," posted by Kathryn Daugherty ("tropo9"), reads as follows:

In this sequel to Threshold, Deacon and Chance are married and Chance is pregnant. Sadie is Deacon's friend, but neither remember their affair after Chance left Deacon. Even Chance doesn't remember turning back time in the water tunnel to save Elisa, but instead is again freaked out by her psychic premonitions of raining blood.

This story is really about Narcissa Snow, a part goblin child raised by an insane father on the coast of Rhode Island. She is convinced that if she gives the goblins a changeling child, then she will finally be accepted into the goblin community. The child she wishes to give them is Chance's. She travels to Birmingham, committing mutilations and murders along the way. Deacon is caught up in her schemes when Narcissa kills one of Deacon's old friends and the police ask Deacon for his psychic assistance.

The best part of the novel is that the author has cleaned up her language. The narrative is strong and sure. The worst part of the novel is that not for one second can you believe that Deacon loves Chance or that Chance loves Deacon. Why did they get married? Why is Deacon sober? Chance seems to hate Deacon and is always convinced that he is about to fall off the wagon. Deacon feels weak and useless. If you have no sympathy for the main characters and no understanding of their situation, then the author has done a very poor job. It is rather depressing that such a good writer has no understanding of human motivations.

Now...to start with, I must assume that Miss Daugherty means "ghoul" when she says "goblin," as the word "goblin" appears only twice in the novel, and only once, jokingly, as a reference to the ghouls. Secondly, who the hell of "Elisa"? I will assume, from context, that she means Elise. Third, Narcissa was raised in the North Shore region of Massachusetts, north of Cape Ann, not "on the coast of Rhode Island." Okay. So that three factual errors in the first paragraph, when, I assume, Miss Daugherty must have written this review fairly soon after having read the novel. Do I question reading comprehension here or retention of what has been read?

Regardless, what really stuns me is that final paragraph, where we are told that "not for one second can you believe that Deacon loves Chance or that Chance loves Deacon," and her calling into question the possibility that they would have married. This is so idiotic that I'm not even going into all the instances by which I could prove that, while Chance and Deacon are hardly one of those mythic ideal couples you see beaming from Match.com commercials, there is ample evidence in this book that they do love each other quite a lot. And never mind the fact that the "reviewer" seems to be labouring under the assumption that all marriages are successful, or that all married people love each other, or that all married people appear to love each other, and so forth. She's joking, right? Please note, I am not objecting to the fact that she didn't like the book, but to the fact that she cannot be bothered to write an informed review. And as for the line, "The best part of the novel is that the author has cleaned up her language," well, I'm not even going to presume to know what she means by that.

Idiot. Anyway, yeah, you can read (and rate) the "review" here.

One of those mornings when I just feel vile. It's a little warmer, but I know the cold is partly responsible for this vileness of spirit. This inability to wake up, to focus, to concentrate, to be, as they are wont to say, on my toes.

I did 1,148 words yesterday on Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye. It could have been much worse. I liked most of what I wrote. But it was another shove towards the precipice. To be precise, a shove towards that point of no return where the pyrotechnics crew wrecks so much of the set that I'm committed to a certain course for the rest of this novel. Already, I see this will not be the novel I want it to be, which is really neither here nor there. I was still writing sometime after six, when I finally set it aside for the day.

Spooky just finished re-listing for another round of eBay. Have a look. Your bids are much appreciated.

And because Amazon, with their "bargain books" boondoggle, is still making it rather difficult to find the new editions of my novels, the ones I will be judged by the sales of, here are the links again:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

As for the second edition (mass-market paperback) of Murder of Angels, due out in April, Amazon does not yet appear to be taking preorders. And, to answer a question I have been asked many times and usually let go unanswered, yes, it actually does harm my sales figures when you buy used copies of my books off Amazon. I hate saying this, because I know books are too expensive, and I loathe having to worry more about the bottom line than readers, but the question gets asked, and that's the truthful answer.

To answer another old and unanswered question I'm actually cranky enough to answer this morning, why yes, I do hate the cover of the mmp of Low Red Moon, and no, I have no idea why they made Narcissa look like that. I was approached by my former editor and consulted regarding her appearance. I gave a very concise, clear description of the character, which included quotations from the book itself. In the end, I said, "She would be played by Scarlett Johansson," which I thought would remove any doubt. Obviously, I was wrong. And if you think the image they finally used for the cover is bad, you should see the first one they came up with. Perhaps I'll post that initial cover image here, the one my agent and I were able to convince them was so wrong that it was unacceptable. I have liked all the other mmp covers, by the way.

Er...anyway, last night we watched two more eps from the first season of Angel. And I absolutely cannot stand Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter). But, somehow, I am enjoying the series in spite of her. It helps that I saw the last couple of seasons and know she's the vessel of the apocalypse and all that, but...ugh. Ah, and tonight is Kindernacht, and we're having Angel-o-Thon '08. We're going to watch at least six episodes, maybe eight, and eat stuff that isn't good for us.

Sorry I have not yet posted screencaps from Shahrazad's Water of Life ceremony. I'll try to get them up by tomorrow morning. I just don't want to rush it.

But now, to quote the inestimable Mr. Sweeney Todd, "The work waits!" And bloody work it will be...

Postscript (2:25 p.m.): I was just looking through a list of twenty shows that the WGA strike has halted, and forty eight that are proceeding (mostly reality TV crap), and, more than anything, I am reminded why I don't watch much television. I am a little sad to learn that The Dresden Files is not being renewed (this was announced in August, but I missed it), as the first season, while flawed, had considerable promise. I tell you, it's the kiss of death for me to grow fond of a series.

The last few nights, the dreams have been a slow black storm. I awake more exhausted than when I went to sleep. If only I could find a cure for sleep...

Yesterday, the mail brought me copies of the new issue of Tähtivaeltaja, a Finnish sf/fantasy zine, which has an eight-page article on my books and comics. And this is really drad and all, only I can't make heads nor tails of Finnish, so, for all I know, it could be eight pages extolling the virtues of soy beans, with titles of my stories scattered randomly about to keep me fooled. I see bad online translations in my not-too-distant future. I will note that the article includes the abominable cover of the Meisha Merlin edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Otherwise, it looks great.

Also yesterday, I read Spooky the first half of Chapter Nine of Daughter of Hounds. It's nice. Solid. I like it very, very much, and it made me kind of ill, reading it, to think that I've allowed the novel to languish for a month or more. I'm going to try to get to work on the second half of the chapter today; I'm going to try very, very hard.

Also (also), I read David Kerr's "Epiphany for Aliens" (Again, Dangerous Visions). Spooky went to the L5P Halloween Parade, but I was feeling even more anti-social than usual and stayed home. She took lots of pictures, some of which I think she'll post in her LJ later today. The Klingons on Harleys are my favorite. Then, last night, two houses across the street held some sort of wild-ass party that went on until the police shut it down. I'm not going to call it a Halloween party, because no one was in costume so far as I could see, which was even more annoying than all the drunken rowdiness and the people parking on the frelling sidewalk in front of our house and so on and so forth. I refuse to accept that Halloween is merely another opportunity for yuppie scum to attempt to relive the glorious blur of their frat days with bad music and cheap yellow beer in big red plastic cups.

Here's a link (thanks, Kirin!) that made me laugh and roll my eyes and grind my teeth and curse the marginally literate idiots of the world — all at once. Check out Matthew Baldwin's "Lone Star Statements," being excerpts from one-star Amazon.com "reviews" of books from Time’s list of the 100 best novels from 1923 to the present. I was especially taken with the "review" of Catcher in the Rye, which simply states, "“So many other good books...don’t waste your time on this one. J.D. Salinger went into hiding because he was embarrassed.” Also, the "review" of Slaughterhouse-Five (too dumb to quote), which gives me new hope that the human race really is artificially selecting itself backwards towards Homo erectus. I shouldn't say that. I have it on good authority that Homo erectus had a perfectly fine sense of wonder and ability to suspend disbelief. My apologies to all the souls of all good Homo erectus, past and future, for having compared them to the squinting scuttlefish who shat out these "reviews." You deserve better. Of course, so does Kurt Vonnegut.

Okay. Go write, Caitlín. At least, go think about how you're a bum if you don't write. Time to make the doughnuts. But please have a look at our eBay auctions. Remember: every "Buy It Now" purchase gets a monster doodle. Thanks!

Okay, well this is something new. I have been accused, in an Amazon.com "review" of The Value of X, of uncorrupting Poppy. To be more precise, one Faye S. Lewis (I'd almost forgotten about her) has claimed that I "upbraided" Poppy for writing erotica and that Poppy took my "advice" on the subject and this led to the changes in her work between Exquisite Corpse and TVoX. The astute Ms. Lewis writes:

Poppy gave up the ghost when she started listening to the voices of her friends and not those in her own head. After Cait Kiernan upbraided her for using sex as a plot point, Poppy has set out to live by rules created for her, rather than by her. There is nothing wrong with a touch of the erotic (watch her chase her tail in a rage if you even say the word in relation to her work now) if it creates the atmosphere and sells the relationship on another level. Sadly, she's taken the advice of a person who once said of sex in literature: "It's like going to the bathroom. You know they do it, but you don't need to write two pages on it."

This is, of course, total gopher twaddle. True, I did once say something like the comment Lewis attributes to me here. I can't recall when or where (this may be a direct quote; I don't know), but my attitude towards extended sex scenes in novels is certainly no secret. I talked about it openly in this journal as recently as this spring, when I was working on Frog Toes and Tentacles. But. To suggest that Poppy hasn't been thinking for herself, that I am somehow responsible for the fact that she's no longer writing "erotic horror" (or whatever) is an insult to Poppy. And it's an absurd insult, at that. I mean, you might as well suggest that Harlan Ellison or William Burroughs or Hunter S. Thompson or Kathy Acker, at some point in their careers, stopped thinking for themselves because some friend or another "upbraided" them for some perceived literary transgression. It has been my experience that Poppy does what Poppy damn well wants, even when it's not in her own best interest. Ms. Lewis is the sort of reader, it seems, who believes authors are writing for them and that, when push comes to shove, the Reader Knows What's Best. Ms. Lewis is, therefore, a fool.

Anyway...

My thanks to tagplazen for an unexpected and wonderful package that arrived here from Seattle earlier this week. A veritable cornucopia of dradness that has been much appreciated. It included: a whoopee cushion, four CDs that we haven't yet had time to listen to (but I see there's stuff by Residents and the Lotus Eaters), a sheet of glow in the dark stickers (stars, moons, Saturns, shooting stars), five identical bumpterstickers which read "Let Them Eat Cake," three very cool postcards depicting various Hindu gods and goddesses, a package of 120 "Topical" ten-commandment stickers, Jogging With Jesus by C. S. Lovett (this is the gem of the bunch), a package of "Fantasy Garden Incense" (20 sticks of a scent identified as "Pussy"), a poster from Crimethinc., and a red "Proud to be Drug Free" pencil (with a well-loved eraser). I mean, wow!

And Spooky gave me a Halloween Pez dispenser today. An embarrassment of riches, says I.

Okay. Back to work. And it's not too late to hit those eBay auctions, if you feel so inclined.