I have now been writing novels (and all those other things) for "a living" for a very, very long time, and I find myself, rather unexpectedly, coming upon one of the innumerable pitfalls of this existence. The sudden certainty that I simply will never be as good as I need to be to make myself happy with my writing. Sometimes, I manage it at short-fiction and vignette length work, but the novel? The novel, which is the bread-and-butter of the "genre" author's existence, has always been a peculiar beast for me. Every novel so much harder than the one written before it. Sure, it seems to me that each novel is better written than the one preceeding it, but...that's partly because each time I pour twice the energy into the effort as I did the time before. And now there is The Red Tree, and I see it quite clearly in my head, and I just do not know if I am a good enough writer to write it the way it must be written. Not as whimsical dark fantasy or some cliché-riddled "horror" show. The shape of it is something I've never done before — at least not at novel length. And I feel entirely inadequate.

Add to this the stress — the fact that I have four to five months to complete a novel that should take me two years. The fact that my office is being disassembled about me, and in another 18 days, we leave Atlanta, Georgia for Providence, Rhode Island (a move of more than a thousand miles northeast). There are endless interruptions and distractions. My overall health is worse than at any other time in my life. The part of me that has never believed that writing is "work," even though it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do, insists there are far more important things I should be attending to now than this novel. And, in the end, I just do not know that I am good enough. My desire may be exceeding my reach. I know that this novel has to be at least twice as good as Daughter of Hounds, which is by far the best novel I have ever written, and I am struggling to make it simply as good. Yesterday, I wrote a mere 657 words. I sat here, all day, straining for each and every syllable, cursing the whole foolish endeavor. 657 words. The preface is not finished, and neither is Chapter One. I have less than 10,000 words done on a 100,000-word ms. And I am exhausted, and not well, and worried, and there's so much packing left to do, and, in the end, I fear I am simply not good enough. But the only way through is straight ahead. And no, this is not whining. This is telling the truth about my life as a writer, which is the only reason i keep this journal.

Behind the cut are photos of the Moosup Valley area in west-central Rhode Island where The Red Tree is being set. All these were taken along Moosup Valley Road. The geology here is igneous for the most part, and has been poorly studied, poorly dated. All metavolcanics (light- and dark grey-, fine-grained, interlayered feldspathic gneiss, schist, quartzite, amphibolite, and lime-silicate rock; composed chiefly of feldspars, muscovite, biotite, quartz, and amphibole; locally staurolite and sillimanite) and gabbro (dark-grey to dark-purple to black, mostly coarse-grained gabbro. massive to foliated; main constituents pyroxene, plagioclase, amphibole, and biotite; some partially altered). Near as I can tell, from my limited research of the local rocks, these unnamed formations are either Carboniferous or pre-Carboniferous in age, which doesn't tell me much of anything. Imagine asking someone how to find San Francisco, and they reply, "Well, it's farther west than the Mississippi River. "Pre-Carboniferous" is about as useful. Not that the local geology is relevant to the novel, I just felt like a tangent. Here are the pics:

( Moosup Valley, Providence County, Rhode Island )

After the writing yesterday, I packed maybe five boxes of books. My office is beginning to echo. I finished Chapter Ten of Chris Beard's The Hunt for the Dawn Monkey: Unearthing the Origins of Monkeys, Apes, and Humans, a chapter largely devoted to the likelihood that anthropoid primates may have arisen as early as the Paleocene (about 56 million years ago), and appear to have entered Africa even earlier, after evolving from prosimians in Asia. Then I went with Spooky to Candler Park to get a pizza from Fellini's. Back home, we gorged on television because I was too tired for anything else. No Byron, because he and Jim went to some show at the Variety Playhouse. Another episode of Millenium (2-7; "19:19"). Then the new Doctor Who, and this Donna Noble woman isn't growing on either of us. It's like the Doctor's new companion is Edina fucking Monsoon from Ab Fab. Then the new ep of Battlestar Galactica, which was rather good. And then I did a little rp in Second Life, just a brief scene in the library with Omega and Neri and Bellatrix. Bellatrix is Nareth's new thrall. Last night, Bella was wearing her adorable new meat dress (thank you, Hyasynth), which was very appropriate. About 1:30 ayem I crawled away to bed, and Spooky read House of Leaves until about 3 ayem. Ba da pa pa. And that was yesterday.

So, even though there is absolutely no time for being sick, I'm sick. Hard to tell yet just how sick, but sick enough. It started off yesterday morning as a scratchy throat. Thing is, Spooky's been sick for almost a week, and every time I'd ask her about it, she'd tell me it was just allergies caused by the dust we're stirring up packing. To me, she looked sick, not allergic, but hey, she ought to know. So I didn't worry about catching it. But now I'm sick. Last night, fevers and chills. We have to hope this fucker is short lived, because here it is May 6th, and we leave Atlanta on Thursday, May 29th for Providence. And there is all the packing, and a mountain of work, and deadlines and scheduling that simply can not be Put Off Until Later. I used up all my sick time, back in February. And, possibly the worst problem here is that colds and flu often (since the mid '80s) leave me with a severe cough that can last, literally, for months. After I had the flu in February, I coughed an additional six weeks. And the bad tooth cannot be pulled if I'm coughing, because then it won't heal properly. So. Yeah. It's sort of a disaster.

Yesterday. We spent eight hours (1-9 pm) working on the corrections to A is for Alien, and we're still not done. So, that will be today. We also need to take books back to the Emory University library, but that may have to wait until tomorrow. Today, I get more misplaced or missing commas, fact checking, clumsy word repetitions, and other assorted tedium. Oh, and a good example of why sf writers should worry only just so much about the science in their sf stories. When I wrote "Zero Summer" in the summer of 2005, Saturn was believed to have 43 moons, but now, revising the story in 2007, I know that Saturn has more than 60 confirmed natural satellites. But the story is set in the nearish future. By then, we may know that Saturn has 80 moons. Do I stick with 60, knowing that astronomers consider that number provisional? Do I "guesstimate" ahead? Do I revise the story again in a few years? Frankly, the facts are hardly relevant to the truths of the story, so screw it.

My thanks to robyn_ma for pointing out that I can now actually see Isabella Rossellini's "bug porn" (Green Porno) at the Sundance Channel website. Yesterday, the site wasn't letting me in; today it is. Oh, and yes, I have downloaded the new, free NIN, and I'm listening to it now.

At some point yesterday, I left Spooky alone to work on the corrections to A is for Alien. I lay down on the sofa, thinking I could at least read the next chapter of Chris Beard's book on primate origins, but, instead, the best I could manage was an hour of being half asleep, dreaming though I was partly still awake. Later, late last night, Spooky read me more from House of Leaves, the terrible scene on the staircase, Navidson trapped alone at the bottom when it suddenly grows to impossible proportions, Tex's story of the sinking of the Atrocity. Not the perfect thing before bed, so then she read me Robert McCloskey's Time of Wonder (1957), which won a Caldecott Medal and is one of my all time favourite children's books. "Where do hummingbirds go in a hurricane?" Beautiful.

I got the following from Alan S. Montroso, via email, "...As was your story "Concerning Attrition and Severance"; its imagery and majesty have haunted me through the weekend. I understand why you felt it belonged in the obscurity of a closed drawer, but I am also grateful such a cruel creature has been unleashed." Thank you, Alan. It's good to see these reactions, because the story's out there now, and there's no pulling it back in. Comments on Sirenia Digest #29 are still welcome, by the way.

I haven't given the list of books in print in a while, so here it is again. And, though it might be cheaper and the "green" thing to do, buying used copies of my novels from Amazon, sadly, in no way helps my sales figures. Sadder still, I have to actually think about shit like sales figures:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Murder of Angels

Tales of Pain and Wonder

And here's the Amazon wish list, because, after all, this has been declared my Royal Birthday Month and -04 is a mere 20 days away.

There's a lot more of substance I wanted to write about this morning, but I feel like unto butt, and somehow I have to make it through the remainder of the corrections to A is for Alien.

Yes, I am disappointed by the results of the Pennsylvania primary. I don't think that either Clinton or Obama have much of a chance of winning the presidency, and I'm not one of those who sees Obama as some sort of panacea for the ills of this country, but, still. I've been trying to hope.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,125 words on a new piece for Sirenia Digest #30. It has no title, and I'm really not sure, yet, how to describe it.

While I'm thinking of it, here's that list again, those of my books in print, the ones that need to sell, the editions that need to sell (new, not used copies), etc.:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Murder of Angels

Tales of Pain and Wonder

Not much else to say for yesterday. I read a bit of Justine by the Marquis DeSade before I started writing. Last night, I watched two episodes of Deadliest Catch (despite the Bon Jovi theme song), a series I have a peculiar fondness for. My thing about the sea, I suppose. Hauling things up from the sea. The bleak beauty of the Bering Strait.

I think I need intravenous Red Bull this morning... (and it's not even really morning now, as of seventeen minutes ago).

I'm predicting a short journal entry. Let's see if I know of what I speak...

Yesterday, I began and finished the second section of Chapter One of The Red Tree. A total of 1,346 words, so a very good writing day. At least, as regards the number of words written. Already, I am struggling with doubts. Somehow, the text does not seem as solid, as dense, as detailed, as authentic as it needs to feel. This may all be in my mind, I do not know. I see now that this chapter will likely have four sections. I'll begin the third this afternoon.

And yesterday I had two readers tell me that they find endnotes more distracting than footnotes. So, there you go. I've had readers, in the past, extoll* the horrors of footnotes, that they are distracting, destroy the flow of text, and (gasp) feel pretentious (it's all pretentious, kiddos, as it's all pretend, it's all pretense). So, now I'm not sure what I'll do. I guess I'll figure it out when I reach the end of Chapter One. Also, I have considered inserting the Caitlín R. Kiernan construct as "the editor" of Sarah Crowe's journal, which means that I would be writing the prologue, afterword, and foot/endnotes as "me."

I sat out in the sun a bit yesterday, when all the writing was done, just loving the warmth, dozing, soaking up a little Vitamin D. The sun so rarely touches my skin.

Some reader questions now. First eldritch00 writes, "Question about the new Penguin paperback reissues: were all of those novels revised? I remember that Threshold was." Here's how it works: Silk was extensively revised for the mass-market paperback Threshold was revised, but not as much as was Silk. Both Low Red Moon and Murder of Angels received minor edits (more in the former than the latter). Daughter of Hounds will receive almost no revision at all (in part, this is because it doesn't need it, and, in part, because I don't have time).

eldritch00 also asked about the Table of Contents for A is for Alien, and I reply it will probably look something like this (the order of the stories is likely to change):

“Riding the White Bull”
“Zero Summer”
“A Season of Broken Dolls”
“Faces in Revolving Souls”
“The Pearl Diver”
“In View of Nothing”
“Ode to Katan Amano”
“Bradbury Weather”

And, remember, a FREE e-edition of The Dry Salvages will be released by Subterranean Press to coincide with the release of A is for Alien. Also, this from MySpace reader Kate La Trobe:

I always read your blog with interest - have done for years, from London, Holland, the States...wherever I am... and your books of course. You're an incredible inspiration. My favourite is Low Red Moon which I read over many coffees in Amsterdam...am now reading and very much enjoying my recently-acquired Murder of Angels. In Montana! Isn't it great that your work is everywhere?! I always find your books, wherever I am. Usually in shops, and if not, I ask them about your titles and get them to order it in. And there's always Amazon if the worst comes to the worst. Thanks for being fabulously talented. You're enjoyed worldwide.

See? This is what does not make the "Baby Jesus" cry. Yes! I can find your books.

More Millennium last night. Episodes Three and Four. Many more pages of House of Leaves And that was yesterday. Tonight, we get Byron and new Doctor Who and another new Battlestar Galactica. And no, this wasn't a short entry...

* extoll may, indeed, be spelled with two L's, and, to me, extol looks like the name of a neotenic tiger salamander or Aztec god.

Today marks the fourth anniversary of my having begun keeping this LiveJournal on 15 April 2004. You can see that entry here, if you're interested. Since that day, I have made 1,706 entries in the journal, received 19,503 comments, and made 5,484 comments of my own. When it began, I was waiting for Murder of Angels to be released and had not yet begun writing Daughter of Hounds. We were living in a loft over in the old Kirkwood school. Of course, this journal, sensu lato, actually goes back to 24 November 2001, when I was just beginning to write Low Red Moon, and Neil talked me into keeping a blog. You can read the very first entry, on Blogger, here.

This line from Danielewski's House of Leaves:

We all create stories to protect ourselves.

I think it's going to end up being an epigraph for The Red Tree. Speaking of which, I spent an hour or so talking over the narrative structure with Spooky yesterday, first person and the problems thereof, the ins and outs of an epistolary narration, and a bit about my protagonist, Sarah Crowe. I already knew that the novel would be set in rural west-central Rhode Island, and after talking with Spooky, I spent an hour or so with Google Earth, tracking down just the right spot. I found it off Barb's Hill Road, north of Coventry, southwest of Foster and Moosup Valley. Unlike all my previous novels, this one shall come close to observing Aristotle's rule regarding "unity of place" in drama. Almost all the story's action will occur on the old farm where Sarah is living. The house standing there now was built around 1850, I think, though it was built on the foundation of a house that was erected on the spot in the late 1700s. After all the talk and Google Earth, I wrote what I hope will prove to be the first 705 words of Chapter One. So, work yesterday.

Having done the Beowulf novelization last year, I'm getting some curious sorts of offers. I've just passed on doing a Guild Wars novel. I will not go tumbling down the slippery slope of media tie-ins.

The postman brought me cover flaps for the mass-market paperback of Daughter of Hounds, which will be released on September 2nd, 2008. It looks good. Also, the signed contracts and IRS forms for the German translations of Threshold and Low Red Moon went into the mail.

Once again, I did not leave the house yesterday. I have to make myself go outside today, as it has now been...almost five days. Spooky spent much of yesterday packing. Yes, the packing has begun. It makes me antsy.

Last night, I watched two episodes of How It's Made on TLC, which I find very oddly soothing. I watched part of an episode of Spongebob Squarepants (which I just find odd). And the rest of the evening went to some rather intense rp with the Omegas in Toxian City (Second Life). Nareth took out her straight razor and gave a...demonstration...in control, and in anatomy, and also in self denial. Her thrall, Nicholette, having committed a rather grave insult against her, was the canvas. It might actually make a nice piece for Sirenia Digest, with just the right sort of tweaking. But, still, I was in bed by 2:30 ayem.

I think I need to read Le Fanu's "Carmilla" again...

Slowly retrieving some of that lost sleep from last week. A full eight hours last night. I'm feeling much, much better, thank you. Sleep deprivation is one of the worst things for me just now, and I've made a new resolution to be in bed by two ayem every night. I may not be asleep, but at least I'll be in bed.

Today, with luck, I will begin writing The Red Tree. I now have four and a half months to write the novel, and I'll easily lose two weeks of that to the move. Yesterday, I finished Michael E. Bell's Food for the Dead: On the Trail of New England's Vampires (2001), a really excellent book treating the folklore of the tuberculosis-related cases of "vampirism" from Rhode Island, Connecticut, Massachusetts, etc. I first encountered the book at the Peace Dale Public Library (one of the most beautiful libraries in South County) in August 2006, while doing research there, and I scarfed a used copy of the book somewhere or another, but it's taken me this long to get around to reading it.

Yesterday, I also read "Ichnotaxonomy* of bird-like footprints: an example from the Late Triassic-Early Jurassic of Northwest Argentina" in the latest Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology. After dinner (Spanish rice with chicken, pintos with jalapeños, fresh avocados and tomato), I did a nice bit of rp with Lorne, Brit, Nicholette, and Artemisia (er...Spooky) in the library in Toxian City. Then Spooky and I watched Danny Boyle's Sunshine for the fourth time. Later still, I organized the hard-drive on my old iBook (Victoria Regina) while she read me a couple more chapters of House of Leaves (this will be our third time through). That was yesterday, pretty much.

Most of the stress during the last couple of weeks has derived from our trying to find a place to live in Providence, a living space suited to our particular needs and my particular aesthetic. We thought we'd found something good in Elmwood, but it turned out not to be so good after all. Don't even get me started on the three front doors. But yesterday, Spooky's mother looked at an apartment near the Armory District, which we think is going to be the place. It's perfect. So, the stress level has lessened considerably. Now, I just have to contemplate the nightmare of packing and making the actual move. We'll likely leave Atlanta sometime between mid and late May, so, not much time left at all.

I've not left the house since we got back from the Colin Meloy show on Thursday night, mostly because the weather turned cold after the thunderstorms on Friday. The warm-up is coming slower than predicted. It's been a chilly spring. I don't think we've had a single day in the '80s (Fahrenheit) yet. Right now, it's 48F, but feels like 42F with the wind chill.

My thanks to David Kirkpatrick (corucia) for the following photo (behind the cut), taken in a local (for him) Barnes and Noble in Minneapolis. I've always been annoyed at authors who measure their success by how many inches their books take up on the shelves of a bookshop, but, after most of these novels went out of print two years ago, seeing them back, seeing that I presently have five novels and a novelization on the shelves (and that they appear to be in the "science fiction and fantasy" section, not "horror"), is somewhat reassuring, I must admit.

( Shelfage )

Oh, and I have this comment from reverendcrofoot, regarding the age of the narrator in The Red Tree: "See, the thing with age is unless the author says it directly it's really hard to tell. I would have never guessed Dancy's age if you hadn't told me...Make her whatever age you want, but just don't tell us how old she is...avoid it. It would be interesting to see the ages people guess."

It would be interesting, perhaps, but I am far too visual and specific in my writing to allow the age of a central character (or most minor ones) to go unstated. How Sarah Crowe will face the trials of the novel, who she is, and so forth, all that stems from the sum of her life experiences, which can be measured, in part, by her age. A twenty-year-old woman would very likely not cope with these experiences the same way that a forty-four-year-old woman would, and much of what concerns me as an author is how a character acts or reacts (truthfully, I would argue action and reaction are synonyms) in any given situation. That was one of the joys of writing "Salammbô Redux (2007)" for the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder, having the opportunity to go back and look at a character I first wrote as a preteen, now in her forties. So, interesting idea, but it would never work for me.

Oh, and I think today is the last day to vote in the 2008 Locus Poll & Survey. Many of my short stories are eligible, and Daughter of Hounds made the drop-down menu in the "Best Fantasy Novel" category.

Okay. Time for the juice of the bean.

* An ichnotaxon is a taxon — a family, genus, or species — based solely on evidence derived from fossil footprints (or other traces, such as the burrows left by marine animals). When I lived in Birmingham, back when I was still doing paleontology, I was often aided by Andy Rindsberg, a friend and inchologist, Curator of the paleontological collections of the Alabama State Geological Survey.

No break in the insomnia, and it was at least 5:30 ayem before I found sleep last night, this morning, despite extra Ambien. And my efforts to gain weight are being met with little sucess. I'm still hovering around 170, a good fifteen pounds underweight for me. My rings fall off, so I've stopped trying to wear them.

After yesterday's entry, I realized that I'd completely failed to provide any idea of the actual storyline for The Red Tree. It simply did not occur to me to do so (and the Old Timers know how I hate synopses). I'd say it's a vampire novel, but that would be utterly misleading, as it's hardly in the "traditional" vampire mode, whether, to you, that means 'Salem's Lot, Dracula, Anne Rice, Lost Souls, Laurell K. Hamilton, Sonya Blue, or even The Five of Cups. It won't be like any of those sorts of vampire novels. There may or may not be any actual vampires, for one thing. If you've caught some of my treatments of vampirism in Sirenia Digest or Frog Toes and Tentacles, well, it'll be a little like that, at least in tone. I'm thinking of pieces like "Ode to Edvard Munch," "Untitled 12," "Orpheus at Mount Pangaeum," and maybe even "The Bed of Appetite." The protagonist, Sarah Crowe, is drawn to a fallow plot of farmland in Massachusetts (or Rhode Island) on which grows a tree, an ancient oak, with a very unsavory history. It's about history, and insanity, lost love, and hauntings, werewolvery, peculiar paintings, witch trials, and maybe even the Hounds of Cain. And yet, in some thematic sense, it will mostly be a "vampire novel." I want to make the protagonist 45 or 50, but marketing would probably have a coronary, so I'll probably settle for 37. She will likely be a lesbian. And more than that I can promise with no degree of certainty. Well, except it will be much darker and less whimsical than Daughter of Hounds.

If you've not yet seen the new interview at Fearzone, it's here.

Also, Daughter of Hounds is eligible in the "Best Fantasy Novel" category in the 2008 Locus Poll and Survey, and your votes would not be unappreciated, should you feel it is so deserving. Also, Tales from the Woeful Platypus is eligible in the "Best Single-Author Collection" category, but you'd have to write it in, as it's not in the drop-down menu thingy like Daughter of Hounds. And, of course, various of my short stories and "novelettes" are eligible. I'd especially like to point you to "The Ape's Wife." You do not have to be a Locus subscriber to vote, but if you are, it'll net you a free issue, I think.

Yesterday, I read the first two chapters of Michael E. Bell's Food for the Dead: On the Trail of New England's Vampires (2001), which begins with the whole Mercy Brown affair in Exeter. Then we got a call informing us we were on the guest list for Colin Meloy's solo show at the Variety Playhouse, and knowing this might be our last chance to see a show at the Variety before the move, we stopped everything and got dressed. A quick dinner at the Vortex (fish and chips and pink lemonade for me). There are a couple of photos from the show behind the cut. The one of Mr. Meloy is awful, because it's very low light and I absolutely cannot hold a camera still. A wonderful, sweet show, despite the performer being stricken with an awful cold. We were introduced to Cornwallis the Crystal and Consquela the Mermaid.

( 10 April 2008 )

After the show, well, stuff, and then Spooky read me the first chapter of House of Leaves again, because I needed to hear it, and then I did not fall asleep until five ayem.

And I shall remind you, 'cause Herr Platypus says I should, that if you subscribe to Sirenia Digest by Sunday at midnight (EST), you will receive issue #28 FREE. And now I drink the coffee.

Sir Arthur C. Clarke has died. From 2001: A Space Odyssey to Childhood's End, a notable influence on my own writing, on themes addressed in my own sf, and a remarkable human being.

---

We made it all the way through the proofreading of "Pickman's Other Model" yesterday (44 ms. pp.; for Sirenia Digest #28). But between my cough and Spooky aching ear, we did not get to "The Ape's Wife" or begin reading the A is for Alien ms. That'll be today.

And, again, here are the links for my books, those presently in print, the most recent editions, the ones I have to worry about sales figures for:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Murder of Angels

Tales of Pain and Wonder

---

There resides in our freezer the remains of a Peep that we began either experimenting upon or torturing (take your pick) way back in either 2003 or 2004. It's been subjected to microwaves and repeated freezing and thawing, over four or five years now. Amazingly, you can still see its "eyes." It stands as my salute to Corporate Xtian Holidays Stolen From Pagan Sources©. And as proof of the durability of certain supposed foodstuffs. There are two photos (warning — nasty) behind the cut, which Spooky took day before yesterday:

( not food )

---

Ostara is upon us again. If she's up to it, Spooky and I will observe the sabbat Friday night.

And there's really not much else to be said for now. It's grey and dreary out, not quite cold, not quite warm, and I'm wishing I were anywhere but here; okay, well, not anywhere....

I've just gotten word that Steve Jones is taking "The Ape's Wife" for The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror (#19). This will mark my ninth appearance in The Mammoth Book of Best New Horror since 1998. And I love this particular story so much, I'm very glad to see it make the cut.

And, in case you've not already figured it out, no, the tornado did not suck us away to Oz last night. But we did lose power for a while. Most of the damage was downtown and to the west, south and east of us. We got a terrific thunderstorm, with hail. Even as I type this, a new line of storms is bearing down on the city, but hopefully nothing like what came through last night.

Not much to report about yesterday, except that my hair is all red again. And my editor is as baffled as I as to why you cannot yet order the new edition of Murder of Angels from Amazon.com, and she's looking into it (but, hey, that's why we have Barnes & Noble). Oh, and last night we watched Alison Chernick's documentary, Matthew Barney: No Restraint (2006), about the making of Barney's Drawing Restraint 9 (2005). Fortunately, one of the iBooks had enough juice to play a DVD, so we did not perish of boredom.

On Thursday, well, tons of the busyness of writing, including an interview for the Fearzone website. The uncorrected draft of "Pickman's Other Model" was sent to Vince to illustrate for Sirenia Digest #28. I think the rest was too dull to bear mentioning, no matter how much of it there was.

And if you're an SL steampunk, do not forget that Monday is Air Kraken Day. Don't worry. I'll take pictures.

Okay, well, Spooky says I need a bath, and she's willing to help, so shut up, Herr Platypus, it'll all still be here waiting for me afterwards...

Here are the links to the latest editions of all my books, the ones I need to sell so that there will be future books:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Murder of Angels

Tales of Pain and Wonder

A very good writing day yesterday. I did 1,477 words on "Pickman's Other Model," finishing the fourth section of the story and also the fifth. Which means I should be able to get the "first draft" done before my eyebrow appointment at 4:45 p.m. Spooky and Sonya (sovay) have been reading this one as I go, and they both like it. My only misgiving is that I think I'll have written a story in eight days that actually needed about fourteen. The layers and details, the artifice of nonexistent documents and films, a hundred things I'd really like to go back and explore a bit more. I have begun to recognize an odd similarity between this story and "Houses Under the Sea," but I don't know if anyone else will see it. Anyway, it'll be appearing in Sirenia Digest #28 later this month.

Last night we found a dosage of dextromethorphan that appears to keep this cough in check, but it's interacting with my other meds to produce a very curious, floaty sort of high. Not unpleasant, mind you, and at this point, just about anything is better than the blasted cough. But I wound up sitting here at my desk late last night, also sitting on a sofa there in the library in Toxia...just sitting. No rp, because the library was pretty much deserted by then, except for me. I sat here listening to Poe and the new NIN, watching Nareth on that sofa, and Spooky finally came in about 3 ayem (she'd been reading in the bedroom), to see what the hell I was doing. I muttered something lame about leveling up. But, truthfully, I was just sitting here, watching my avatar sitting there, tripping on the pharmacological cocktail in my blood and brain. Then, however, I didn't get to sleep until almost four, I woke up at 10:30 ayem, and now I'm feeling pretty zombiefied.

Once again, the correct links to the new paperback editions of my novels (those now in print):

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

After the writing, I did a little Second Life. The "Sirenia Players" group now has eight members, and a ninth who has not yet accepted her invitation. So, it's coming along. Last night, Spooky made chili, and then we watched two more eps of Angel, Season Four ("Apocalypse Nowish" and "Habeas Corpses"). The show has certainly veered into grimmer territory, and that's a good thing.

I've not left the house in two days, but the weather is warm again. Hopefully, we'll get a good walk this evening. Oh, and if you're waiting on an email from me, I've gotten just a little behind, but should get caught up today.

I woke about 7:30 this morning to the commotion of the most wonderful thunderstorm, rain coming down in great roaring sheets, lightning. I fell asleep again listening to the storm, but have no recollection of whatever dreams followed.

Yesterday afternoon, still without an idea for another vignette for Sirenia Digest #27, I got in touch with Sonya (sovay) and asked her to please toss a couple of ideas my way. The first few, I could see straight away, were doomed to become actual short stories, but then she gave me one word, "Snegurochka." Marvelous! Unfortunately, then I had the call from my agent regarding Joey Lafaye, and Spooky and I needed to proofread "The Steam Dancer (1896)" for Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy, and there was eBay to be done...so, at the end of the day, I still had not begun a second vignette.

Though I'm not making the final decision until tomorrow, I think that Sirenia Digest #27 may be comprised of the one new vignette, plus two reprints from early issues. We have so many new readers this month, that will help to give them a more balanced idea of what to expect from the Digest. Of course, I also might miraculously produce a second vignette today, in which case, #27 would be two vignettes and a couple of reprints. Hopefully, everyone will be cool with whichever way this goes. This month has been a disaster, but it was being sick the last two weeks that really screwed things up good and proper. At any rate, expect #27 on Thursday or Friday.

We had a good walk yesterday afternoon, about a mile there and back again. We walked to Videodrome and rented Olivier Dahan's La Vie en Rose (aka, La Môme), and now I see that it really is a beautiful, brilliant film. Marion Cotillard's performance is sublime, and the makeup artists were, indeed, deserving of that Oscar.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions, which include a copy of the Japanese edition of the Beowulf novelization. Thanks. And because Amazon, with their "bargain books" boondoggle, is still making it rather difficult to find some of 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

Right, platypus. First coffee, then email...

Yesterday I did not get back on the horse (to extend a metaphor from one day to the next), but I did nuzzle that spot behind its left ear and give it a kiss and a few sugar cubes. That's a start. Mostly, I worked on figuring out what will and will not be in the subpress sf collection, which might be titled A is for Alien and might be titled Bradbury Weather and Other Stories. Here's what I now know — The book will be released sometime in early 2009. It will consist of eight stories, and there will be an accompanying chapbook with one or two more short pieces. I'm not posting the Table of Contents yet, but I probably will soon. The word count comes to 65,885 words, but may go a little higher if I do an introduction or afterword. So, emails were exchanged with Bill Schafer yesterday, working all this out. Today, I may have time to get a rough version of the ms. put together. No word yet on when it will be available for pre-orders.

I still have not answered a great deal of the email that's coming in, well wishes and very generous offers for assistance of one sort of another with my medical expenses. I'm still trying to get through them, and I apologize to those people I've not yet written back. I will point readers towards the ongoing eBay auctions, and suggest that subscribing to Sirenia Digest is a very good way to help out. Or pick up a copy of Daughter of Hounds (new, not "used"). Any of these options would be a great way to help out at this point.

Tomorrow, it's back to the dentist to have the other molar fixed.

Last night, we watched three more eps of Angel ("The Trial," "Reunion," and "Redefinition"). Season Two is definitely better than Season One, and I have to admit that the scenes between Darla and Dru in "Reunion" were, well, easy on the eyes...if you get my drift. And after that, I thought about reading, but ended up on Second Life, roleplaying in Toxian City, where I assisted one of the Omega Institute's praetors in setting up a protective ward, involving fetish and phylactery, to shield the library from future attacks. Which was really a lot more fun than it might sound. And then the insomnia kicked in, and it was after 5 ayem before I got to sleep. That was yesterday.

Now I have to wash my hair....

A night of such nightmares, that I cannot describe myself as mere dreamsick this morning. Whatever comes after dreamsick, whatever is worse, something very near fever. But I will not write about them, the dreams, because that's likely what "they" "want," that unconscious bit of me, and after that it can bloody well go fuck itself.

Good morning.

I sent Joey Lafaye out to a few people yesterday, what there is of the novel so far. On the up side, Sonya (sovay) says she loves it. On the down side, I won't hear what my agent thinks until next week. Others, I am still waiting to hear from. And I have this quote, something I wrote regarding the release of Daughter of Hounds back on January 1, 2007, and I suspect these sentiments are at the heart of much of my current displeasure with my work:

I think this "new book" thing would not continue to be so weird, and would not seem weirder each time it happens, if each new book did not seem to come and go with so little fanfare. Were I the sort of author lucky enough (and it is a matter of luck) that I enjoyed nationwide publisher-sponsored book tours, actual publicity, reviews in the New York Times Book Review, bestselling status, and so on — if these novels were, as they say, celebrated — I think it would not seem so odd. Because then a novel would be finished, after two or three years of diligent work on it, and there would be this period following publication where it was noticed for a time, before I had to sit down and begin another. Instead, they just come and go. They accumulate like dead leaves. With luck, they sell well for a month or two, get a few good reviews here and there, and then, for me (and most everyone else), they are forgotten. I have to quickly move along to the Next Thing. I have to find the Next Thing, because the Last Thing certainly won't be paying the bills. And so it just seems weird, that there is this book, again.

Better, if one has said a thing already, and one is happy with how that thing was said, to simply restate oneself then think up some new way of saying the same thing again.

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Yesterday, Spooky and I finally saw Joe Wright's Atonement (based on a novel Ian McEwan). And I know that studies have actually demonstrated that readers tend to perceive those who write negative reviews as being brighter people than those who write positive reviews. But, on the one hand, we are extremely selective about the films we pay to see in the theatre, and on the other, it's not like I really give a shit. And, on the third hand (it's here, somewhere), the fact remains that Atonement is a supremely beautiful and well-crafted film. And it would be absurdly disingenuous of me to pick about for some little flaw or loose thread, so that readers would think I can write "critical" or "balanced" reviews. Atonement is one of the best treatments of tragedy I have ever seen, I think. I loved the unreliability of the narrator, and the nonlinear nature of the unreliable narration, and the fact that we finally come to understand the recurring clack of typewriter keys. I truly am pleased when a storyteller says "No, that's not what actually happened. This is what actually happened." I've only had the courage to do it a couple of times ("Riding the White Bull" comes to mind). Anyway, yes, I would call Atonement one of the three best films of 2007, of those I have seen.

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The poll regarding Part One of "The Crimson Alphabet" is still going. Please vote, if you are a subscriber and if you have read Part One of "The Crimson Alphabet," but please vote only once. I'll post the poll for Part Two of "The Crimson Alphabet" later today.

That's enough for now.

Postscript (2:50 p.m. CaST) — It looks like Tales of Pain and Wonder may soon be sold out, and Subterranean Press has posted a notice regarding the 50+ page chapbook, Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder, which is basically, buy now or miss out. Also, this is the first time the cover montage I did for the chapbook has been posted anywhere.

Yesterday was almost entirely spent on Sirenia Digest #24, and I didn't even get to the layout. I did write a longer than usual prolegomena (658 words), and most of the rest of the afternoon was spent proofreading and editing "The Wolf Who Cried Girl" and "The Pearl Diver." And I got through some of the galley pages for the Subterranean Press edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. So, yes, a long and tedious day of proofreading. And I got up this morning to discover I'd not gone over the cover copy for the mmp of Daughter of Hounds, and I had to do that before making this entry, because my editor at Penguin has already been very patient with me. Oh, and Vince sent me a very good sketch for his illustration for "The Wolf Who Cried Girl," and I need to email him back about it.

Thanks and welcome to the new subscribers who signed up for Sirenia Digest yesterday. It occurs to the platypus, who always tells me these things, that today is another very good day to subscribe.

Is it really Wednesday?

A decent walk yesterday, as far west down Sinclair as the dinosaur. Then last night, Spooky and I watched Luc Besson's Nikita (1990). Somehow, I'd managed never to see this film, despite the fact that I'm a great admirer of Besson's, and also despite the fact I was rather fond of the American remake, Point of No Return (1993). I was pleased (but not surprised) to see that Besson's original is the smarter and more complex of the two. And you get Anne Parillaud, in the bargain. Later, there were two very intense rp scenes in the Second Life Dune sim, much more than I'd bargained for, really. They left me sad and tired and just wanting to lie down. So, later still, Spooky read me the seventh chapter of Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. That was yesterday, pretty much.

Because stsisyphus asked yesterday, here's the link to my Amazon.com wishlist, and here's the link to Spooky's. We do not observe Xmas, but we do observe Solstice/Yule (not to mention Cephalopodmas), and books and DVDs are always a welcomed distraction.

Only coffee can save me now.