Long have I regarded March 1st as the first day of Spring, and never mind that the equinox is still three weeks away. I actually wrote an entry about this two years ago. Anyway, for me, Spring begins March 1st and ends on June 1st. So, hello Spring. Right now, it's 60F outside, and the meteorologists say we'll go to 63F.

By now, all subscribers should have Sirenia Digest #27. If you don't, email Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com, and she'll make it right. I'd love to hear some feedback on the issue today, but it is a long issue, so I expect many people won't have finished reading it for several days yet.

Yesterday was an odd blur of work and movies. Early on, I did some work getting the last loose threads tied off for Sirenia Digest #27. Then Spooky and I went to the 2:40 pm (CaST) matinée of Justin Chadwick's The Other Boleyn Girl (based on Philippa Gregory's novel). Truthfully, I mostly went for the eye-candy factor. Most of the film is carried by Natalie Portman, though Scarlett Johansson's role is more robust near the ending. Not a great film, and I don't expect it to wind up on many "Best of 2008" lists, but I found it quite enjoyable. Back home, the signature pages for Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy arrived via UPS, and I received the final version Vince's illustration for "Beatification." I think the Digest actually went out about 6:30 pm (CaST). We found our Kid Night movies from Videodrome this week, which got me out of the house twice in one day — a Val Lewton double feature, I Walked With a Zombie (1943) and The Body Snatcher (1945). The latter is a particular favorite of mine, and surely one of Boris Karloff's finest films. Lewton produced and wrote The Body Snatcher, but it was directed by Robert Wise. I Walked With a Zombie was also produced by Lewton, but directed by Jacques Tourneur. Anyway, a great double feature, and I ate too many Oreos.

Someone sent me a link to the video for Björk's "Oceania," which I almost based a vignette on, a year or so ago, but never got around to finishing the piece. Regardless, it's very Sirenia Digest, and so I'm including it below:



Also, thanks to Wikipedia, I finally know why eBay is named eBay: "Originally, the site belonged to Echo Bay Technology Group, Omidyar's consulting firm. Omidyar had tried to register the domain name echobay.com (the domain has recently been put up for sale) but found it already taken by the Echo Bay Mines, a gold mining company, so he shortened it to his second choice, eBay.com." So, don't go sayin' I ain't never learned you nothin'. And speaking of eBay, please have a look at the current auctions, set to end on Monday.

And, lastly, I could not resist taking the "Deep and Meaningful Winnie-The-Pooh Character Test." I am not in the least bit surprised by my results (behind the cut):

( Deep and Meaningful )

Another very excellent day off yesterday, and I hardly ever get two very excellent days off in a row. Today it is back to the word mines, but at least I am rested. More than eight hours sleep again last night, so I'm feeling considerably less zombiefied. The warm weather helped (60sF), though it turned rather blustery yesterday, and then we had rain last night.

As for yesterday, first I spent three and a half hours editing a Dune: Apocalypse roleplay transcript from Monday night. I know that doesn't sound like the sort of thing that a writer would do on her day off, but I find editing rp transcripts oddly relaxing in their need for precision and patience. And this was just such a great scene. You can read the transcript here. Anyway, when that was done, I got dressed and we finally made it over to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History. I think we got there about 4 p.m. (CaST). I've been reading the description of a new species of Carcharodontosaurus (C. iguidensis) in the new Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, and there were some features on the Gigonotosaurus mount I wanted to see again up close (Gigonotosaurus is a close relative of Carcharodontosaurus, both part of a radiation of giant allosauroids during the Cretaceous Period). The staff was setting up for a banquet or some such, which always seems to be the case when I visit, and it hampered my access to the skeletons just a little, but not so much to have made the trip a waste. Afterwards, we just sort of wandered about the museum, visiting "old friends." There are photos behind the cut:

( Fernbank stuff )

After the museum, we got noodle bowls at our favourite Thai restaurant. Later still, we watched two more episodes from Season One of Angel ("Under Your Skin" and "Prodigal"), and then I did a little light rp on Arrakis, but nothing to match Monday night. I was actually off SL before one a.m., and in bed before two a.m. Small miracles.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. I really do have to find some alternative to eBay for selling my comp/PC copies, as they've just announced another hike in the cut they take, and it has become unacceptable. No, etsy won't work, as it does not permit auctions. And now I remember there was actually a little bit of work yesterday, as I had to approve the final cover layout for Tales of Pain and Wonder, and send a updated biography for the back cover flap.

Anyway. The platypus says shut up and get to work, so, here we go again...

The auction for a lettered copy of Tales from the Woeful Platypus ends in less than two hours. Remember, you pick the letter, any letter between L and Z, excluding X. This state of the book is leather bound and includes one vignette not found in the trade edition, "Excerpt from Memoirs of a Martian Demirep." And, too, it comes with #3 of the five hand-sewn paisley platypuses. Most of the proceeds from this (and our other auctions) will be going towards my ongoing medical expenses, so your bids are even more appreciated than usual. Thank you.

Postscript (5:40 p.m.): My congratulations and thanks to Stephen Spector, winner of today's auction for "beanie" platypus #3 and a lettered copy of Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

Just wanted to remind everyone that two of our current eBay auctions will be ending early this evening. This includes the letter X of Tales from the Woeful Platypus, which comes with a beanie platypus sewn by my own two hands. Also, the auction for a copy of the trade hardback edition of Frog Toes and Tentacles will be ending. So, please have a look, and if you are of such an inclination, please bid. Proceeds will mostly be going to cover recent and ongoing medical bills (no insurance for this freelancer), so thanks to those who do bid.

Last night, we watched Nicolas Cage in Lee Tamahori's Next (2007), which is very, very loosely based upon Philip K. Dick's short story, "The Golden Man" (1954). I'd say it was, at most, suggested by Dick's story. Anyway, it wasn't great cinema, but it was an enjoyable film, possessed of a certain lopsided charm, which is more than can be said for Cage's two other recent genre outings, Ghostrider and the lamentable remake of The Wicker Man.

Oh, and scarletboi had this to say regarding anextropian's comments that writers should not and do not own their creations, and I feel like quoting it:

I've run across this ludicrous sort of denial before, the idea that we should not expect any sort of protection or recompense for the ideas that we, if not generate, at the very least aggregate. It has its roots in the hacker/hippy culture that brought us a lot of wonderful advances and horribly out-of-touch demagogues like Richard Stallman. The democratization of ideas is all well and good, until you realize that the signal-to-noise ratio has reached overload. In theory, the good writers and artists and musicians will rise to the top, wheat and chaff and all that...

But if you take the tack that "information wants to be free" means that there should be no copyright, no trademark, and that all media should be free to anyone who wants to enjoy it, then you have to accept that the quality of media will largely disintegrate. If an artist cannot rely on compensation for their work, two things are sure to happen: that artist will have to get another job, and will either stop creating art, or at the very least, they will not have the output they surely would have had if they could work at their art full-time.

Just five days left until Cephalopodmas. If anyone is feeling gifty and generous, here are links to my Amazon wishlist, and another link to Spooky's. What we really want is a modest harem of nubile young Asian cyborgs (all three genders welcome) with tentacle implants in just the right places...but, alas, I couldn't find any of those on Amazon.

I'm running rather late today, so I'll make this short. It's not like yesterday was terribly interesting, anyway, as days in the Service of the Platypus go.

I did another 1,102 words on "Salammbô Redux," and believe that I have found the end of it (which, rather unexpectedly, touched upon Longfellow's "The Wreck of the Hesperus"). Spooky and I need to read through the whole thing this afternoon and see how the extended version holds up.

We had a long walk, well before sunset, all the way west down Sinclair to Inman Park. We had pizza and watched a National Geographic documentary on John Wilkes Booth. All sorts of autumnal flowers have bloomed. More Dune last night.

Congratulations to the winner in the Threshold auction. Spooky has listed a few more items, including a copy of the new paperback edition of Low Red Moon (3rd edition; 2007), a copy of The Five of Cups, and of The Dry Salvages. Also, she has placed one of her mini-Cthulhu figurines up on Etsy (which is a much smaller ass pain than eBay), and you may see it here. Like I've said, I love these little guys, and she's only making ten of them, and $45 its a steal.*

Okay. Coffee has arrived.

* Postscript (4:09 p.m.) — Someone already stole it. Which is to say, it sold this afternoon.

So, Spooky — or rather her avatar, Artemisia Paine — was given the task of finding the internet radio station we would stream into the Palaeozoic Musuem on Second Life. And she found a gem: Mixing of Particulate Solids Radio, out of Bratislava, Slovakia. Have a listen. Experimental, ambient, electronica, etc. The other night, working in the Museum, I was able to listen to all of Henryk Górecki's Symphony 3, Symfonia pieśni żałosnych. Now I've started streaming the station through Arwen (the iMac) while I write, and I think Moya (the iPod) feels neglected.

The weather has turned mercifully cool here in Atlanta. Right now, it's cloudy and 73F outside. Of course, the humidity is 76%, and feel as though I have one big hair, but after all the sun and heat, it's a still a relief.

Yesterday, I wrote 893 words on The Dinosaurs of Mars. Turns out, what I wrote on Friday was not actually the end of Section 4. I found that yesterday. Though I still have no title for the section.

My thanks to everyone who has bid in the latest round of eBay auctions. Two of them, From Weird and Distant Shores and Daughter of Hounds, end on the 24th, so take note. Along with Sirenia Digest, eBay helps to fill in the leanish times between checks.

Last night, we actually managed to finish The Vile Village and then begin Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. At about 3:30 a.m., Spooky declared it was time to sleep, so we only made it two chapters in, but still. Actually, I want this book to last at least a week. This is the end, and I think endings should be savoured. Oh, and I finished Chapter Four of Chris Beard's book, which was mostly about the anthropoids and paleoecology of the Oligocene Fayum deposits of Egypt. Lots of reading yesterday. And I don't care if the (nameless) television feels neglected. We did squeeze in about an hour of freeform rping on Second Life. I haven't been doing much of that, and Nareth E. Nishi's story had sort of stalled out on me. But now the game is afoot once more. With dragons.

This will be one of those "I have too much to write about" entries, which means some things must be pared away. If ever there is a DVD release of this entry, all the omitted material will appear thereon.

1. The hand-corrected, drawn upon , etc. Silk auction has a little bit more than three hours until it ends (though by the time I finish this entry, it'll have quite a bit less, so you might want to check it out now and come back here afterwards).

2. Yesterday I wrote the title page, dedication, and epigraph page for The Dinosaurs of Mars, so I know that, at last, the game's afoot. The rest of the day was spent gathering last minute bits of research — never mind that my office currently strains under the weight of Mars-related books. My thanks to Sonya Taaffe (sovay) for the eloquent Rilke translation and to David Kirkpatrick (corucia) for sending me William K. Hartman et al.'s 1999 letter to Nature, "Evidence for recent volcanism on Mars from crater counts." This story has quickly gone through a number of permutations, mostly born from the realization that it should be the sort of story I want it to be, not the sort that might (or might not) make Locus reviewers happy. The setting has gone from present day to near future (though the past weighs heavily), and it has become a story of exploration and discovery, which is what it should have been all along. I'd thought it would be primarily concerned with Victoria Crater in the Meridiani Planum, but then the six "skylights" were discovered on the slopes of Arsia Mons a little while back, and I could not resist shifting the main action of the story west to the Tharsis Montes. Unfortunately, I need caverns that have been more or less stable for at least 65 million years, and the great Arsia Mons caverns might be as young as 40 million (though they might be as old as 100 million). So, I needed a new locale, which led, yesterday, to me moving the story still farther west to Apollinaris Patera, a roughly three-billion-year-old volcano, three miles high and a mile across. And it shall have caverns, as well, though, of course, no such discoveries have (yet) been made. They are plausible. So, yes, yesterday was spent reading Mars lit, and also emailing back and forth with the book's cover artist, Bob Eggleton (among many, many other things, Bob did the cover for From Weird and Distant Shores). Here's a wonderful rough sketch of the cover (which ought to make this project seem nearer to publication). We've intentionally taken a "retro" route with the tyrannosaurid's design:



3. Good sleep again last night, so thank you zolpidem tartrate. I think I got another seven hours.

4. My thanks to Bob Strootman, who fronts a Minneapolis band with the august title, The Dunwich Whores. They've recorded two songs based somewhat on Alabaster, one which I heard yesterday. Drad.

5. Spooky has finally gotten back to dollwork, and before getting down to a long-delayed owl commission, she turned out an adorable sort of Cthulhu hatchling thing, which you may see here. It's not for sale, though she might make more and they might be. Also, Madam Spooky has a birthday fast approaching, and, conveniently, she has an Amazon wishlist right here, for those who may be so kindly predisposed.

5. About 2 a.m. this morning, one of the six or seven Second Life Nareth Nishi's had what alcoholic's refer to as a moment of clarity. I blame my blasted work ethic, but it seemed to make sense to me that I should support my second existence with an SL job, and few SL jobs are as lucrative and as easy to land as stripping. So, that's what I've been doing, first at the Dark Goddess in Dorje, then at Club insureXtion in Bro City. And I have made some decent money. But I've grown sick of the people, most of whom seem unaware they've come to a strip club, and that strip clubs have strippers, and that it is customary to tip the dancers, who are, in fact, working to entertain them. And there's a certain inevitable level of assholery and sleaze and dimwittedness that one finds in such an environment, which I might have been able to tolerate, had the tips been better. Add to this the realization that even my best nights netted me only as many Linden dollars as I might have bought outright for about $5 US, and the fact that I'm dancing so much that I've hardly had time to allow the other Nareths to explore the vastness of SL. So, in short, I think I'm done with stripping. Instead, Dr. Nareth Nishi will be taking up residence in a quiet little steampunk town and having adventures and so forth. My thanks to netdancer for directing me towards Grendel's Children in Avaria, where I got a magnificent gazelle skin, an experience that played a role in the aforementioned moment of clarity. Also, I am smitten with the Isle of Wyrms, with the rambling NeoVictorian splendor of Caledon, and with the sadly abandoned cyberpunk metropolis of Gibson. So, yeah, there will likely be no more titty bars for me...unless they are suitably strange and accommodating to qualify as adventures in their own rights. The experiment continues.

And I wanted to post this comment by blu_muse, in response to the complaints I made on the 12th about the pervasive "normalcy" one encounters throughout much of Second Life, but I'm putting it behind a cut, because this has gone on a bit, I see:

( truer words )

As promised, for actual and any potential bidders, I'm reposting the additional images of the book below (behind the cut):

( Silk '99 )

If you have additional questions, please write Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com, and she'll respond ASAP. as of this writing, the auction has 22 hours and 34 minutes remaining. And here's the link to the auction. Good bidding!

Well, there you go. The vacation is over, and likely I'll not have another of such length until...well, after I've written Joey LaFaye. Not soon. And I don't think I've felt quite this way since I last was drunk for several consecutive days (and that was a long, long, long time ago, kiddos). Not the physical pain that accompanies such binges, but all the disorientation and general not-quite-myself sensation. This is what comes of having spent about twelve hours in Second Life yesterday. My first life seems a pale, inconsequential thing. But today I come back. Today I work and make the words flow. Tonight I will be allowed three or four hours in SL, but no more (probably). Bleariness or no, I still say it's the Best Toy Ever.

However, my first dancing gig has been a lesson in Second Life economics. When you "work" for a club that keeps throwing themed events at you, so you have to keep buying new outfits, but the club isn't pulling people in so you're not getting the tips you need to buy the clothes they only want you to take off anyway...it doesn't take a mathematician to see this can only go on so long. Yesterday, I spent $750 Lindens on work, but only made $120 in tips (the most I've made in tips in a single day is about $1500). So, last night after the 9-11 p.m. shift (that's 6-8 SLT), I took a new job dancing in a club where things should go better. I hated to do it, because the proprietor of the place I've been working has been very kind to me and always I am a bear of loyalty. But I was going broke working there. And here's the thing. I actually agonized over the decision, though this might say more about my tenuous grip on "reality" than the immersiveness of SL. Anyway, I'll post details about the new place later today, for all the other Second Lifers reading this. Thanks to the folks who came out last night. I know I saw robyn_ma and her gal Owl, and the marvelous kiaduran, but I think there were others. Apologies if Nareth Nishi did not say hello. I was occupied with that frelling pole.

Here, though, there is writing to be done and the busyness of writing. Worlds that I can only explore if I make them happen. Worlds that you can only explore if I make them happen. Getting back on the horse, as they are wont to say.

Today we're going to begin our first eBay auction in just about forever. The hand-corrected copy of the Gauntlet hardback of Silk, which I meant to auction way back in March. It is filled with hundreds of corrections in my own hand, plus various scribbles, drawings, annotations, etc., and comes signed by both me and Poppy Z. Cover, end-paper, and signature sheet art by Clive Barker. Anyway, once Spooky gets the auction up and running, I shall post a link.

But, yeah. Writing. Behind the cut is most of a very long email I was sent by jtglover regarding that subject I raised a few days back, how my writing has changed and how it continues to do so (and how I sometimes find myself disturbed by this necessary part of the process):

( thoughtful thoughts )

Finally, my thanks to blu_muse for playing the part of my robotic sidekick in Babbage late last night (late, late, late) — the game's afoot! But now, alas, the platypus says I must start breathing again.

Postscript (2:40 p.m.) — Spooky has begun the Silk auction. I'll post more photos of the book tomorrow, here in the journal, as I'm not about to pay eBay 15¢ per photo. The photo that's up is of the title page. Also, blu_muse has posted a delightful photo-montage of our joint adventure in Babbage last night, which you may see here (it's useful to have a robotic sidekick with a built-in camera). As you can see, my Second-Life self is being played here by Nicole Kidman.

2nd Postscript (8:56 p.m.) — I am now dancing at Club insureXtion in Moolbora. Tonight, I'll be coming on at 11 p.m. (EST; 8 p.m. SLT/PST). Hope to see some of you there. The music is metal/industrial/goth.

On this day thirty years ago, Star Wars opened in US theaters. I was twelve, which was probably the perfect age for Star Wars. I think what I find most amazing now is that is was made for a mere $11 million dollars, whereas the last of the six films was made for $113 million dollars. Also on this day, but forty years ago, docbrite was born. Normally, I would not reveal an age like that, but I know it's something Poppy's exceedingly happy about, reaching the the big four-oh. For my part, I'd gladly go back to 1994 and the gentle age of 29, thank you and please. Anyway, Happy frelling goddamn birthday, Poppy and Star Wars.*

I think eBay has finally managed to make of itself more of a hindrance than Spooky and I can tolerate. The final straw was this new business about requiring you to use their photo-uploading/hosting thingy, and charging 15¢ for every photo beyond the first one. Likely, we will hold one last auction sometime next week, the hand-corrected and "illuminated" copy of the Gauntlet hardback of Silk (which we've been meaning to auction since early March), and then part ways with eBay for good. I don't yet know what we'll be using instead. Spooky's taken with Etsy, but I'm not (and they don't seem to allow auctions, at any rate). Alas, eBay, we hardly knew ye.

Subscribers should have received Sirenia Digest #18 yesterday evening. Comments welcome.

I don't think I have the stomach for butchery today. Yesterday, I cut and hacked and spliced. Today, I may take a bath and wait for Byron, who's joining us for a Toho Kid Night. I do not often abuse the so-called "privilege" of being "my own boss," but today, I believe I shall make an exception. I'm tired of intentionally breaking things I worked so hard to build. It can wait until tomorrow or Sunday, this unwriting business. Spinning gold to straw. Well, no, not gold. Not even silver. I'm not quite that much of an egomaniac. But you get the picture.

---

I did not awaken until the sun was setting. Suregait was near, but there was no sign of Radagast. A dry wind was blowing through our rocky eyrie here at the southeastern end of the Mithrim Spur, and at first I did not recall the dreams that haunted my sleep. Would that they had never come back to me. I rose and started a small fire, and as I was brewing tea, Radagast returned, quickly shedding his hawk form and taking a seat across the fire from me. The news he brings is almost as dire as were my dreams. The man setsuled has gone to Seregost, and there are rumours among the grim folk of this land that he has sent word of my coming to the orc tribes encamped on Gorgoroth. Radagast believes that a bounty has been laid upon my head and that it would be suicide to try to reach the plateau. The orcs are hungry and easily bought. But there are darker tidings still. Radagast has been told by a raven that a call has gone out from Seregost to Khamûl, the Black Easterling, the last of the Nine, and that even now he stirs from out some secret pit. The elves of East Lórien believed such powers history, and that I would face only goblins and Uruks and such men as struggle to survive in these lands.

"The shadow has not entirely passed from our midst," Radagast said and frowned at the fire. "Perhaps it never shall."

He wants me to abandon the quest, Inwë. He says we can not proceed to Gorgoroth nor again try to make the pass below Seregost. All roads are watched now, and he does not imagine that I could ever reach those dread plains south of the Ash Mountains — not even with his aid. He wants to call Gwaihir, King of Birds, to bear me safely to the old capital at Osgiliath. He has volunteered to travel with Suregait, but I do not know. How do I turn back now? What the elves have done, might they now undo? This thing has been made a part of me, until I deliver it down into the Fen of Worms. If I turn back, another would only be forced to return in my stead, and the Black Easterling will surely begin to marshal an army, even if he has not guessed my purpose.

I have told Radagast my dreams, and they only made him more determined I should return to Gondor. But I do not know, Inwë. I do not know what course I must now take.

---

There was a Silk question from reverendcrofoot, who asks: I am re-reading Silk and I noticed something a character by the name Jen Dare I do believe. Is there anything else with this character? Is she a left over? Is there something up with her?

I never meant Jenny Dare for anything more than that one scene, a "ghost" to get Niki's attention. The character was, of course, inspired by Virginia Dare, the first child of English parents born in the Americas. She vanished with the rest of the "Lost Colony" at Roanoke. But really, I never meant to do more with her and never have.

* Han shot first.

I'm pretty sure that I do not actually hate Alabama. It terms of physical geography and wilderness, it's a beautiful place. Fabulous geology and paleontology. For an area its size, Alabama has the greatest diversity of turtle species found anywhere on Earth. I think what I hate is all the goddamn Alabamians (the ones who aren't turtles). And Alabama culture, which, of course, is merely the primary and highly toxic waste product manufactured by all the goddamn Alabamians. Georgia's not much better. It's just that most of Atlanta exists in a weird dimension somewhat out-of-phase with Georgia proper. You can live here and pretend you're somewhere else. Some of us pretend we're in LA, and others of us pretend we're in San Francisco or Boston or Chicago. Being pretty much devoid of any identity of its own, Atlanta is ideal for this sort of thing. I think a few people have even managed to convince themselves Atlanta is Miami. Me, I just pretend it's not in Georgia. But, sadly, Alabama has no Atlanta equivalent. Anyway, regardless, I have to go to Alabama today. The trip has been delayed as long as I can possibly delay it. I have not been back there since April 2006. I'd hoped to go a full year this time between visits. Alas, that is not to be. It has become a Necessary Expedition. We may be back tonight. We may not be back until Friday evening. I cannot yet say.

stsisyphus has written some very cogent observations on "A Season of Broken Dolls," one of the two stories from this month's Sirenia Digest, which you may read at species_of_one (the cogent observations, not the story itself). It's quite useful when, as happens only very occasionally, a reader or reviewer writes something about one of my stories that teaches me something about what I've written. I have a feeling that's the way it's supposed to work, but hardly ever does.

Not much to yesterday worth writing down here. The end result of the Forced and New Consolidated marches was sent off to my editor at HarperCollins. Kathryn and I had a decent enough walk. Last night, we watched E. Elias Merhige's Shadow of the Vampire for the first time since we saw it together way back on February 2, 2001. It's still a wonderful film, an utter delight for the eyes. And I started reading Bones of Contention: Controversies in the Search for Human Origins by Roger Lewin (1987). Not much else worth reporting.

Two of the current eBay auctions will be ending tomorrow, including the copy of Candles for Elizabeth and "On the Road to Jefferson." It will likely be a while before I can offer either of these again.

Okay. I have to go help Spooky pack and get Hubero ready for cat gaol. And ram a fork in my left eye.

Just a short little meme I snurched off cupcake_goth:

List seven songs you are into right now, no matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your LiveJournal along with your seven songs.

Okay then! In no particular order of preference:

1. "Strangers When We Meet" - David Bowie

2. "Green Grow the Rushes" - R.E.M.

3. "Map of the Problematique" - Muse

4. "Signal to Noise" - Peter Gabriel

5. "Atmosphere" - Joy Division

6. "Sons and Daughters" - The Decemberists

7. "Thru' These Architect's Eyes" - David Bowie

—————

Also, we've begun the latest round of eBay auctions, in light of a very large and very, very long-overdue check that still has not arrived from Publisher C (not subpress or Penguin). Every little bit helps. Thanks.

I'm running a little late today, so I will try — and likely fail — to make a shorter entry this ayem.

Yesterday, I did 1,661 words, which is only a disappointment relative to the last four days. It was still an exceptional writing day, given that my average is 1,000 words/per day, and given the count now stands at 17 down, 14 to go.

Talking about Concrete Blonde yesterday, somehow I neglected to ever get around to what I'd meant to say, the main reason I'd bothered to even bring the band up here. The song "Joey" off Bloodletting was very, very important to Silk, and to a lesser extent, to Threshold. Somthing of the character of Keith Barry was drawn from that song, I suspect, and then, later, it would influence my approach to Deacon Silvey. And the lyrics are too redolent of two or three of my own disastrous relationships (circa 1992-1993, and another from the winter/spring of '97), relationships that I drew upon when writing those two books (and especially Silk). Which is to say, growing up as I did, I have a soft spot for drunks and losers and addicts. But I'm all better now. At least on the Outside. And yes, it's true: Beware friendships and love affairs with writers, because, sooner or later, it all goes into the stew.

My thanks to derekcfpegritz for pointing me towards Polish surrealist Jacek Yerka, with whom I am now deeply infatuated. If possible, this will be the artist whose work appears on the cover of the next collection of dark fantasy stories, whatever I end up calling it. Check out "Brontosaurus Civitas," especially.

I noticed that not only is there the 50-books-challenge thingy, but also 50filmchallenge. That is, see 50 films over the course of a year. And, I'm sorry, but I just had to laugh. By a very conservative estimate, I must see at least three or four films a week, sometimes five or six. But let's say just four. That would be 208/per annum. I think I'd need at least a 400 film challenge to find it at all challenging.

Spooky is deep into the feathery recesses of this Orithaceous Period which has gripped her. Even I'm being sucked into the enthusiasm. So, I'm going to write something short, a poem or vignette (probably the former), something about the four wizard corvids she's currently sculpting. She intends to auction them on eBay, so what we'll do is each auction will be for one bird and one signed, handwritten copy of whatever it is I decide to write about said birds. The piece will not be printed anywhere for, oh, let's say three years. I'm not sure when this will happen. When the dolls are finished. When I have a moment to write the piece. Maybe by next week. I'll keep you posted. We'll try to find time to get some books up, too.

A package just arrived from Spooky's mom in RI. Some clothing we left behind when we were there in August. More importantly, Jelly Bellys.

Last night, a little Final Fantasy XII (I finally defeated the "Produce Stand"), and we read more of Tideland. And worried about an ice storm that never came. On Monday, we had highs in the low 70s. Today's forecast high is 37F. And I should get crackin', as they say.

Eight hours sleep last night, and nothing was stolen, and nothing exploded, and we were not visited by a second deluge. So, I guess things are looking up. The basement lake sat there all night, and some guy in a white van showed up this ayem to pump it out. I was just sort of getting fond of having my own lagoon.

I keep finding new reasons to hate MySpace. For example, there's this little drop-down menu thingy that lets you categorize your entries. There's something like 27 categories to choose from, including such very important subjects as "Fashion, Style, Shopping" "Parties and Nightlife," "Goals, Hopes, Plans," and "Automotive." Heck, there's even "Religion and Philosophy" and "Writing and Poetry," which does seem to indicate that MySpace has not entirely discounted intellectual pursuits. However, out of all these categories, there's no "Science" or "Science and Nature." Which, I think, says a lot about public attitudes towards science in America. Anyway, TypePad is looking like a much better mirror, so I may soon abandon the blight of MySpace completely. What a relief it will be to never again have to look upon the oddly shiny faces of drunken college students posing for pix with drinks in hand, and I can stop getting spammed with "friend" requests from hookers and indie bands. No, it's true. I really do hate MySpace.

I'm going to try to begin a new story today, something that will likely appear in Sirenia Digest 14 in January. I'd intended to spend the entire day in bed, observing Global Orgasm Day in a manner most befitting. But, then, I'd not counted on losing yesterday. So, the orgasms will just have to wait a while longer. By the way, Global Orgasm Day has been organised by the Global Consciousness Project, which I think is actually based out of Princeton U. (at least, their website is anchored there), in hopes of measuring "changes in randomness during global events." The "science" here is, to say the least, highly questionable in its validity. But I just can't resist something called Global Orgasm Day, even if it is a front for bad science hoping "to effect positive change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible surge of human energy a Synchronized Global Orgasm. There are two more US fleets heading for the Persian Gulf with anti-submarine equipment that can only be for use against Iran, so the time to change Earth’s energy is NOW!" Er...right. I suppose this gets filed under "Noble Yet Idiotic." Still, any excuse for an orgasm or five, and maybe we'll get lucky and the "surge of human energy" will at last awaken Cthulhu, who will promptly destroy the whole silly world by Xmas.

Don't forget that the current eBay auctions end later today, this evening, including a hand-corrected galley for Daughter of Hounds and an ARC of the same. So, have a look. Bid if you've a mind to do so. Oh, and I never did congratulate kiaduran for snagging the green-haired boy doll and lettered copy of Alabaster the other day. She's the same kind soul who gave Snapdragon a good home. Oh, wait, only the galley auction ends today. The ARC ends on Xmas Eve. Thank you, Spooky.

And if you have not pre-ordered already, the platypus assures me that Cephalopodmas is the best day of all, after Samhain, for pre-ordering Daughter of Hounds

We did, belatedly, get in a little something nice for Solstice last night. Despite the drizzle, the cold, and the cloud cover, we walked over to Freedom Park sometime after midnight. It was deserted, and we sat under the oaks and pecan trees at the top of the hill, shivering and damp, but happy for the sky and the solitude.

And now, as my Cephalopodmas gift to you, this exquisite photo of the hooked suckers of one of my favourite teuthids, Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, the Colossal Squid. If this doesn't a) put you in the holiday spirit and b) get you ready for the sychronised global orgasm, well, I don't know what possibly ever would.

I think this entry gets subdivided. Otherwise, I'll never find my way from one end of it to the other.

I did a very satisfactory 2,110 words today on "The Voyeur in the House of Glass." 10 pp. in four or five hours. Much better than my average. But it's a hard piece, harder than usual. Still, I hope to finish it tomorrow afternoon.

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Somehow, I managed all those words today despite an especially acute case of dreamsickness. I can't recall most of it now. I've spent much of the day willfully forgetting. But since I brought it up, and that always leads to questions if I don't follow through, since I do not wish to frustrate, this is what I do remember. This must have been near the end of it all, just before I woke. Being on the street of an Asian city, maybe Tokyo. I've never been to Asia, so likely it was only a conglomeration of images from photos and films. Night. Neon and cosplay girls and noodle shops. The commingled smells of cars and cooking and garbage. And I'm late for an appointment in this enormous silver skyscraper. I can't read any of the street signs, because they're Japanese or Mandarin or whatever. I'm lost. Men mutter as they pass me. Cosplay girls laugh and point. There's an immense animatronic Ganesh-like thing directing traffic (and I suppose this is foreshadowing), and I find someone who speaks English, and she shows me where to cross the street to reach the skyscraper.

There might have been a lobby and an elevator ride, or I may only be filling in a jump cut. But then I was in the examination room of what seemed to be something very like a dentist's office. Only there were a couple of laptops (not even Macs), and there wasn't that dentist-office smell. There was some other smell that only added to my unease and disorientation. I was asked to have a seat in this thing that wasn't quite a dentist chair. There was a woman with a Brit accent asking me questions, checking off items on a form of some sort.

She kept asking questions about my memory, and if I was comfortable, and suddenly I understood what was happening. That I was an android, but that most of the time I did not know I was an android. I only knew during these check-ups or whatever. And then the woman with the British accent pressed her thumb beneath my jaw, and I began to feel cold and fevery. She said something like, We'll be as gentle as we can. And then I saw that she was holding my jaw in her hands. And I could see my tongue and teeth and gums and lower lip and everything else. The sensation of cold got much worse, and she told me to please be calm. Then she pressed something like a dental drill to my forehead and there was this horrible whine and burring sort of pain. She set the drill aside and plugged a sort of jack into the roof of my mouth, something attached to an assortment of coaxial cables, and there was a suffocating blackness that seemed to rush up all around me. The most terrible sense of falling, and I jerked awake in bed. Shivering, freezing because I'd kicked all the blankets off, and Spooky had already gotten up, so I was alone. I suppose I earned that one, what with "The Winter Market" and "The Path of Silence" and all the godsdamn H+ bashing I've been doing lately. Maybe it's only a very elaborate version of my recurring breaking-teeth nightmare. But, either way, no more, please.

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The new ish of the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology came today, and it's full of wonderful things: a redescription of the theropod dinosaur Compsognathus; juvenile specimens of the pterosaur Germanodactylus cristatus; the earliest known lizard, from the Late Triassic of India (!!); the oldest evidence for a dental lamina in sharks; Sauropod ichnology; Spanish hadrosaurs; an investigation of the ancestry of the great white shark (Carcharodon carcharias) using a morphometric dental analysis. Yum.

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I'm very happy with the way the current eBay auctions are going, only there's been no bid so far on the green-haired boy doll/lettered copy of Alabaster (plus Highway 97 chapbook). I do hope that will change soon, as that auction ends tomorrow evening. The winning bidder gets two unique items. If this one goes for the minimum, it's a steal. Please have a look and bid if you are interested and able. I just found out today that my lending privileges at Emory expire December 30th, so that's yet another expense I have to cover ($100) well before there's any hope of the Very Late Check arriving. Thank you.

Nothing else much interesting to say about yesterday or today. We heard an owl hooting just after dark tonight. The temps today were very pleasant again, mid or high seventies (F), but cold weather is on its way back. Last night, Spooky read me "A Short Rest" from The Hobbit (which you wouldn't think would inspire cybernetic nightmares). Tonight, I have Ambien again, just seven pills to last me two weeks. My doctor, she keeps me on a short frelling leash.

Okay. I gotta go lay on my face and watch TV or something equally mindless. I've been at this keyboard since about ten ayem (CaST). If this entry is chockful'a typos, I apologise. I think there was a tense shift up there somewhere. Whatever.

Postscript (11:58 PM CaST): Is it just me, or is it awfully frelling quiet out there tonight? I know you're not all Xmas shopping. Anyway...here are two cute photos of Mr. H. P. Wu. And here are two more (Action Meezer!). Blame Spooky.

I did a very satisfying 1,669 words today, 8 pp. in about five hours. But, regrettably, it wasn't on "The Path of Silence," but a new piece, "The Voyeur in the House of Glass." Last night, as I began to drift down towards sleep, I realised that I simply do not presently have time to finish "The Path of Silence" for Sirenia Digest 13. Perhaps I can finish it for issue 16 (March). I actually began work on this story on March 5th, intending it for Sirenia 4. But it's just too ambitious and personal a piece, and I cannot rush it.

Anyway, so far, I'm very happy with "The Voyeur in the House of Glass," which resulted from a brainstorming session between me and Spooky this ayem. We were tossing ideas back and forth, and I'd scribbled sideshow in my notebook, an