First, apologies for having screwed up the link to Sirenia Digest in two successive entries. I have fixed those links, and the one I just gave is also correct, and yes, if you subscribe this week, before Sunday at midnight (EST), you will be receive #28 ("Pickman's Other Model," "Pickman's Model" by HPL, and "Madonna Littoralis") absolutely FREE. It says a lot about my questionable mental state the last few days that I screwed up that link twice and did not catch it. My thanks to those who did and who then let me know. Also, my thanks to those new subscribers who have taken me up on this offer, and somehow managed to reach the subscription pages despite my blunders.

The chief reason that I have been so especially scatterbrained the last week or two, aside from trying to find a place to live in Providence, dealing with seizures, and the incessant insomnia, is that a short while back I called my agent (Tuesday, March 25th) and told her that there was simply no way I could have Joey Lafaye written by September 1st, and that I would not ruin it trying. I suggested, instead, that I first write the second book on this contract, which is, for now, called The Red Tree. It's a book much more like Daughter of Hounds (without the guns and poker-playing demon), much more familiar territory. So, I had to write up that proposal, submit it, and wait. This morning, I got the go ahead on The Red Tree, which I shall begin immediately, as I have only four and three-quarters months to write it. While keeping the Digest up and running and moving from Atlanta to Providence. But, yes. The next novel will not be Joey Lafaye, but The Red Tree. Consider yourselves warned.

And, once again, I want to direct readers who are interested in the mass-market paperback of Murder of Angels to Barnes & Noble, as they are actually being bothered to sell the book. And, please, do be interested. I'd like to see this book, and all the others, still in print this time next year. Also, here are the correct links to purchase the other novels and, also, Tales of Pain and Wonder. Thank you. Please feel free to repost these links in your journals:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

Tales of Pain and Wonder

---

Very little to say about the last couple of days. I mean, yeah, the insomnia. Spooky forced me out into the bright springtime on Tuesday, and we walked as far as Freedom Park before spreading the red plaid picnic blanket blu_muse gave us some time ago. I lay down, staring first at the sky and then the dandelions, and then I proceeded to fall asleep. Later there was Thai food, which would have been better had I not been to sleepy to taste it. Yesterday, we walked down Sinclair, and the foliage is a comfort, the foliage and the woodpeckers and the mockingbirds. I did manage to read, over the last two days, another JVP paper, "A new aigialosaur (Squamata; Anguimorpha) with soft tissue remains from the Upper Cretaceous of Nuevo León, Mexico." I've tried to drown the insomnia with Ambien and Kava and Diazapam and Second Life, none of which have been especially effective. But, as for Second Life, I stepped back a bit from Toxian City to explore a dark sf rp called Necronom (at Hypnos), which has to be one of the most gorgeous builds I've ever seen anywhere in SL (but then, I don't get out much).

Oh, that reminds me, I have not forgotten you, Sirenia Players. I've just been too stupid from sleep deprivation and stress and meds to do anything constructive. I'll try to make amends in that regard sometime in the next week, and at least send everyone a notecard (an inworld nc, so you'll have to log into SL to get it). I just want you to know I haven't given up on the project, and to say thanks for your patience.

Platypus says time to get to work. But, remember, subscribe to Sirenia Digest before Sunday at midnight (EST), and you will be receive #28 FREE.

As I type this, Sirenia Digest #27 is being PDFed, so subscriber's should expect the February issue to be showing up in their inboxes this evening. And if you are not a subscriber, turn not pale, beloved snail, for it's not yet too late to get this issue and all those to come. Just sign up today. Back issues are also available, upon request.

Good riddance, February. Usually, February is the month when I begin to feel hope, as the grey veil of winter finally begins to lift. Usually, February is the month I look forward to, after the long night of December and January. This year, however, I think February has tried to fucking kill me, and I can be done with it not one moment too soon. So, go, February. Get out. Enough already.

Yesterday I received the very, very good news that Anne, my editor at Penguin, has extended my deadline on Joey Lafaye from June 1st to September 1st, which is far more than merely a great relief. The recent...shall we say, hindrances...had made it impossible for me to make the previous deadline (and this, actually, is a deadline that had been extended once already). Now, I find myself given the time I need to write the book. But there is not time to lose another month to hindrances. I will be guarding against them with all the powers at my disposal.

Not much else to say about yesterday. We're dealing with the tedium of having the IRS prove to the German government that I'm an American citizen, so that my German publisher (for Low Red Moon and Threshold) can pay me without my having to turn over sizable portions of the advance to Germany for taxes. I went through this with the Italian edition of Threshold, and now I'm going through it again, and it just sort of pisses me off. Today, we finished deciphering Form 8802 and got it in the mail, so that they'll send me Form 6166, so maybe, someday, I can get paid.

I've mostly been staying clear of Second Life the last couple of weeks, as the Dune sim in which I'd invested so much energy crashed and burned and, finally, mercifully, ceased to exist, because the Fremen faction refused to submit to the idiotic whim of the "Council" and become pacifist hillbillies (long, long story). Having disentangled myself from that shameful mess, I just wanted to step back from SL for a bit. But last night, I ventured back into the Toxia sim, the city of demons and angels where I play the parthenogenically spawned offspring of a cyborg and a Nephilim. I spent most of the evening (as a member of the Omega Institute, which is a bit like the Talamasca, I suppose) pursuing a strange albino girl named Diva, who has a curious penchant for polka dots (which she is convinced protect her from sunlight). There are even a couple of screencaps (large ones), behind the cut. Later still, in the city morgue, Nareth freely surrendered her eyes to one of the Omega praetors, a demon named Lorne, to serve as a physical component in a complex protective ward that is being woven to protect the library from hostile incursions. It was the first good rp I've had since early February.

( Nareth and the Girl from the Circus )

But yes, Sirenia Digest #27 will be along shortly, and now Spooky is calling me away for dinner and Kindernacht. Oh, and I almost forgot. Please do have a look at the current eBay auctions. Thank you!

Winter returned to Atlanta with a vengeance. Lows in the 20s, windchills in the teens. Ugh. But we're supposed to be back up into the 60s by Saturday.

I spent yesterday on Sirenia Digest #27. I read over the story that is not called "Untitled 33," but is, in fact, called "Beatification," and made a few edits. It's dark, visceral, but I think it's also one of the most intensely erotic pieces I've yet written for the Digest. I wrote a longer-than-usual prolegomena. Oh, and I'd decided the day before, after talking with my agent about Joey Lafaye, that I'd include Chapter One of the book in this issue, as a sort of "sneak preview." Anyway, back to yesterday, I also picked two older pieces, because we've got quite a few new subscribers this month, and I wanted to give them a better idea of what the Digest is like on those months when I've not had to deal with dental trauma and the flu and such. I chose "The Sphinx's Kiss" and "Untitled 23." Both of these stories include a Vince Locke illustration. So, this month is an extra-long issue, 47 pages, including 9,567 words of previously unpublished fiction. At this point, I'm just waiting on the final inks of Vince's illustration for "Beatification" before sending the issue out to be PDFed. It should go out to subscribers tonight or tomorrow.

Not a whole lot else to report in this entry. I've been watching far too much television, including a marathon of seven episodes of Angel Tuesday night, which brought us to the end of Season Three. Last night, we watched Wes Anderson's The Darjeeling Limited (including the short "Part 1" feature, The Hotel Chevalier), which I loved. Wes Anderson has become one of my favorite "new" directors. I've dubbed his films morosely upbeat, which seems about right. Spooky made a wonderful chicken soup last night, with tomatoes and kale, tons of garlic and mushrooms, thyme, sage, bay, and so forth.

Please have a look at the current eBay auctions if you have not yet done so. Bid if you are able and so inclined. This is probably the only copy of the Japanese translation of the Beowulf novelization that I'll be able to offer. Also, I think the new edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder should be shipping any day now (unless it already has). I believe, at this point, the edition is 80% sold out, so if you haven't ordered, and you intend to, now would be better than later.

Time to make the doughnuts....

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...

A strange barrage of dreams just before waking this morning, or a barrage of strange dreams. More likely the latter. The dreams were stranger than the barrage itself. You were there, sovay. A staircase that seemed to lead unexpected places, places that it should not. A five-and-a-half-minute staircase. I really wish I could remember more of it.

I have fallen off the horse, as they say. Between the sickness, worrying about the sickness and the bills it has spawned, the exhaustion, the winter, and the easy distractions of technology, I have fallen off the horse.That is, I am not writing. I have not written since the 30th, and I have more dental surgery on Wednesday, which is helping to keep me from getting back on the horse. But...the horse is all that matters. I am now dreadfully behind on this novel — behind in the sense that it has a due date, and I can only write so fast, and I will not rush it. Regardless of my health, regardless of uncertainty, I have to start writing again. As soon as possible or sooner. It does not matter if I only want to go back to bed every day. It matters that Joey Lafaye is written and written well, as I am a writer, and a writer who does not write is no longer a writer. I suppose this is what they call a "pep talk." From me to me and aimed at no one and nothing else.

And now, that I have been shown so much generosity, and now that at least the financial worries have been greatly lessened, that's an excuse I can't use to justify the fact that I am not writing. Since I became a writer, or rather, a published author, I have written through illness and chaos, through pain and doubt, and that's all I have to do now. Something I have done plenty enough times before. What I will do so long as I am alive.

And yes, I am rather saddened by the news of Roy Scheider's death. And despite all the unfortunate films he took part in, he also made some very fine films — Jaws, All That Jazz, Sorcerer, Marathon Man, etc..

---

The eBay auctions continue. Also, if you can, please consider a subscription to Sirenia Digest. Or pick up one of the new mass-market paperback editions of the novels. Once again, here are the links to the correct Amazon pages:

Daughter of Hounds

Silk

Threshold

Low Red Moon

I think that I am beginning to favor A is for Alien for the title of the sf collection. That was my original title, and I only began to consider others because Neil released M is for Magic last year, and I sort of felt that I'd been beaten to the punch. I was probably being silly.

---

Not much else to say about yesterday. There was a walk that should have been longer, but the wind made my teeth and ears ache, so we didn't get very far at all. Last night, I tried to watch a National Geographic channel documentary on the consequences of global warming, but it was one of those cases where things had been dumbed so far down and were being stated so poorly that I gave up after an hour. We watched another episode of Angel ("The Shroud of Rahmon"). We went to bed.

Oh, and once again, the link to the transcript from Shahrazad's Water of Life ceremony, which I finally finished and posted. I tried to make this one less like a transcript, more like prose, where possible. It's sort of like writing.

And lastly, a rather nice review of the Beowulf novelization at "The Book Swede and his Blog."

Colder again today, but knowing that spring is near helps.

Here's a nice little write up from "The Agony Column" regarding the forthcoming third edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. The piece was posted way back on November 11th, but I only just saw it yesterday. Obviously, I don't agree with its take on the cover of the Meisha-Merlin edition, but that is a small affair. I do rather adore being called an "odd writer," especially when that comment is followed with these sorts of comments: Her work is at once visionary and hyper-real, shrouded in the supernatural yet anchored in the gritty evocation of our hardscrabble lives. Reading almost anything she has written, you might find yourself thinking "Faulkner" one second and "Lovecraft" the next. These are not names or styles that rest comfortably close beyond those pages penned by Kiernan. So, yes, thank you, Rick Kleffel. Lovecraft and Faulkner I can live with.

When I was talking to Bill Schafer at subpress yesterday (or was it the day before?) about the sf collection, he told me that I "could not allow this book to become a burden." And he's right. A big part of what he was referring to is the nightmare of copy-editing and revision I took upon myself in preparing the ms. for the third edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Between my poor health and all the work that must be done for Sirenia Digest and the writing of Joey Lafaye, there simply is not time or energy to put myself through that again. Fortunately, however, all the stories that will be included in the sf collection are recent, and I have not yet grown uncomfortable with their voices, or, rather, with the voice I wrote them in. The oldest of the stories, "Riding the White Bull," was written in 2003 (as opposed to 1994 with Tales of Pain and Wonder). But yes, no burden this time out. I promise.

---

Again, my great thanks for the generosity, the donations that have come in the last four days, the eBay bids, the well wishes, and the new Sirenia Digest subscribers (some from as far away as Australia!). All of you, thanks. I thought about trying to list everyone by name, but the list would be gigantic, and I would inevitably leave someone out. So, please accept this blanket expression of my gratitude. For now, the medical/dental expenses are covered, which I find nothing short of amazing, given how worried I was about money as recently as Wednesday morning. Now, I can simply concentrate on getting well and getting Joey Lafaye written, and that is such a huge relief that it is rather dizzying. Overwhelming, as I have said. You guys are the draddest, which is to say, you rock. I'm not putting the PayPal button up again today, but the eBay auctions continue, and it's never too late to subscribe to the Digest.

---

About 5:30 pm yesterday, we had a walk. The weather was good, just a little nip in the air. The dogwoods have buds. The Narcissus do, as well, and the Camellias have bloomed. Mostly, we walked up and down Sinclair, as far south and east as the intersection with Carmel Avenue. There are a few photos behind the cut:

( February 9, 2008 )

---

Last night, well, not much to last night, but we did catch two new episodes of Torchwood. And now, the platypus says I'm being a slacker, and the coffee has not yet magically appeared. Damned unreliable caffeine gnomes.

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.

---

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.

---

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.

I suspect this won't be much of an entry. There simply is not much to say. We read all the way through Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye yesterday, and it's not bad. It's actually pretty good, but I know it won't be good enough, and that there's nothing I can do about that. I'll send it to my agent today, along with Chapter One and the Prologue, my agent and a few other "first readers," and see what their reactions are. Hopefully, they will be positive enough that I can continue this novel. That I can find the enthusiasm to finish this novel. After reading the chapter, I spent the rest of the afternoon making line edits, rewriting a few sentences, and that sort of thing. The drama of writing.

The weather is supposed to be warmer tomorrow. I hope so.

Last night, nothing much but television, that place I go when I'm too lazy too entertain myself and so would have something else do it for me. Four more episodes from Season One of Angel ("Five by Five," "Sanctuary," "Warzone," and "Blind Date"). I got to bed at some decently early hour. The dreams are not worth recounting.

There are eBay auctions ending today, so do please have a look. Thanks.

It's Imbolc, but I'm not sure I'm up for even one of mine and Spooky's private little rituals. I will likely take the knowledge that we are now halfway to the Vernal Equinox and try to make do with that.

Ah, here's something I won't be glum about. This morning Bill Schafer at subpress sent me the galley pages for the forthcoming anthology, Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy. It will include one of my sf stories, "The Steam Dancer," as well as stories by Poppy Z. Brite, Joe R. Lansdale, Kage Baker, Mike Carey, Tim Powers, Joe Hill, Mike Resnick, Patrick Rothfuss, William Browning Spencer, Darren Speegle, and Rachel Swirsky. Oh, and a cover by Dave McKean. I believe it's scehduled to be released sometime this summer.

Well, occasional bouts of dreamsickness and insomnia aside, I seem to have a better handle on this sleeping trick lately. My nightly average is drifting back towards eight hrs., and for a long time there it was, at best, only six or seven. Now if I can just force myself to start exercising again, endeavor to stay hydrated, keep the stress in my life under control, see the dentist, remember to eat a minimum of 2,000 calories a day, and take my bloody vitamins, I might be able to pull myself together again.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,238 words and found the end of Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye. That brings the total word count for the chapter to 7,728 (as compared to 7,357 for Chapter One). I am aiming for somewhat shorter chapters in this novel. In Daughter of Hounds, I believe the average chapter length was something like 10,000 words, and I think maybe, in the case of this particular book, shorter is better. Today, we will read back over all of Chapter Two, before I begin Chapter Three. Already, I can see that there will be fans of Silk and Threshold who are likely to be disappointed in this book, not only because it's more "fantasy" and less "horror," but because it'll likely be deemed "talky" (this peculiar criticism was leveled at Daughter of Hounds), as I'm placing more emphasis on dialogue and less on the setting of mood. It's a conscious decision. These days, I'm just far more interested in what my characters have to say to one another than I am in evoking mood. Maybe I'm compensating for the fact that I so rarely speak to people face-to-face anymore.

It's cooler today, pretending to be winter again.

Last night, after dinner, I made some corrections to the Dune: Apocalypse transcript I mentioned in yesterday's entry. Then we watched last week's Project Runway. Chris said something wonderful — "It's so cute to watch youth." I think I want that in needlepoint on a sampler or something. Then we watched a couple more episodes of Angel ("The Ring" and "Eternity"; I especially liked the latter, partly because there was very little Cordelia). That was yesterday, pretty much.

Thanks to the people who have bid in this round of eBay auctions. All but one of the auctions ends tomorrow, so please have a look.

Here's something I've been hesitant to bring up, but I think I risk being rude by not bringing it up. I think two people may have purchased DVDs for me from my Amazon.com wishlist (as they are no longer on my wishlist), but neither has actually shown up yet. It's possible this is just a frell up on Amazon's part, but I don't want to not say "thank you" to someone who has a "thank you" coming. So, if, perchance, you're the person who bought me Sunshine or The Call of Cthulhu, you might want to say something to Amazon, as I have seen neither hide nor hair of either. And don't get me started about hairy DVDs.

Later today, I want to post a poll, what was your favourite letter from "The Crimson Alphabet," something like that. I'm just sort of curious. Also, I do hope people are enjoying #26. Thanks for the comments I've received on it so far; more are certainly welcome.

And here it is, January 31st already, and tomorrow is Imbolc.

Insomnia, my dearest fucking friend. Without you, where would I be? How many dreams have you saved me from so far? I think I got maybe five hours sleep this morning. Maybe. Awake for good since 7:45 a.m. or so (CaST), after not getting to sleep until sometime around three.

A shame that LJ Rabbit Hole Day does not appear to have caught on.

Day before yesterday, which would have been Saturday, I wrote 1,132 words on Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye, and I might have reached the chapter's end. Maybe not. I have not yet decided.

Yesterday, after a long, hot bath (increasingly rare as I try to be a good Atlantian and conserve our quickly diminishing water supply), I read over Part Two of the "The Crimson Alphabet" and then "The Collector of Bones." Then I made a great number of line edits to each and wrote a very short prolegomena for Sirenia Digest #26. By six p.m. or so, I had the issue laid out and send it to Gordon (thingunderthest) to be PDFed. So, yeah, the new issue will go out later today, and there's still time to subscribe. In fact, anyone who subscribes between now and midnight tonight will get #25 free, just because I'm in sort of a good mood (sleep or no sleep).

Today will mostly be a day off, as I have not had one in a week or so. We may wind up at the Fernbank Museum of Natural History, or a matinée, or I may just go back to bed. I'll have to see what sort of mood Spooky's in (she's still asleep, the lucky nixar). The weather sems like it will be warmer and sunny today. It's already 37F, and they're promising 60F. Howard Hughes needs some sunlight and fresh air.

And here are a couple of screencaps from Shahrazad's Water of Life Ceremony/Taud last Wednesday night. I didn't really take many, as I always lose myself in rp and forget to get screencaps. Also, I never seem to take good screencaps (blu_muse, how do you do it?). We had a nice crowd, about twenty people, and I know lots of images were taken, so more should surface. Have I mentioned that Second Life is the Best. Toy. Ever? Yeah, I thought I had. Anyway, yes, behind the cut (probably not 100% work-safe):

( Fear is the little death )

Anyway, yeah. Watch for Sirenia Digest #26. It'll show grace your in-boxes sometime today. Also, please have a look at the new round of eBay auctions. Thanks!

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.

This blasted cold. The meteorologists promise warmer weather this weekend and next week. But it's winter, winter in a temperate zone, and, in winter, Georgia is supposed to get a bit cold. My desire for warm weather is really neither here nor there, only a subjective matter. But as Thom Yorke wrote, "It wears me out."

A writing day yesterday, but not one I should crow about. I did a meager 560 words on Chapter Two. I understand this chapter now, and that has lead to understanding much about the novel that, previously, was misunderstood. But it is also a bit of a course change, and this is a big story to steer. It does not turn on a dime. It's rather more like turning an ocean liner, I suspect. All I need are 30 or so degrees to starboard, but that's gonna take some effort and time. The latter commodity is especially scarce. And I had to call the pyrotechnics crew I didn't think I'd need for this book and inform them that, not only do I need them, I need them in Chapter Two. My goal is to do twelve hundred words today. There is not time for this silly fumbling about in the dark.

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The dream was back last night (other dreams, too, but I'm only sharing or inflicting this one). Last night or this morning, I am not exactly sure. A long conversation with the orange man, and now I know he has a name, but I cannot recall what it is. Most of the conversation is also lost to me, as too much has faded. But I think, in the dream, he was once my lover, though I suspect I may have only been using him in some sort of set up I have yet to fully comprehend. He kept telling me how tired I look, how thin. I know this part happened after he was shot, because he isn't wearing a shirt, and there's a large bloodstained gauze pad taped across part of his right shoulder. And later, I was in a very narrow plastic shower stall, in my cabin on the balloon, I think, and I was crying and couldn't stop. I sat down in the lukewarm spray from the shower head, and my hands were shaking, and somewhere there was something like an alarm sounding, but the noise was made muffled and indistinct by the shower and the walls.

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I have an official date now for my upcoming appearance at the O'Neil Literary House at Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland. It will not be in April, but rather March 21-22 (Friday and Saturday). And I am also very pleased to report that I will be joined by Lovecraft scholar S.T. Joshi. It should be grand.

I am also happy to report that Shahrazad al-Anwar's Water of Life ceremony went extremely well last night. It was really an amazing thing, and I can't believe we pulled it off, and I'll post some screencaps later today, after the writing.

Now the platypus is glaring at me with a baleful eye, telling me that Ceiling Cat will not be pleased if I don't "get cracking," and, besides, I must have coffee. More later...

Postscript (1:44 p.m.): Klaus Nomi would have turned 64 today.

Winter finally came with a fucking vengeance, and right when I began having the inevitable trouble with Joey Lafaye. Or there is no coincidence here at all, and the cold weather has brought the difficulties. Bitter cold for Atlanta. And wet and just vile. And this house is a sieve, not good in weather of this sort, no insulation to speak of, so hot baths are the only genuine way to escape the cold for a little while. But, it looks as though we have sun today, which should warm things up a little (even if it also means bottomless carnivorous skies).

As I have said before, I can only write, "Yesterday I did not write" so many times before I start wanting to gouge my eyes out with rusty grapefruit spoons. That's why there was no entry yesterday. But yesterday I think I finally found What Happens Next, which was nothing at all like what I thought would happen next, and if I am right and this is the scene I've been looking for, it will violently change the tone of this novel. It'll also mean I have to do a slight rewrite on the prologue. But, so far, it feels like what happens next. We shall see.

On Saturday, the post brought me six copies of the Italian translation of the Beowulf novelization, and I discovered that in Italy it was printed as a hardcover. Then, yesterday, the post brought a big box from HarperCollins with copies of the Portugese, Korean, and Polish translations. All three are trade paperbacks, and all three are more attractive than the little American mmp edition. But the Korean edition, which does not use the movie poster art for the cover, is absolutely beautiful. It even has glitter on the spine! And no, I have no idea what the hell glitter has to do with Beowulf, but damn it's a pretty book. I should also note that the Korean publisher was the only one who bothered to consult with me during the translation, and that there is, of course, irony in that the book recently had that very vocal Korean detractor on Amazon.com. I've never had any American edition of any of my novels look half so wonderful as this Korean translation (excluding, of course, the beautiful subpress editions). So, yeah, that was a welcome diversion, the novelization in all these many languages. I really want to see it in French and German now.

Last night, Spooky dragged me out into the cold, because I'd not left the house since Friday, before the coming of the snow. We had marvelously hot Thai food, and that helped, and then she drove me past the gargantuan snowman someone built in Freedom Park, which will likely take another week to melt.

Tonight is a big night for me in Second Life, as it is the night that my Dune character, Shahrazad al-Anwar, Fremen Naib, has her Taud, her Water of Life ceremony, entering the Sayyadina, undergoing the spice agony, changing the water for the spice orgy, and so forth. I am actually nervous. Like, stage-fright jitters. Plus, assuming Shah survives, she will have become the first Naib who is also her tribe's Reverend Mother (she's already the first female Naib). And there's all sorts of intrigue and weirdness, and all the factions (as observers) and Fremen from the other two Dune sims are invited...so, yeah, stage fright. So, a big night for Dune:Apocalypse this evening, and hence the Shai-Hulud icon for this entry. The ceremony begins at about 7 p.m. SLT, which is 11 p.m. CaST, so I have about ten hours and twenty minutes until the curtain goes up. I think someone's going to shoot video for YouTube, so hopefully I can link to that eventually.

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Coffee's getting cold, so that's all for now. I must make the words. I must stop second guessing myself and write the words. Meanwhile, may Shai-Hulud clear the path before you.

Er, I think yesterday is what I call a train wreck. Workwise, and just about every other sort of wise. No, not a train wreck. That's an exaggeration. Yesterday was unable to summon the requisite ambition to become a train wreck. More like a mystifying waste.

I edited Saturday's pages from Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye, and then I sat and stared at the iMac's screen for, well, I don't know. A long time. But whatever comes next would not show itself to me. And in the empty space left by the absence of writing, self doubt began to accumulate. Am I writing a book I shouldn't be writing? Is this going to be a disaster? Has my desire to write something genuinely different from all I have written before only led me into a cage? Those sorts of questions.

All the while, these two guys sat on my desk and stared at me:

( Ignatius and Sweet William )

And finally, Spooky came into my office, and we talked about the book, and the characters, and why I was having so much trouble. Maybe that helped. Maybe it didn't. I don't yet know. But nothing new was written, except for the aforementioned edits. Finally, at about 5 p.m., I'd had enough and read "Ashputtle, or the Mother's Ghost: Three Versions of One Story" (1987) by Angela Carter and "The Women" (1948) by Ray Bradbury (from the fine new subpress edition of I Sing the Body Electric!; thank you, Bill). I wanted to read something by Shirley Jackson, but after those two stories, my eyes were burning too badly. I don't know why I can stare at the computer or television without eye pain, but reading gets me almost immediately. Instead of Shirley Jackson, I had a hot bath and finally got warm. I ate a can of ravioli. I suppose some people might have called that lunch. I puttered about the house, and I stared out at ugly, unmelted clumps of snow. I got an email from Jessica and Rogue that I need to answer. An aimless, randomness seemed to hang over the day. Spooky got takeaway "urban food logs" for dinner (a euphemism for burritos I stole from docbrite).

After dinner, I finished editing a transcript from a recent Second Life Dune roleplay. You can read it here, if you're up for such a thing. The part of Shahrazad is played by me. Then Spooky and I watched what was surely one of the absolute worst movies I have ever had the misfortune to sit all the way through. I admit I have not chronicled the film-making career of Ulli Lommel, and only knew him from his somewhat effective 1973 Die Zärtlichkeit der Wölfe (The Tenderness of Wolves). Anyway, the Ulli Lommel film we watched last night was Zombie Nation (2004), and, well, I'm still a little amazed we sat through all 81 minutes of the thing. The whole mess appeared to have been filmed in a warehouse, there was no evidence of a script, and no one actually bothered to act. The zombie makeup consisted of smudged eyeliner. At the very end, say the last three minutes, the film seemed to decide it must be a comedy, because what the hell else could it be. And Lionsgate is actually distributing this drek. Anyway, after that, there was a little more Second Life, as I struggled to avoid sleep for as long as possible.

Please have a look at the current eBay autions. Danke.

I have a dentist appointment tomorrow in Birmingham, but I doubt I'll make it. I just don't see that happening. When I am toothless, someone remind me of my indifference.

Okay. Coffee, and the platypus is sharpening hisherit's spurs, and Sweet William and Iggy are staring at me.

I swear to fuck (it's not like I can convincingly swear to god), if it just were not for sleep, this whole being alive thing would be at least hundred times more palatable. But, I'll get back to that in a minute or fifteen.

Yesterday, I did 1,003 words on Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye. Which was just enough that I didn't have to feel guilty. I'd have made 1,200, but the snow was a constant source of distraction. I think it went well, the writing. Having already introduced Ignatius and Joey on Thursday, yesterday I introduced Sweet William, who is Ignatius' brother. It's a scene set just north of Philomath on the road to Athens, and I could not help but take a jab at the South. I swore I would refrain in this book from taking the South to task for all its endless wretchedness, because I'm tired of doing that, and it's not like most of the rest of this country doesn't have it's own fair share of rednecks and scuttlefish. But, I went and did it anyway. I think it's a case of resentment. This novel was supposed to be set in Westerly and Watch Hill, Rhode Island, not Georgia. But, here I am, still stuck in Georgia, and it was such a magnificent bitch setting Daughter of Hounds in Rhode Island when I was sitting here in Georgia, I just couldn't put myself through that again. And there really is some scary-ass shit in the boonies southeast of Athens.

As for the snow yesterday, it must have started about noon and kept up almost all the way to dark (just before 7 p.m. CaST). It stayed warm enough that the road only got slushy, and we never lost power. It had actually started melting before the day was over, but at the height of the storm, we must have had at least two inches. Today, there are still patches, but they'll melt away very soon. Anyway, while I was writing, Spooky took some photos (behind the cut):

( Snow Day #2 )

A phone call from Bill Schafer at subpress this morning, and I hope I was coherent. I'd not been out of bed very long, and I was having trouble remembering how my mouth worked. But, among other things, we talked about Tales of Pain and Wonder, and the generation ship on a water planet story that might replace The Dinosaurs of Mars, and the next erotica collection. I made some grim joke about the uncertainty of life after Joey Lafaye. And so it goes.

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After leaving me alone long enough that I was convinced it would not be back, the latest recurring dream recurred this morning. All the stuff I've mentioned before: the "space balloon," the orange man showing up with a bullet wound, me taking it out of him, the dining "car"/lounge, etc. But something new, as well. And I wish I'd made notes when I woke, because it's getting murky now. Then again, forgetting is better, most likely. I was moving down one of the balloon's narrow corridors, and there was a very pretty woman in furs and some sort of black plastic respirator fitted to her mouth and nose. It muffled her voice. She stopped me, talking about how "these flights are never on time," and slipped a foil triangle into my hand. Then she pushed past me, and I stood there holding the triangle, watching as it slowly unfolded, becoming a sort of rhomboid. In the dream, I understood what it was, and slipped it into an inner pocket of my coat. After holding it, I wanted badly to wash my hands. And then the "scene" shifted, the way dreams shift, and I was in a bombed-out concrete building somewhere, and it was so cold, freezing. Brutally cold. And the woman with the respirator was holding a knife to my throat and talking about "challenge response systems" (which I know is something I got from Bowie's Outside) and the South Korean Ministry of Information and Communication (and I have no idea where that came from). I could taste blood, and there was lightning, now and then. I sincerely wish that the Ambien had not ceased to have the dream dampening effects (or rather, the effect of causing me to forget dreams immediately upon waking) that I experienced with it for so long. Now I have this dreamsickness, and I'm trying to shake it off.

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Please have a look at the current eBay. Thanks.

I suppose it's time to wrap this up and beg for coffee,