I don't know what I'd do without Paul Riddell (sclerotic_rings). He keeps me informed, as I squat here in my book-lined niche, afraid to go out into that wide, wacky world of wailing Xtians and Wal-Mart shoppers. For example, without him, I might have missed that Bill Stout (who I've not talked with since Dragon*Con several years back, when we had dinner together) is publishing Prehistoric Life Murals this October. Yay! But, then again, I also would not have to know about Rachel Donadio's article in the New York Times, which reports that even though the number of readers in the US keeps dropping (and don't get me started about illiteracy and functional illiteracy rates in the US), the number of people publishing books keeps going up. Well, skyrocketing, actually. Some 400,000 books were "published or distributed" in 2007 (up from 300,000 in 2006!), but, it should be noted, this figure includes print-on-demand and strictly self-published authors. As of this ayem (16:34 GMT [EST+5]), there are 303,957,569 people in the US (according to the US Census Bureau's "U.S. POPClock Projection,") so this means that slightly more than one tenth of one percent of the US population is being published. This despite "a recent report by the National Endowment for the Arts which found that 53 percent of Americans surveyed hadn’t read a book in the previous year." And maybe it ought not, but somehow, to me, this just all doesn't add up. It freaks me out, even if I can't quite say why. To quote Mark McGurl, an associate professor of English at the University of California, Los Angeles (quoted in the NYT article), "...given the manifold distractions of modern life, we now have more great writers working in the United States than anyone has the time or inclination to read.” It seems like everyone wants to talk and be heard, but very few want to listen. As Gabriel Zaid, author of So Many Books: Reading and Publishing in an Age of Abundance, has said, "Everyone now can afford to preach in the desert.”

Anyway, yesterday I wrote 1,174 words on "Rappaccini's Dragon." Not too bad. I also packed five boxes of books and gave my set of the British Museum prehistoric animals a much needed bath. They get dusty. This collection was assembled between 1984 and 1997, and includes specimens purchased in museum gift shops from Kansas to New York City to London — but I'm still missing the ultra-rare Dimetrodon. Spooky took a photo, because the whole thing seemed to amuse her. I think she's putting it in her LJ tomorrow.

I did not leave the house. We watched the ninth and tenth episodes from Season One of Millennium, and I want a T-shirt that reads, "Frank Black lived for your sins." I did a bunch of Second Life, which I'm actually trying hard to cut back on, if only because I'm growing bloody fucking puking sick of Leetspeak, "txttlking" morons with "names" like Ididyomama229 Potroast, Sexyslut Fishgold, and Restroom Janitor. But...the Museum's coming along quite nicely. In more annoying news, one of the teeth I cracked during the Great October Seizure has started aching again, despite the work done on it in February, and so now I have to contemplate having it extracted and recovering during the same month we have to ready for the move, while I also have to try to keep up with all my deadlines.

Today, we sign the lease on the Providence apartment.

Oh, something cool from Spooky's mother and father. They set up a infra-red camera with an motion sensor on their farm (in RI) to catch wildlife photos. They got the following of a red fox and her cubs (behind the cut; and warning, they are LARGE photos, as I didn't have time to edit them):

( Vuples vulpes fulva )

Somehow, this post seems horridly unfocused and meandersome, so I think it best stop now.

Postscript (4:38 p.m.) — Was I not just extolling the virtues of Mr. Riddell? Well, now I have him to thank for alerting me to this article at the Washington Post, reporting the discovery by NASA of possible remains of hydrothermal springs on the surface of Mars, within the boundaries of the equatorial Vernal Crater. Booya! You can get a glimpse of the photo in question here.

So, all these many months after the release of Sunshine, the soundtrack still has not been released because one set of lawyers in not talking to another set of lawyers, or something to that effect...and I have I Am Kloot's "Avenue of Hope" stuck in my head, but can only listen to it on the DVD. And post the lyrics here:

Along the Avenue of Hope
The footsteps falter, the fingers grope
And days, stretch out, beneath the sun
No one's born, and no one dies, no one lives, so no one cries
And we wait to see just what we will become

Don't let me falter, don't let me ride
Don't let the earth in me subside
Let me see just who I will become

You're like the clouds in my home town
You just grow fat and hang around
And your days stretch out beneath the sun

And you don't live, you don't die, you don't love so you don't cry
And we wait, to see just what we will become

Don't let me borrow, don't let me bring
Don't let me wallow, don't make me sing
Let me see just who I will become

Don't let me falter, don't let me hide
Don't let someone else decide
Just who or what I will become

Don't let them borrow, don't let them bring
Don't let them wallow, don't make them sing

Also, how about Martian dunes defrosting?

The sort of thing you think you'll not live to see, and having seen it, you can only marvel that you have:

NASA Spacecraft Photographs Avalanches on Mars

A NASA spacecraft in orbit around Mars has taken the first ever image of active avalanches near the Red Planet's north pole. The image shows tan clouds billowing away from the foot of a towering slope, where ice and dust have just cascaded down.

When you click through to the photos, be sure to click the link for the high rez versions.

Somehow, August's heat wave has led directly to early autumn, with virtually no transition, not cooling by slow degrees. I have always found abrupt weather unsettling.

I had to take two Ambien last night, and I am not awake. But there is not time to wake up. At least, though, the Ambien has done its dream-memory suppressing trick, and now I only recall bits and pieces of things I have no wish to remember. Since going back on the Ambien, dreamsickness is a rarity, whereas once it was a daily affair.

The Opportunity rover is now inside Victoria Crater.

Yesterday, I did 1,233 words on "Untitled Grotesque," but did not find THE END. I must find it today. There are too many things waiting to be written. I should have gotten back to work on the "Onion" screenplay on Saturday, and I should have begun work on Joey Lafaye two months ago. I used to be very good at managing my time. I am refusing solicitations for new short stories at this point, so, from here on, it's Sirenia Digest, the screenplay, and Joey Lafaye, and it will likely be that way through the end of April 2008. Oh, wait. No. I still have a little work to be done of the 3rd edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder: I need to attend to the final edits (a day's work), expand and finish "Salammbô Redux" (née "Little Conversations"; two or three day's work); write a new intro for the collection (a day's work); and write the chapbook that's being released with the collection (hopefully only a day's work). So, with luck and determination, that's something like six more days work I have left to get the book ready for Subterranean Press by my early October deadline. And then I will only have Sirenia Digest, the "Onion" screenplay," and Joey Lafaye to worry about.

Note that you may now read "The Ape's Wife" online (for FREE) at Clarkesworld Magazine, simply by following this link. "The Ape's Wife" will also appear in the anthology Realms: The First Year of Clarkesworld, edited by Nick Mamatas and Sean Wallace, and there will also be a signed, limited print-edition chapbook of Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 12.

A couple of days back, stsisyphus asked, Is this the end of second-life journaling, or shall the adventures of a...uh, well, Nareth's adventures continue to be chronicled?

Well, it has an awfully good ending at this point, doesn't it? It seems that way to me. However, yes, I will likely continue Professor Nishi's journal, as time allows. At the moment, though, the good professor, having almost perished twelve days ago in an effort to delay the return of the Great Old Ones, is trying to live quietly, slowly recovering her health, tending to her Museum, and getting regularly snogged by Miss Paine. So, it may be a while before the adventuring begins again...she hopes.

Last night, we began reading Dune, because Spooky has never read it, and I haven't read it since college, and we're thinking we might take part in a new SL Dune sim soon.

It's almost noon, and no one has bothered to tell me how "Untitled Grotesque" ends, so I must away. But — turn not pale beloved snail, there's coffee!

Yesterday, I wrote 1,154 words of The Dinosaurs of Mars, beginning Section Five, "The Big Grim." I still have no title for Section Four. About halfway through the writing yesterday, I read "Themis characterization of the MER Gusev crater landing site" (Milam, K. A., et al. 2003. Journal of Geophysical Research), because I needed to know the approximate level of Zutphen Crater below datum. The story, and the characters, inch their way towards whatever secrets are hidden beneath Apollinaris Patera. At least I finally got them out of Kayne City. Going back to the novella today, I have absolutely no idea whatsoever what happens next. I assume the story will let me know.

And we were up much too late last night reading You Know What, so I can't even blame insomnia for my grogginess.

Just a little more than one day left on two of the current auctions. Have a look, please and thank you.

I think that's all I have this afternoon. It's time for coffee. Because the platypus is a merciful monotreme, or so I am told.

Lately, I feel like I spend more time on Mars than Earth, which ain't so bad, and things just keep getting more interesting:

"NASA Mars Rover Ready For Descent Into Crater"

"PASADENA, Calif. - NASA's Mars rover Opportunity is scheduled to begin a descent down a rock-paved slope into the Red Planet's massive Victoria Crater. This latest trek carries real risk for the long-lived robotic explorer, but NASA and the Mars Rover science team expect it to provide valuable science.

Opportunity already has been exploring layered rocks in cliffs around Victoria Crater. The team has planned the descent carefully to enable an eventual exit, but Opportunity could become trapped inside the crater or lose some capabilities. The rover has operated more than 12 times longer than its originally intended 90 days.

The scientific allure is the chance to examine and investigate the compositions and textures of exposed materials in the crater's depths for clues about ancient, wet environments. As the rover travels farther down the slope, it will be able to examine increasingly older rocks in the exposed walls of the crater."

Click the link above for the full story...

I wish I could begin this entry by saying that yesterday I wrote X number of words on The Dinosaurs of Mars, X being a number greater than one thousand. That is exactly the way I would like to begin this entry. Unfortunately, yesterday was another day of dithering, and nothing was written. I blame the eight hours of sleep. For the first time in quite a while, my mind was clearer, and suddenly the whole epistolary narrative structure I'd created for the story seemed untenable and unconvincing. Never mind the problems it had solved, because it had, I saw, created so many others. So, there was frustration and anger and panic, and I spent the day reading reports on the Mars Direct Proposal (2003) from the Mars Project and reading from the great stacks of books that have sprouted all about my desk and trying to find a new solution. It's not like this has never happened before, having so much trouble getting into a story. It's just that usually, when it does happen, the story gets shelved and then forgotten about. And this time I will not do that. So, I have to find my way in.

I don't know that I have a lot to say here today. There's too much frustration and dread. I wish I could blame what happened yesterday on a deluge of email (there was such a deluge), but that would be a lie.

I refuse to do this story the wrong way, even if that path might be the most expedient. And at this point, with so much work and so many deadlines before me, there's a lot to be said for expediency.

We could not understand because we were too far and could not remember because we were traveling in the night of First Ages, of those Ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign—and no memories. The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there—there you could look at a thing monstrous and free...

(Joseph Conrad)

We did have a good walk at dusk. There were many cats, and swallows, and bats. Spooky found half a turquoise robin's egg. Coming out on Freedom Park at Moreland Avenue, we were greeted by the sight of a blimp over downtown Atlanta, which gave me a not-unpleasant moment of disorientation.

My thanks to Mike, who made me smile this morning by sending me this photo of Nar'eth, which he took at Dragon*Con in 2003. Seems a million years ago. The photo's behind the cut. I think it's actually one of the best I've ever seen of her:

( A rare shot of Nar'eth without her gloves on )

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 )

Asleep at two a.m. last night (all times CaST), and then, five hours later, the blink of a sleeping eye, I woke at seven a.m. So I lay in bed trying to find my way back down to sleep. I listened to Spooky sleeping, to Hubero roaming the hall, to the sounds the heater makes, to a truck somewhere down the street. About 7:45, birds began to sing. At eight o'clock I gave up and crawled to my desk. I sat here and watched the sun rise, bringing bleak light but no warmth. And I think I must have passed delirious about three this afternoon, right after the Red Bull that didn't wake me up, but did a fine job of making me jittery. Yeah, insomnia. Or whatever. Night after night after night, but this was the worst in some time.

And yet, I still managed a very respectable 1,878 words today. Oh, and I talked with my publicist in NYC. After the writing, we went for a very short walk. It's wicked cold (as they say in Boston). Even Spooky the Exiled Yankee was chilled to the bone after only a few minutes in that wind. Even she of the Great White North, slayer of polar and walrusi, even she says it's cold. We only made it as far as the corner, where we grabbed the new issue of Creative Loafing and headed straight the @#!@%@! back home. And proofed Chapter Three of Low Red Moon. Yay me. Even asleep and delirious, the frelling work gets done. Sure, I have bags beneath my eyes and my heart's beating funny and every time I stand for longer than five minutes it feels like I'm on a boat (on a rough sea). But the work gets done. Because. Who the frell else would ever do this crap if not for me. Ah, but I do love Narcissa. She's something I got right. It's easy when you're only writing yourself, when it's only some dim shade of fictional autobiography. See? You guys benefit from my sleep deprivation. I'll regret having said that tomorrow. Narcissa Snow and her razor blades and her dead mother's diary. That's my favorite chapter in the whole damn book.

We should have done two chapters, but I lost the ability to distinguish between commas and semi-colons.

Mars changes even as The Dinosaurs of Mars slowly comes together in my mind. That is, actual discoveries, such as liquid water, and imagined "discoveries," like the goofballs who think they've spotted a humanoid skull lying on the surface at Gusev Crater (though they seem to generously concede it might only be the head of a humanoid statue). If these fools keep it up, they'll get the book written before I do. I mean, no one on Earth is going to believe I didn't get the idea from this website. I wish someone out there would just would send these folks out into a desert and make them sit still and look at rocks for about a week. Let them learn to tell the difference between perception and reality, between shadow and form. Yes, Virginia, optical illusions are fer real. And then there's all the fun you can have with PhotoShop. But still, I must bow before the bold paranoia of this paragraph:

Yes they are watching me dispense this information to you but really they are sitting back using me and even more watching you to gauge your reactions or lack of same to this information. Further, the secrecy controller types aren't the only ones watching you. Will the sleeper awaken? Only you can decide.

Will the sleeper awaken? No, that's really what it says.

But, remember...only you can decide. By the way, this guy isn't so good with commas, either.

Uh...what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. For a limited time, you may purchase all 13 back issues of Sirenia Digest for only $100, and we'll even throw in a free signed copy of the tpb of Silk. That's a savings of $44! This offer only applies to people have not yet subscribed, of course. But new subs still get the free signed copy of the tpb of Silk. Why? Because we like you. This offer lasts only so long as my whim may dictate.

You do realise that I'm typing this in my sleep, right? Human skulls on Mars. Yep, that's a CRK dream if ever there was one.

Meanwhile, in case you missed this a few days ago:

I'm reposting (below) the information regarding the new subpress mini interview, in case you missed it yesterday: (uh...)

The aforementioned Sirenia Digest mini interview is now up at Subterranean Press. Just click here. Also, subpress has kindly posted an excerpt from "The Cryomancer's Daughter (Murder Ballad No. 3)" (from Sirenia Digest No. 8, July '06), which you can reach by clicking here. Or, you may reach both from the subpress news page (click, then scroll down). I'm hoping we see a few more subscribers. As They say, our operators are standing by. Also, Saturday Dec. 2nd, proclaims the platypus, is a grand day to pre-order Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

Note that part of the fourth question is missing. It should read: SubPress: And just what do you mean when you talk about what the Sirenia Digest website calls "darkly fantastic erotica"?

Now I'm gonna wake up. Thanks. Drive around, please.

The anticipated press release from NASA confirms new photographic evidence for liquid H20 on Mars within the last seven years!

NASA Images Suggest Water Still Flows in Brief Spurts on Mars

NASA photographs have revealed bright new deposits seen in two gullies on Mars that suggest water carried sediment through them sometime during the past seven years.

"These observations give the strongest evidence to date that water still flows occasionally on the surface of Mars," said Michael Meyer, lead scientist for NASA's Mars Exploration Program, Washington.

Liquid water, as opposed to the water ice and water vapor known to exist at Mars, is considered necessary for life. The new findings heighten intrigue about the potential for microbial life on Mars. The Mars Orbiter Camera on NASA's Mars Global Surveyor provided the new evidence of the deposits in images taken in 2004 and 2005.

"The shapes of these deposits are what you would expect to see if the material were carried by flowing water," said Michael Malin of Malin Space Science Systems, San Diego. "They have finger-like branches at the downhill end and easily diverted around small obstacles." Malin is principal investigator for the camera and lead author of a report about the findings published in the journal Science.

Martian microbes ahoy!

I've got a whole bunch of science links that have been piling up the last few days, things I've meant to post and haven't...but this first one is the biggest and the best of the lot:

From Nasawatch.com: Water Spotted on Surface of Mars: That is, liquid water. Aqua vitae. The wet stuff. I quote:

According to an item first posted by Aviation Week and Space Technology magazine: "NASA is ready to announce major new findings about the presence of water currently emerging onto the surface of Mars.

If confirmed, this would increase the possibility that microbial life could have existed recently or possibly exists now on the Martian surface. The potential seepage of ground water onto or near the surface has been a key area of investigation by the Mars Global Surveyor spacecraft (AW&ST Nov. 27, pp. 53-55).

Also...from NewScienceSpace: 13 things that do not make sense. Which is to say, the mysteries of science that make science so damn wonderful. Dark matter. Dark energy. Tetraneutrons. Etc.

And...at Geotimes...Meteorite pre-dates solar system.

Finally, another bit of good news: House GOP Pulls Offshore Drilling Bill:

House Republicans abruptly pulled from floor action Tuesday a bill to open a large area of the eastern Gulf of Mexico to oil and gas drilling after it became clear the legislation lacked the two-thirds vote needed for passage.

It would open 8.3 million acres of the Gulf that is now off limits to drilling...Republicans leaders gave no reason for the decision.

But an aide to a lawmaker strongly supporting the legislation said that a number of Republicans withdrew their support at the last minute and some Democrats also had signaled they would not support the measure.

That's 8.3 million acres that are safe...at least for the time being.

Okay. Brush teeth. Beg Spooky for story. Sleep.

Another day off. Probably the last I can afford until November. Make the most of it.

Tomorrow, I shall get back to work on Sirenia Digest 11 (subscribe now) and The Dinosaurs of Mars.

It's cold here again. The L5P Halloween parade is this afternoon, but I'm feeling too reclusive to be bothered. Spooky might wander out that way. I've considered trying to sleep all day.

I'm not going to say much about The Prestige, because it's the sort of movie you could easily spoil for someone. But I loved it. Especailly David Bowie as Tesla. I'm really not crazy about Hugh Jackman, and I think that's my only complaint and it hardly seems valid. Besides, Christian Bale, Scarlett Johansson, Andy Serkis, and Michael Caine more than made up for him. And, er, David Bowie as Tesla. I was so dazzled by the props and costumes that I found myself losing track of the story at times. It's a beautiful, beautiful film. And Thom Yorke's "Anaylse" was the perfect song for the credits. Now I must see Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette.

Oh, and last week I promised myself four-words per "review" for this weekend's comments on the Friday night SFC line-up, didn't I? Okay, here goes:

Heroes: Still optimistic. Not convinced.

Dr. Who: I miss Christopher Eccleston.

Battlestar Galactica: Best episode this season.

My thanks to shadowmeursault for pointing me towards the new platypus skull icon.

After Battlestar Galactica, we switched over to TCM and watched Carl Theodor Dreyer's Vampyr - Der Traum des Allan Grey (1932), long a favourite of mine. I love the scene where Sybille Schmitz (Leone) watches Rena Mandel (Gisele) with that wide, predatory grin.

Later still, I tried to read something about the geochemistry of Martian soil, but got too sleepy, so Spooky read me a few pages from one of Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat novels (which she's been devouring) until I dozed off.

Old Business: It was not a nutria. It didn't even look like a nutria, but I do appreciate the suggestions that it might have been a nutria. However, the genus hasn't been recorded in northern Georgia, and there's no significant body of water nearby. Actually, the mystery of the Candler Park Wombat may have been solved. Yesterday, on the way back from getting dinner, Spooky spotted a dead possum just a few streets over from our house. "It's a black possum," she said, and so I asked her to please turn the car around so I could get a better look. And yes, it was a mostly black possum. It was dead, hit by a car, lying at the edge of the street on its left side. Its tail was curled up into a ball. It's face was white. Sad, really, as I've always had a soft spot for hideous little things, a category which certainly includes possums. But I began to see how what I saw early Saturday morning might only have been a possum, perhaps this very same possum lying dead on the street. In the shadows and streetlight, there could easily have been a trick of contrast. I might have seen the dark trundling body and missed the lighter tail and face (the face was turned away from me). This could have presented the illusion of a stockier, tailless, short-faced animal. So, perhaps not one marsupial but another. One that was not misplaced.

It's bloody frelling cold here, but at least the coffee has arrived. The good news, heating costs in Atlanta have dropped by 15% over last year. Still, I refuse to run the gas heat.

New Business: The writing went well yesterday. I did 1,078 words on "The Ammonite Violin (Murder Ballad #4)." I am, however, just shy of panic. Too many deadlines pressing in on me. None that I can cut loose. No sacrifices. Each thing is equally important. It's a bit terrifying.

The "story" behind The Dinosaurs of Mars continues to elude me.

I did get caught up on my e-mail, at least.

Last night, when I should have been reading, we watched David Slade's Hard Candy (2005), a remarkably tense and well-executed thriller. Little Red Riding Hood as 14-year-old vigilante. Superb. Unfortunately, we followed it with David Schmoeller's Crawlspace (1986), a film so insufferably dull that it made 80 minutes seem like three hours. Even my Klaus Kinski fetish couldn't redeem this one. At least it was showing on IFC, so it's not like we paid for the rental. It is hardly surprising that Schmoeller's career since Crawlspace has consisted almost entirely of churning out those ridiculous Puppet Master films (nine of them, according to imdb).

I did make it most of the way through Eric S. Rabkin's Mars: A Tour of the Human Imagination, and was especially taken with the section devoted to Evangelista Torricelli, who, in 1644, with a single experiment, discovered, that nature does not abhor a void, that vacuums do exist, and that air has weight. He also invented the barometer. Not bad for one experiment.

Okay. I'm stalling. Time to frelling write.

And she loves it light and sweet, as they say in Rhode Island.

Now, here's some very cool news. Frank Woodward is filming a documentary on H. P. Lovecraft and has asked if he can interview me for the film. Of course, I said yes. The film will also include interviews with Ramsey Campbell, Neil Gaiman, Guillermo Del Toro, Stuart Gordon, Peter Straub, and S. T. Joshi. They offered to fly me to LA, but I said I would much prefer to do the interview here in Atlanta, perhaps at my home or the Fernbank Museum or maybe the Botanical Gardens. So, Frank and his crew will be coming here in January. I am flattered and very happy to be a part of this project, and I will pass along details as they become available.

Before I forget, fans of The Adventures of Boschen and Nesuko take note. setsuled is now offering Zai'Pi T-shirts and tank tops, as seen on the lovely Nesuko in the latest installment. Eleven styles from which to choose Just click here. I believe I'll be getting the tank top, and Spooky's talking about getting the cap sleeve T (black caps; "Your shoulders flush with mollusc affection."). Everyone should follow our example, of course, as we all must love the snail.

I think I am going to begin geocaching.

In other news, the writing went well yesterday, much to my surprise. I thought I'd not get a word written, because I was still having to deal with exactly what Penguin needed on the Emily Dickinson quotes and how they needed it sent. My fax machine is still dead, so Spooky finally had to go out to fax to the photocopies. So, she got no work done on the latest doll. But now all is taken care of, and I get the epigraphs in Daughter of Hounds (please preorder today, and don't forget, Amazon is offering DoH together with the trade hardcover of Alabaster for only $27.70). Also, we renewed the lease on this place yesterday, so we're here for another year. There was just too much work to try to make the move to New England this winter. Maybe next year. Maybe.

We had a nice twilight walk in Freedom Park, and Spooky found a mummified mouse, which she carried around on a dead leaf until I made her put it down. We saw a hawk, as well. Then last night we watched the director's cut of Richard Stanley's Dust Devil. As all good aficionados of obscure creepy films know, the studio cut Dust Devil up pretty mercilessly when it was originally released in 1992. Here, at last, we have something that at least begins to approach the film which Stanley intended us to see. And, for the most part, it is an amazing and disquieting thing. A great deal of the film's effectiveness comes from the bleak Namibian locations and from Simon Boswell's superb soundtrack. Zakes Mokae is splendid as the haunted Ben Mukurob, and for the most part, the casting and acting is good. I think, however, that my only major gripe with the film is that Robert John Burke, the actor chosen to play the supernatural being of the title, was entirely too Clint Eastwood, though I know that's exactly what Stanley was after. Still, Dust Devil is a terribly underappreciated classic, a masterpiece of mood and setting, of light and sound. Thirteen years after seeing the original, it still shook me up. Check it out. Dust Devil: The Final Cut. Oh, and watching an interview with Stanley that was on the disc I learned of the existence of a 16mm prequel to Hardware (1990), which I'd not even known existed. I will track it down, by gods.

It's chilly here today.

After the movie, I crawled away to bed with one of the Mars books I'm currently reading. The story for The Dinosaurs of Mars hasn't quite come together in my head. I know the basic concept: while exploring Victoria Crater, the Opportunity rover comes, inexplicably, upon the unfossilized bones of Cretaceous dinosaurs weathering from a sand dune. But what I cannot quite figure out is how the story will be told. Anyway, I read a bit about Giovanni Schiaparelli and Percival Lowell and the "canals" of Mars. I fell asleep about three, my head filled with images of towering red, volcanic plateaus and cold pink skies.

Yesterday was almost as unremarkable a day as I would have hoped for. Hot bath. Clean hair. Spooky made her cannelini bean soup for dinner. I decided, in the absence of Bailey's, that cosmopolitans would do, so we had to get cranberry juice. We picked up another pumpkin at Whole Foods. There was a nap on the sofa. I went almost the whole day without even checking my e-mail.

Today will be off again, but tomorrow will be on. I was tempted to work today, just to spite frelling stupid Columbus Day. But no. More rest, please. I got at least eight hours sleep last night, and I feel quite a bit better for it.

Last night, after the bean soup, I mostly played Drakengard 2, and I do not believe I've enjoyed a game this much in ages. Iko and Shadow of the Colossus were much better made games, but I'm not sure they were as fun. Showtime was doing its free preview thingy this weekend, and we caught an ep of Dexter (based on Jeff Lindsay's novel Darkly Dreaming Dexter), which I found I loved completely and unashamedly. So, Spooky's ordering Showtime today. It's a good excuse to cancel HBO, now that Deadwood is gone. Anyway, then I played still more Drakengard 2, slaughtering the knights guarding the Heavenly Clocktower and confronting Eris and Gismor. Eris' death was a shock, but I can't say I was sorry to see her go. Anyway, tonight Nowe and Manah shall ascened the tower and battle whatever awaits them there.

See? Unremarkable. And no gorramn word count.

The photos that have been coming back to Earth from the Opportunity rover and Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter are beautiful and amazing.

And speaking of photos, my thanks to Erin Potratz for sending me one of a platypus at the Sydney Aquarium. I showed it to "my" platypus, but sheheit just snorfled and grumbled something incoherent.

Oh, on a somewhat work related note, here's the cover of the Czech sf anthology in which "Riding the White Bull" will be reprinted (behind the cut). This will not be my first translation into Czech, as "Escape Artist" (in The Sandman: Book of Dreams) holds that honour:

( Trochu divné kusy )

And happy birthday to sovay!

Okay. Spooky says we will be going for a walk now. And look, she has my leash...

Yeah, so, the less said about Saturday, the better. We shall merely call it a Lost Day, understatement though that may be, and be done with it. I was not at my best; these things happen.

By yesterday, I was back on the horse (so to speak) and did 1,420 words on the last (I think) piece for Tales from the Woeful Platypus. I'm calling it "Excerpts from The Memoirs of a Martian Demirep," and it takes place on the same Mars as "Bradbury Weather." The constant reader knows that I suck at synopsis — as I am artistically opposed to synopsis — but, here we have Sharonov Crater at the end of the Kasei Valley, and here we have a teeming squalid city, and here a carnival of death, and it all came about because of a Dorian Cleavenger painting (behind the cut). Mr. Cleavenger's paintings are often the salvation of the platypus, when I've done, say, three vignettes and half a long short story in a week and a half (or so) and the ideas won't come. This was the case with "Excerpts from The Memoirs of a Martian Demirep." I do sort of wish that his women were a little less cheesecake. I'd find them even sexier if they didn't all look like fancy whores and strippers with silicone tits. Still, here's the painting that is to blame:

( To each her own )

I hope that Sirenia Digest 10 was enjoyed by all (who have subscribed). I'd still like to hear what readers thought of mine and Sonya's collaboration, "At the Praying Windows" (and your thoughts on "Untitled 23," for that matter). Feel free to comment here or e-mail if you're shy (greygirlbeast(at)gmail(dot)com). Sonya passed along this comment from Greer Gilman:

You really do write as one person: I don't see the seams. Maybe it's the interweaving obsessions? The sea, yes; but also of alienation. And a kind of poetry of violation.

And setsuled wrote:

It effectively combined your sort of enveloping hurtfulness and Sonya's penchant for romanticism through your similar love of language...I hope you two write more together. I have a feeling that, over time, you might become even more effective at using each other to good effect.

In fact, we have already decided that we shall be writing more together.

This morning, before breakfast, Spooky gave me a little China bowl with a squid painted on the bottom. You know, the sort of bowl that holds your soy sauce when you eat sushi. For the moment, it is my most treasured possession. It held my wasabi rice crackers this morning, while I ate my breakfast ramen. Oh, also check out squid_soup, a new LJ she has begun to chronicle her wicked doll-making ways.

Last night, we watched Mariano Baino's very, very creepy Dark Waters (1994; originally released in US as Dead Waters). I'd never even heard of this film before, and wow. Few films have managed so well to convey the dread and cosmicism of Lovecraft. The film, by an Italian director and an English writer, filmed in the Ukraine just after the fall of the Soviet Union, owes an obvious great debt to "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" and other works by HPL, spiced with the look and much of the iconography of directors like Argento and Bava. There's just been a new DVD release of the film, including an awesome boxed set with lots of "making of" goodies and one or two of Baino's shorts. Really, if you're into Lovecraft or Italian horror or things that go bump in the sea, you need to check this out. Too often, I think, celluloid disasters like Stuart Gordon's Dagon (2001) and John Carpenter's In the Mouth of Madness (1995) win praise for bringing Lovecraft to the screen, even though they've missed the point entirely (Carpenter had already made a damn near perfect "Lovecraftian" film, of course, with The Thing in '82). And strange little gems like Dark Waters and Lemora: A Child's Tale of the Supernatural (1975; dir. by Richard Blackburn) are consigned to obscurity.

After the movie, there was a documentary on the Science Channel about the discovery that mysterious bursts of gamma radiation (GRBs), first detected in the mid-1960s, may be the result of hypernovas marking the deaths of fast-rotating, super-massive stars or collapsars in the depths of stellar nurseries.

I've been spending far too much time on Drakengaard 2, which I think is the first videogame to really win my heart since Iko and Shadow of the Colossus. Three and a half hours Saturday night, and another two and a half last night after the movie. But I'm more than halfway through the story. Before I fell asleep, Spooky read me Virginia Lee Burton's Mike Mulligan and the Steam Shovel, but I had nightmares anyway.

Okay. There are e-mails that should have been answered two days ago, and a circus on Mars is calling me. More than ever, I am become Scheherazade, telling my tales to forestall execution or something worse. Oh, and Happy 2nd Day of Halloween. More later...

Postscript: Here's an extra little bit of wonder, Scientists see the softer side of Tyrannosaurus rex. Thanks, Adam!