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 )

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....

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.

---

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.

---

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.

Note that we have eBay auctions ending today, so please do have a look. Thanks!

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.

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.

---

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.

---

Please have a look at the current eBay. Thanks.

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

Finally, it's uncomfortably cold in Atlanta. As the globe warms, autumn doesn't really seem to be ending here until mid-January. Yesterday, about 5 p.m. (CaST) it began to snow, and the snow continued to fall until well after dark. For at least two hours, white stuff fell from the skies. I lay in the living room on the chaise, staring up into the twilight sky, pleased at the sight of the heaviest snowfall I think I've ever seen in Atlanta. And we learned that Hubero hates snow. By 7 p.m. or so, we had maybe a quarter of an inch. We took some photos, which are behind the cut:

( Dandruff from the sky! )

As predicted, yesterday was spent reading what presently exists of Joey Lafaye, the prologue and first chapter. Spooky read, and I listened. And then I sat down and figured out that I have 18 weeks or so until the ms. is due in New York. Only 18 weeks, mind you, and 3 of those weeks, at least, have to go to Sirenia Digest, which leaves me a mere 15 weeks or so. And since the contract is calling for a novel that is approximately 100,000 words in length (I'd have preferred something closer to 70,000 for this one), that means I must write a minimum of 6,034 words per week to make my deadline (as I have, thus far, written only 9,749 words on the book). It's doable, just barely, even with the several days I'll be losing to the trip to Maryland to speak at the O'Neil Literary House at Washington College (in April). Of course, there are writers I know who could do this in their sleep, even with the Digest thrown in. I just don't happen to be one of them (or want to be one them), so I'll have to do it while awake.

Oh, and I answered a lot of email yesterday. Later, I watched two episodes of Project Runway 4 (it feels like I never watch TV anymore). The prom-dress episode was completely vomitous and silly, but the "Avant-Garde" episode made up for it. I truly loved the punky, futuristic coat that Victorya and Jillian created. It might be the most fabulous thing I have ever seen made on the show, and I would wear it forever. Chris and Christian also did a fantastic job with their "48 yards of organza." But I also liked Kit and Ricky's dress quite a lot, and Nina needs to get a clue (Santino knew this, and no one would listen to him), and I was very sad to see Kit go, as she is just too cute to be believed. And I know that most of you neither know nor care what I am on about, but yes, I am a fashion nerd (even if I dress like a steampunk bulldyke), and it can't all be word counts and narrative angst, now can it?

And this morning, I have an email from my Beowulf editor at HarperCollins (or HarperPrism, or whatever), saying he's sending me copies of the book in Polish, Italian, Korean, and Portuguese. Which I think is about a third of the languages it's being translated into. Oh, and we have begun a new round of eBay, which you may see here. And I just got Vince's finished art for "The Collector of Bones," and it is awesome.

Oh (again), and here's a question from yesterday's reader comments (thank you, wistful_nana_o), which I will treat as a sort of micro-interview, because that's sort of what it is, and I don't really do interviews anymore (behind the cut):

( three questions )

Yesterday was by almost every contemporary and practical means of obtaining a measurement of the objective and/or subjective worth of any given day a complete and total disaster. In my day planner, it earned an L, which the constant reader will recall is my shorthand for "Lost Day." One that is gone and was not properly used and can never be regained. It may have been related to my recent insomnia, though I got a good night's sleep Thursday night (Friday morning). I was in bed by midnight and slept about nine hours. I virtually never sleep that much at a stretch, and never sleep longer than nine hours. Maybe it was a case of an excess of sleep.

Regardless.

Today was better. Today was not a lost day. I didn't write, but, still, the day earned the next best thing to an X, which is a W. We read chapters Four, Five, and Six (pp. 71-139 of the tpb) of Low Red Moon. And while it was good to be working and not watching the day spiral away into a second consecutive lost day, it was, admittedly, rather disheartening work.

I love this novel. But considering the general indifference it has encountered from the Reading Public, spending all these many hours correcting formatting errors, typos, misspelling, commas, and so forth seems a bit like (to use an entirely cliché yet uncannily apt simile) rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Next to Daughter of Hounds, I know that it's the best novel I've written. And I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that in August 2007 it's getting a third lease on life. But I am never optimistic in these situations. It will not earn new reviews, as it is not a new novel. The best I can hope for is that this go round it will have a long, long (if inauspicious) shelf life. Though, I have to confess, reading through it this time, I have an almost irresistible urge to hide it some place safe and never let anyone else anywhere near it. Hardly the "right" attitude. But, yeah, anyway...deck chairs on the Titanic...but also, I find that I miss Birmingham. And that's just really frelled. There is so much of Birmingham in this novel. Or, rather, it is a distillation of those rare elements which I loved about Birmingham. So, you put these two things together, deck chairs and nostalgia, and it's something else I'd rather not be doing.

It still cold here. Lows in the teens. Which does nothing good for my mood.

Also, today I helped Spooky compose all the many elements of one of the photos for the website redesign. I truly hope we can pull this thing together before Daughter of Hounds starts showing up on the shelves, but it's gonna be very close. She's shooting the photos tomorrow. Some of the photos, anyway.

Can someone please explain to me the logic behind grocery stores blaring Xmas music from November 1st until New Years? I can sort of see the demented rationale at work in, say, shopping malls. It's Xmas. Buy, buy, buy, or all your friends and family will hate you. But in grocery stores? Maybe the week before Xmas. Maybe. It just strikes me as weird and sadistic (but not in a good way).

Should I mention Final Fantasy XII ? Okay. You talked me into it. フラン and Co. made it through the Paramina Rift to Mt. Bur-Omisace, concluded their business there, then headed back through the Rift to the Stilshrine of Miriam, only to discover that we are not yet powerful enough to avoid getting our asses kicked by its various and many unpleasant inhabitants — Dawnshard or no Dawnshard. So, mostly I've been teleporting back and forth between the Rift and the Mosphoran Highlands, killing shit, just trying to get everyone's HP and MP up to snuff. 58:24:38 hrs. in, I'm still loving this game, even if it is stealing precious reading and sleeping time.

I suppose that's it for now. I'm not sure this whole evening blogging thing's working out for me. Maybe it's time to revert. Maybe not. The cold has kept me inside, pretty much defeating the purpose. We are promised low sixties next week. I'd settle for that. Anything to keep the bloody penguins at bay. I've just about strained my Jethro Tull muscle.

Yesterday started out off kilter, weighted a bit to one side by the wonkiness of Monday. But there was a recovery, a successful saving throw, you might say (if you're a big geek, like me), and it ended up being a moderately productive day. After breakfast and the blog entry, we walked over to Freedom Park. The air was cold, and there was a bitter wind, but the sun was warm and bright to the south. We found raccoon tracks in the mud. I climbed to the top of the hill, in amongst the oaks and pecans, and did some ritual/meditation work for a bit. I think that was a big part of saving yesterday from the chaos of Monday, from the chaos in my head. The cold is still with us today (and there's a huge storm just east of here), but we've been promised a high of 67F for Thursday. A veritable heatwave, kiddos!

Back home, there was a lot of writing-related e-mail, and reading to be done, and then most of the evening was spent on Sirenia Digest 12. A good deal of it went into tweaking "The Lovesong of Lady Ratteanrufer." I dealt with the three "For a moments," only to discover four uses of "At first" on three pages (8, 18, and 20). So I fixed those, too. Proofreading and the correction of dumb repetitions is much, much easier when one's head is not filled up with bees. I helped Spooky with the photo-illustration for "The Lovesong of Lady Ratteanrufer," which was actually kind of fun. A black and white version of the photo will appear in the digest, linked to a full-colour and larger version online. I also wrote the prolegomena, and tinkered with this or that part of the SD 12 until almost 10:30 CaST last night. It's going to be a good issue, I think. Expect it sometime on Friday (the 24th). Sirenia Digest goes quite well with leftover turkey bird, or so I am told.

After work, I played a couple hours worth of Final Fantasy XII, during which time I managed to vanquish the beast Nidhogg (No, not that Nidhogg) in the Lhusu Mines on Bhjerba, then spent quite a long time with Fran and Ashe, wandering through a dust-storm in the Dalmasca Westersand. Back in Rabanastre, I moogled over to the Sandsea and accidentally sold all but one of my teleport stones. Oh, and I spent a lot of gil on a cypress staff for Fran, only to discover she can't yet use it. I'm a little more than twenty hours in, I think. Later, I read more Pynchon and then Book III, Chapter VI of The Two Towers, "The King of the Golden Hall." And that was yesterday.

As of today, it was been precisely one year since Chiana the winter-white dwarf hamster (also known as Unca Harlan's Bane) came to live with us. And that's quite a long time for a dwarf hamster, as they have a life expectancy of only 1-3 years. She should be just a little more than a year old at this point. And still going strong.

After Final Fantasy XII, but before reading, I went through more old photos last night. I do mean to post more of them, I just have to find the right ones. I'll probably post a few tomorrow afternoon or evening.

There are other things I was going to mention — why we're moving the office, a redesign and relaunch for my website, etc. — but I this entry is running long. Maybe I'll make a second entry later today. Please, if you have not yet pre-ordered Daughter of Hounds and you want to help insure that there will be future novels by me, please consider pre-ordering today. Just $11.20 from Amazon.com for the trade paperback. Be the first on your block and all that jazz. Thanks. Okay. Time to make the doughnuts.

Winter has reached Atlanta. On Tuesday, we had highs in the low 80s, a low of about 60F. Last night, low 30s. Tonight, lows are forecast in the frelling 20s. Oh, but this is the year I've sworn to make peace with the cold. Yes, I have sworn it. It's here on the list, right after spin straw into gold...

But, even with all the shivering, I managed to have a fairly productive day yesterday. We did Chapter Two of Threshold, the very first time I wrote Dancy Flammarion. The scene in the Birmingham Public Library. I discovered a huge continuity error between Threshold and the Dancy short stories, which was annoying, but I think I've already forumlated a logical explanation. Also, I've pretty much finished the first Sirenia PDF; just waiting on one more thing before I send the text to be formatted. And I answered the first round of questions for a new interview.Yay me. Also also, we're running a little slow with getting the last bunch of eBay purchases in the mail, but they'll be coming soon, promise.

I've learned from Bill Schafer that twenty copies of the limited edition of Frog Toes and Tentacles have become available again. So, it's not quite sold out after all, so if you've been lamenting having missed out on the limited (which is leatherbound and includes one more vignette than the trade edition), now's your chance.

Urgh. Sorry. I'm feeling rather incredibly and profoundly glum this morning. I don't want to go back to bed, but under the bed might just do the trick. Maybe one smallish Nar'eth photo will help...



Actually, it might take a second, larger one. This pic's from the October 5th, 2002 "Save Farscape" benefit at The (now deceased) Chamber. Don't ask me what Chiana and Nar'eth (pre-leg shields) are doing in a broom closet, 'cause I can't remember (but my thanks to the lomer for this photo, and yes that was a lot of parentheticals):



Well...no. I still feel pretty glum. Anyway, time to make the doughnuts. Ena sn'ial, as they say...