Western Interior Seaway

Howard Hughes and the Irascible Pachycormid

So...the sun came back today, but not the warmth. Still, everything's getting green. Currently, it's 39˚F, with the windchill at 35˚F. There were snow flurries last night after all.

I made it into McWane today and worked on Winifred the tylosaur, which was a badly needed break from...well, everything that isn't working on Winifred the tylosaur. Tomorrow, I have to get back to work on The Cerulean Alphabet, which I need to finish by Sunday. No more McWane until Wednesday. Oh, and I need to have my revision of the glyptosaur paper done ASAP.

This morning I began reading Irving Stone's Lust for Life. It will be the first Irving Stone novel I've ever read.

All in all, it wasn't a bad day. And there was some good RP after I got home.

Tonight, a new episode of The Magicians, and then we watched the first episode of the South Korean series 킹덤, or Kingdom. I think I'm gonna like it.

Later,
Aunt Beast




3:40 p.m.
Bowie3

Dead White Males (Saved the World)

So, I didn't make it to McWane today, because I lay awake last night unable to get to sleep until after two a.m. for worrying about a set of books at my Aunt Joanne's that I should have claimed, and the sell of the house will be a done deal tomorrow, and...so we got up this morning and I asked Jun if he was cool with me coming in tomorrow instead of today, and then Kathryn and I drove out to Leeds to get the books. In the pouring rain. And that's how I spent my day. I have absolutely no room for these books, but I got 'em anyway. And so it goes.

Oh, and the thing with Leeds destroying itself? It's only getting worse.

The sun came out late in the afternoon, and there was apparently a spectacular rainbow over the city. Currently, it's 39˚F, with the windchill at 32˚F, and there's talk of snow flurries tonight and in the morning.

---

Oh, to once again live in a world where praising Fidel Castro would destroy your bid for the American presidency.

And also, how about a world where we don't elect orange shit gibbons who then try to convince the world it shouldn't heed the warnings of scientists at the Center for Disease Control and the World Health Organization?

I just think we can do better than this present fiasco.

---

Tonight we saw Jonathan Entwistle and Christy Hall's I Am Not Okay With This. It's easy to watch an entire mini-series in one night when it only consists of seven 19-28 minute episodes. But it was actually pretty good, sorta Carrie meets The Breakfast Club.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast




1:07 p.m.
Shaw

Entry No. 5,927

I didn't make this entry last night because I was too tired, and here I am tonight, too tired again. But I'm getting something down.

A sunny day in Birmingham, but the warmth is still keeping it's distance. Currently, it's 51˚F.

Toady, I tried to work on addressing Jun's notes on the glyptosaur paper, but I wound up going in stupid little circles chasing the most minute of facts. I spent an entire hour, I kid you not, trying to determine the author/s of the mammalian species Protomus deimos...and never did. It was that sort of day.

Yesterday, though, was a little more productive. We got my Aunt Joanne's writing desk put back together in my office, where I hope I can prove myself worthy of it. I bought my first desk in the autumn 1993 not far from here, in Homewood. I used it until April 2, 2007 in Atlanta, when I bought the desk that I used until yesterday afternoon (and it has been, literally, falling apart for several years). That's two over the course of 26.5 years. I expect thus third one to be the last I will ever need.

Yesterday was the three-year anniversary of the Hair Cut.

Yeah, I'm having trouble finishing sentences. I'm gonna go lie back down. I gotta be awake enough for McWane tomorrow.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




11:51 a.m.
Bowie3

"Mr. Nude has an opinion."

Cloudy and cool today, but at least no rain. Currently, it's 52˚F, with the windchill at 50˚F.

Today we had to drive out to Leeds to pick up three pieces of furniture from my late Aunt Joanne's house, two chairs and a table. The table was for years Joanne's writing table (she was a poet), and now it's going to be my desk. I've had the same desk since 2007, when I replaced the desk I got in 1993. So, this will only be the third desk of my writing career, and I am honored that it will be Joanne's desk.

So, there was that.

This morning on Facebook I posted a somewhat more cogent version of my reaction to Hunters, and I'll repost it here:

WARNING: Stay away from Amazon's new series, Hunters. Imagine that a fourteen year old boy who loves comic books and torture porn and conspiracy theories hears about the Holocaust for the first time and he immediately sits down and writes a screenplay. He wants to be Tarantino, but he ain't. Then his "woke" SJW girlfriend gives it a quick rewrite, but leaves in all the torture porn stuff because she likes that shit, too. Oh, and they set it in the seventies, "because that's super bad ass because Black Panthers." Imagine that, and you have Hunters. Only stupider and more vile.

And as I wrote last night, please, please, please have a look at our current eBay auctions. We're presently weathering a financial crisis borne of a publisher who can't be bothered to pay me. We have copies of the hb of The Ammonite Violin & Others, The Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams, The Aubergine Alphabet, and the tpb of Daughter of Hounds. I will sign and personalize any book, and I'll even draw a monster doodle inside, if the winning bidder so desires. Please have a look. Thank you.

This morning I read "The Fall of the House of Usher" for the first time in...shit, I don't even know. Maybe decades. And I could help but think, "Fuck, if only Lovecraft had been as good as Poe."

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast




12:05 p.m.
fight dinosaurs

Bad TV Gets Worse

Sunny today, but chilly. After a very mild December and January, February's decided to play at winter. Currently, it's 41˚F.

So I forced myself to sit through all ten episodes of Amazon's new series Hunters, which all together comes to something like eleven hours. You want to see just how bad bad television can be? This is it. And watching Hunters, I kept spinning these marvelous, elegant sentences in my head – or so I imagined them – with which to gut this piece of shit. But in the end, that's all it is, a silly piece of shit, and as such it is not really worthy of the time and energy. I'm not sure what's worse. The bad history (that sorta pretends at revisionism), or the idea that there's really nothing wrong with vigilantism, murder, and torture (it just depends what side you're on), or the crappy writing. But it's a marriage that should not be suffered, and I'm not sure why I did. The whole masochism thing, I suppose. Whoever green lit this, if there is justice, and we know there isn't, he or she will be driving for Uber or Lyft or who the fuck ever this time next week.

Yeah, what was in my head was far more articulate. I think I'm too angry to be articulate.

Other than that, it's been a couple of shitty days.

But please, please, please have a look at our current eBay auctions. We're presently weathering a financial crisis borne of a publisher who can't be bothered to pay me. We have copies of the hb of The Ammonite Violin & Others, The Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams, The Aubergine Alphabet, and the tpb of Daughter of Hounds. I will sign and personalize any book, and I'll even draw a monster doodle inside, if the winning bidder so desires. Please have a look. Thank you.

Today I finished The King in Yellow.

Now I'm going to fuck to bed.

Later,
Aunt Beast




12:21 p.m. (yesterday)
Narcissa

Raising the Squid

Not much to be said for today. More rain. Still chilly. Currently, it's 40˚F, with a windchill of 34˚F.

Today, I wrote 1,080 words on The Cerulean Alphabet, P and Q. Then I had two baloney and cheese sandwiches for dinner. Living large.

Tonight, we started watched Hunters, and it's very weird. But not in the good way.

And there's this, from last night: The late check thing has become an actual fucking crisis. I learned toady that it won't be coming for at least two or three weeks, so we're gonna be short on rent this month. Still wanna be a freelance fiction writer? Sure, you can be a critical success with a great agent, a shelf full of awards, and an archive at Brown University, but that doesn't mean anyone has to pay you on time. Doesn't mean you can't get to the end of the month and not have to worry about where the rent money's coming from. At this point, only propriety is keeping me from naming names. Anyway, please looks at the eBay auctions and bid if you can. They're how we're gonna squeak by this month, clearly. I'll sign and personalize any book, as well as draw a one-of-a-kind monster doodle on the title page. Thanks. Spooky's added copies of the sold-out-on-publication Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams and The Aubergine Alphabet.

I leave you with the Sex Bananas.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast




1:04 p.m. (Sunday)
Bowie3

"You can't walk, you can't ramble, 'cause you're gonna have to scramble..."

Another rainy day, cooler than yesterday. Currently, it's 51˚F, with the windchill at 49˚F.

1. Today I got back to work on The Cerulean Alphabet, and did 903 words on N and O. The second half needs to be finished in the next few days. It will be appearing late this month in Sirenia Digest #169.

2. Also today the postman brought me my Valentine's Day present from Spooky, an gorgeous enamel mosasaur pin, which has joined my SVP patch on the bag I use for the museum work (see below). The pin was made by Andrea Radeck, by the way, and she has many wonderful designs available.

3. The late check thing has become an actual fucking crisis. I learned toady that it won't be coming for at least two or three weeks, so we're gonna be short on rent this month. Still wanna be a freelance fiction writer? Sure, you can be a critical success with a great agent, a shelf full of awards, and an archive at Brown University, but that doesn't mean anyone has to pay you on time. Doesn't mean you can't get to the end of the month and not have to worry about where the rent money's coming from. At this point, only propriety is keeping me from naming names. Anyway, please looks at the eBay auctions and bid if you can. They're how we're gonna squeak by this month, clearly. I'll sign and personalize any book, as well as draw a one-of-a-kind monster doodle on the title page. Thanks. Spooky's added copies of the sold-out-on-publication Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams and The Aubergine Alphabet.

4. Gonna say this AGAIN. I know folks mean well, but I don't think of myself as a woman writer. Or a bisexual writer. Or a trans writer. Or anything of the sort. I'm JUST a writer. I do not feel that I have ever been marginalized by the publishing industry* (and I've been at this now since 1992), and, with respect to those who feel otherwise, I don't like being segregated into or saddled with any of the many categories of identity politics. Also, someone asked how I felt about being called a Southern writer, and I replied: If I HAD to classify myself, beyond, say "weird fiction," which I'm sorta okay with, I'd probably say "Southern writer," even though an awful lot of my work is set in New England. I think even the New England stuff has a sort of Southern vibe.

5. Mostly, after work, it was a laid-back sorta day, still recovering from last week. I almost finished reading "A Bird's Eye View: Hesperornithiforms as Environmental Indicators in the Late Cretaceous Western Interior Seaway." And we played more Black Desert Online. I had a chicken pot pie for dinner, and we're watching That 70s Show, getting towards the end of this year's Kittypalooza.

6. It was a decent, productive day, all in all, despite the fact that I only slept about four and a half hours last night.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




7:43 p.m.


* Oh, there have been loads of shitty, bigoted comments from readers, and even from other writers, but that's a different matter for another time.
Roy Batty

“I am from those who wrestled angels and killed giants!”

A day that was, by turns, very foggy and very rainy. A fog so dense the other side of the street was hidden from view. And heavy rain and thunderstorms, a flash flood watch that became a flash flood warning. Currently, it's 60˚F, and our high today was 66˚F. And the world out there is turning green; spring is only an inch away.

Most of my day was spent at my doctor's office, or so it seemed. Doctor's visits have that affect on me. They seem to devour entire days, no matter how much time I actually have to spend on them.

But finally we came home and played a little bit of Guild Wars 2 and a lot of Black Desert Online. It wasn't a bad day, all in all. It was surely my best day since last Thursday, and that's even taking the doctor's office into consideration.

Please have a look at our current eBay auctions, which include a copy of Dear Sweet Filthy World. A substantial check from a publisher is very overdue and all that crap. When you make your living as a freelance, this is how the world works. People are allowed to pay you when they feel like it.

You know, it would go some way towards alleviating my hatred of the present if we'd stop referring to presidential candidates by their first names.

Anyway, tonight we finally saw Taika Waititi's Jojo Rabbit (2019), and wow. I'm amazed this freakishly adorable, terribly sorrowful, and profoundly wise and humane film was actually made. It's a brave piece of cinema. It's wacky and sweet and monstrous and funny and beautiful. See, I'm not a film critic. You can tell by the way I just recklessly toss all those adjectives around, by the way I merely tell you how it impressed me, just tell you how a film made me feel, instead of droning on about rebuttals to "European exceptionalism" and whatnot and what have you. Also, I think Sam Rockwell is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors. Anyway, please see Jojo Rabbit.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast




1:53 p.m.
Bowie3

The Church of the Fuzzy Bunny

Another mostly cloudy day. Another day not really worth comment, and yet it gets its very own blog entry, its very own participation award. Currently, it's 58˚F.

Today I began rereading Robert Chambers' The King in Yellow, but only made it through "The Repairer of Reputations."

And tonight, after Chinese takeout, we watched Steven Soderbergh's Contagion (2011), which was actually very good and did a much better than average job of accurately portraying how scientists do science.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast




12:06 a.m.
Cordon C3

Congratulate Attention

Not much of a day to report on. But the anger backed off late in the morning, and this time it seems to determined to leave me alone for awhile. Most of the day was just a sort of relieved stillness, I think. Anyway, it was a rainy morning, and there was sun at some point. Currently, it's 47˚F.

Tonight we watched Bong Joon-ho's Parasite (2019), and it was very good, but I didn't like it as much as either The Host (2006) or Snowpiercer (2013).

Kinda early, but I think it's bedtime, anyway.

Later,
Aunt Beast




1:04 p.m.