greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

Pale Sun

Cold. Cold and sunny. Yesterday, I posted to Facebook: Here in Providence it's 14˚F, with a windchill of -6˚F. Fuck. And yeah, I know it's worse in other places. Always is. Because there's always the dickhead who feels the need to say, "Well, compared to where I am, that's WARM!" I refuse to check the current temperature.

Most of yesterday was spent 1) discovering that a recently published short story — which an editor has asked to include in a "best of 2013" anthology — made it into print with all sorts of typos and errors and 2) correcting said story before I send it to said editor of said "best of 2013" anthology. So, at least the reprint will be in good shape. The story was written back in January 2013, and I have no idea where my head was at the time. Up my ass. It's a good story, but for fuck's sake, Caitlín. No, I'm not telling you the title.

So, that was fun.

Also, I gave up on trying to expand "Daughter Dear Desmodus" (from Sirenia Digest #70, September 2011), which I'd been asked to do by another editor. I read the story aloud in New York in October, and at the time I thought expanding it would be a breeze. But the story, it turns out, is what the story is. It refuses to be anything else.

Vince has sent me sketches for his two illustrations for Sirenia Digest #95, for "The Alchemist's Daughter (A Fragment)" (top) and "The Peddler's Tale, or Isobel Revenge," (bottom) which you can see behind the cut. I am in love with the latter, and can't wait to see the finished artwork:







Copyright © 2014 by Vincent Locke



And speaking of Isobel Snow, I'm in one of those headspaces were I only want to be an alter ego. Even though it's also cold in London. And Boston. And Manhattan. At least Isobel can kill people with her brain. Well, not exactly. There's a key to Hell that helps. I've been bombarding Facebook with Isobel porn, whether people care or not.







Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan



I don't have much else to say just now. My nights are being spent in The Secret World, hiding from me and from Providence. I believe getting off Lamictal is helping. As I said in response to a comment couple of days back, There was a time I craved calm, but after years of quiet waters, waves are heaven. My nightmares have returned; I never thought I'd be glad to see those fuckers again.

Say My Name,
Aunt Beast
Tags: "the peddler's tale", isobel siany snow, nightmares, pills for ills, rping, the secret world, unquiet mind, vince locke
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