greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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"Swallowed, waist-deep, in the gore of the forest."

No Seroquel last night, because now that I'm off the Lamictal, I want that shit out of me, as well. And this morning, which comes with several inches of fresh snow, is all wakeful sharp white blades waiting to slice me. I managed five or six fitful, feverish hours of sleep. There was a long and profoundly sad and extremely technical dream of devising a time-travel mechanism. I was not me, and I was in love with someone whose never lived. It was the sort of dream I wake from at the edge of tears, desperate to find a way back in. You'd think that would be easy. It's my mind after all.

You'd think writing this last Quinn novel would be easy, speaking of that which is only my own mind. But you'd be wrong. Yesterday, after a lot of revision work on Chapter Four, I managed to write a new ending for the chapter – 272 words that took a couple of hours. Which is bullshit. I'm so lost in this book. And, I'm sorry, but it isn't a book worth becoming lost in. It's a book worth finding THE END to and moving on. It's shits and giggles. Still, yesterday, was the first real progress I've made on Cherry Bomb since December 5th. I cannot exaggerate how far off course I am. Months past the deadline. Fortunately, my editor continues to take mercy on me.

In a postscript to yesterday's entry, I wrote, "I actually had no idea whatsoever that today was the release day for Pink Delicious. I suppose that's sort of fucked up." And, yeah. It is. Brit Mandelo has written a more than fair review at If anything, it's kinder to the book than either I or the book deserve. It identifies problems I saw while editing it that I ought to have dealt with. But I didn't. Which is inexcusable. One thing that's slowing me down so much with Cherry Bomb is that I'm trying to avoid inexcusable mistakes. Actually, the review went up on January 17th, but I only learned of it yesterday.

Jesus, it's fucking white out there.

I've been watching a lot. Including movies, some not worth mentioning, some very much so. J.C. Chandor's All Is Lost, for example. A beautiful, sublime film, and I'm appalled it's not up for Best Picture at this year's Oscars. Also, Bill Condon's The Fifth Estate, which seems to have been met with almost universal derision. Which I don't get at all. Finally, last night we saw Sebastián Silva's Magic Magic, which is one of those unexpected gems I find when I'm expecting only gravel. I cannot avoid drawing parallels between this film and The Red Tree (2010), and between this film and Lars von Trier's Antichrist (2009), and, for that matter, Joseph L. Mankiewicz' 1959 adaptation of Suddenly Last Summer (which setsuled discussed yesterday) and Peter Weir's 1975 adaptation of Picnic at Hanging Rock. A smart and unflinching film, Magic Magic treads that same liminal space between civilization and the forest primeval, between sanity and lunacy. It's raw, brutal, and Kathryn and I were both almost speechless afterwards. I was not really able to talk about the film until today, it left me so stunned. And hopefully this hyperbole won't ruin it for anyone. I'll avoid relevant passages from Joseph Conrad and Thoreau that beg to be quoted. I will say that Juno Temple's performance is amazing. She brings to her role the same feral power we saw from her in Bradley Rust Gray's superb Angela Carteresque Jack and Diane (2012).

I should go. I think I'm going to walk in the snow. It's sort of like a cold shower.

Fuck You, Seroquel,
Aunt Beast
Tags: angela carter, cherry bomb, deadlines, dreams, good movies, just barely writing, lars von trier, outside, pills for ills, pink delicious, red delicious, reviews, snow, the red tree, time travel, waking

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