Maybe I never should have resumed the blog after I ended it in April. The Age of the Blog is surely dead, after all, as lost to us as the Silurian and trilobites. Too many characters, too much time required to read, and who has the luxury of enduring all those words? Someone asked me to summarize a summary today, a summary I'd spent a whole day synopsizing, and he said of it, "tl:dr." I thought that was a typo, so I asked. Nope. "Too long; didn't read." So, I said, "I already wrote a summary, and that's a much as the thing can possibly be simplified. That's what you get. I can't do any better." And, of course, he who made the inquiry was offended. Fuck him. Moron.
Yesterday, I received my comp copy of the Centipede Press volume A Mountain Walked: Great Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos*, which includes my story "John Four." Alas, the book is already sold out, but it's a beautiful volume. I've heard that Jerad may publish a more affordable second edition of 700 copies, sans signatures and slipcase, that would sell for only $50.
Also, I finally, finally got my comp copies of the Turkish edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, and I suppose we'll be offering on of those on eBay soon. Oh, and the ARCs for Raisin' Hell arrived on Friday (I think it was Friday; it might have been Saturday).
Today, I'm going to try to write the first four or five pages of Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird, Part One (of Five).
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions. The taxes are bearing down on us, and I had a stupid doctor's thing yesterday – and those aren't free. So yes, here's a link to the current eBay auctions, and there's also Kathryn's Etsy shop. She has new stuff up. Thank you.
We spent the weekend in Woodstock, New York, the guest of Mr. Gaiman Himself. It was a break from Providence that I badly needed, a gasp of rejuvenating air in the mountains. The surprising thing is how at home I felt in those far northern limits of the Appalachians, when I grew up in their southerly foothills. But, there in the Catskills, I became aware of a commonality, in the stones, in the geology, in the height and taxonomy of trees, in the proper way the ridges and the branches hold the sky at bay. I was even able to enjoy autumn, to a degree. We'll be going back for two or three weeks in November, and I hope that will be time enough to truly heal a bit. I expect to begin the next novel there, among the mountains. The next real novel, because those Quinn things do not count.
It was a good three days. We talked about the things you talk about, given the circumstances. There was ice wine. We watched herds of chipmunks scamper through the bracken and rotting pines logs. There were grand discourses on the history of folk rock and beat poets. I saw the beautiful new edition of Neil's The Sleeper and the Spindle. Long walks in the forest. Rumors of Ursus americanus. Thank you, Neil.
Here are a few photos...
All photographs Copyright © 2014 by Kathryn A. Pollnac and Caitlín R. Kiernan
The window's open in my office. The sun's out, proving the weather forecast a lie. I ought to be Outside today.
* Not to be confused with my short story, "A Mountain Walked."