That loss of horizon.
Yesterday I posted this to Facebook: I know this will likely sound strange, but there are days like today when the best I can manage is to sit here in front of this keyboard reminding myself aloud, over and over, that I'm not a failure. And it pisses me off. And people said things like "But your work is so inspiring!" and "But you're so talented" and "But you just won awards!" Thereby, of course, demonstrating that they just don't get it. I came home to write the final three pages of Part 2 of Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird, and all that I can do, instead, is worry about how I've fucked the whole thing up, the pacing most of all. How I should rip down everything I've built of #2 and start anew. Only, I can't. Because I need to get this finished and get paid for it. Because money's getting tight around here. A dry spell has begun, one we saw coming some time back, but were pretty much helpless to prevent. When you are a freelancer, drought is your constant phobia, those periods where you are a long way between checks, but the bills keep coming like clockwork. There are never dry spells for bills. So, yeah. That was my yesterday. No work. No real work. Just worry and busyness.
Speaking of money, please have a look at the current eBay auctions and also at Spooky's Etsy shop. Thank you.
Yesterday, I finished reading David King's Murder in the City of Light. I also read "Enigmatic crocodyliforms from the early Miocene of Cuba" in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology.
I really don't do con reports. They consume a lot of time, and I suspect no one really cares. But it was good, mostly, to be at World Fantasy in DC. It was good to catch up with people I'd not seen in ages and meet a few new folks. I enjoyed a look at an unfinished Robert Aickman documentary, which was the only bit of programming I attended that I wasn't on. I've never been much for programming. I did the Coode Street podcast on Saturday, with Peter and Jonathan and Gary, and that was fun. I had my reading that night. I read various excerpts from The Drowning Girl, including bits from Chapter One and a lot of "7." Joshi took us out to dinner on Friday night, Joshi and his wife, Mary, and Lois Gresh and Beth Gwin went along. The art show was great, and I got to spend some time with Lee Moyer. The mass signing thing was immensely chaotic, but they gave us food for our troubles, and Garth Nix came up and told me he was a fan and that was...just cool. We raided the con suite for soft drinks and tea bags and cup noodles. I bought very few books, only two. Two books and a T-shirt; thirty-two dollars. The awards, there was that, but I've already been there. I dressed for shit, and I'm still not sure what that was about. I vow that I will not look like a strung out junky at the next con I attend. We meant to go out sightseeing on Friday, but it was cold and windy, and we were lazy. We suck. We shared a ham sandwich in Union Station, waiting for the train home. We sat backwards, all the way.
Here are a few photos. I may post a few more tomorrow.
From the Coode Street podcast, and a fine example of my junky couture. I bought that shirt in 1994, and I wore it for soundcheck at the first Death's Little Sister show. It's sort of crunchy to the touch.
At the podcast, Peter explains that "It was this big!"
At the podcast, Gary Wolfe wonders "Who the fuck is this sitting next to me, and why is she wearing that crunchy shirt?"
I have no idea what I was saying, but evidently Peter thought it was funny. Or maybe he's sneezing. And there's Jonathan Strahan!
At the Friday night reading. Just look at that hat. What the fuck?
Actually, I like this photo. Even if my nails look like I've been digging in the dirt.
At the reception for the art show, with Lee Moyer's cover for Two Worlds and In Between. I seem to have grown horns. And I could really use a good dermatologist. And some sleep.
There really aren't any good photos, that I've seen, of me accepting either of the Howies. But this one's fun.
Early Sunday afternoon at the Hyatt, and the platypus just wants to go the fuck home.
Sometime early Monday morning, pulling out of Penn Station, headed for Rhode Island.
All photos Copyright © 2014 by Kathryn A. Pollnac and Caitlín R. Kiernan
I'm paralyzed and collared-tight,
No pills for what I fear.
This is crazy... ~ Neko Case
Okay, gotta scoot.