A sky today that is both wide and carnivorous. Cold, 42˚F that feels like 34˚F. But seeing what's happening in the South, I shouldn't complain. Currently, it's about ten degrees colder in Birmingham than it is in Providence. For days, the cold has been nightmarish across much of the southeast, as far down as New Orleans. It's only fucking November. Screw you, monsieur l'Hiver.
Sometimes, it's anger that gets the job done. I did finally finish Chapter 2 of Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird yesterday, and I'm pretty sure it was simply a matter of getting pissed enough that this thing is eating so much of my life, that's it's standing between me and work I'd much rather be doing. So, I wrote pages 19, 20, 21, and 22. Now, once the script is proofed, corrected, and, this evening, sent away to my editor at Dark Horse, it'll be time to attend to Sirenia Digest #106, a brief, precious respite from comics.
This morning, embedded in a complicated, convoluted nightmare, I was discussing the discovery of the fossil remains a small aardvark-like mammal that had been been named Scutellotherium. There is not, in reality, any mammal – or anything else – named Scutellotherium. There is a small dinosaur named Scutellosaurus, and that might have been my mind's eye's inspiration for Scutellotherium. The etymology: scutelum = "small shield" + therion = "beast." I think I have that more or less right. The taxonomic nomenclature of dreams. Yesterday, I read "New snakes from the Upper Cretaceous (Maastrichtian) Maevarano Formation, Mahajanga Basin, Madagascar."
Please have a look at the current eBay auctions and also at Spooky's Etsy shop. Thank you.
I have a few more photos from the con. Not much to look at, but here they are:
At the mass signing on Friday night. I signed a lot of books.
The eastward view from our hotel room in Arlington. Bleak. Sterile. Bland. And then there's the matter of the cross pattée on the glass. I've found no evidence that it's a symbol that is in anyway associated with Hyatt Hotels Corporation. Kathryn and I speculated about clandestine meetings and secret societies. I don't know if all of the room had a cross pattée on their windows, or if it was only ours. Perhaps Room 1036 is a meeting place for a surviving group of the Knights Templar.
The westward view, which I call "The Death of America."
Just after the awards banquet on Sunday. To my right is Chelsea Quinn Yabro, and to might left is Ellen Klages.
Sunday night, the view from Union Station, looking towards the Capitol, its dome currently swathed in scaffolding.
Outside Union Station.
Inside Union Station.
All photographs except the fourth down Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
At least the sun is bright out there. Time to water my cacti.