• Location: Woodstock, NY
• Mood: very bored
• Music: Phosphorescent, "Wolves"

"Mama, there's wolves in the house."

Cloudy. It seems it's almost always cloudy here. I'm about 141 miles from home, were I a thing with wings. Being only a thing with an automobile, I'm more like 196 miles from home. I'm far from home, sitting in the lee of a magnificent mountain, in a lovely forest, and all I can do is sit here and type. It's a loathsome affair, what my life has become.

Determined to find THE END to Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird, I managed five pages yesterday (8, 9, 10, 11, and 12) on #4. I mean to do that again today, and the day after, and every damn day until this is finished.

The day we arrived here, there was a large Western conifer seed bug (Leptoglossus occidentalis) on one of the cabin windows. That same bug, or a number of its kin, have remained with us for the past 15 days. Assuming it to be one bug, I named "it" Bailey.




Bailey the Bug never gets to go outside, either.

Last night, I watched Reservoir Dogs for the first time in years. Gods, Steve Buscemi was young. The film was released October 23, 1992, which means it has been old enough to drink for a year, now. It means that, were you born the day Reservoir Dogs first showed in the States, you're now twenty-two, and that just freaks me the fuck out. On October 23, 1992, I was twenty-eight years old; that was the year before I started writing Silk.

Okay, I gotta get to work.

Don't Bite,
Aunt Beast