Get it over with.
It was windy last night, and I guess that wind drove these clouds here.
Yesterday was spent working on the second edition of A is for Alien, which I announced over a year ago would be published by PS Publishing's Drugstore Indian Press imprint, along with reprints of To Charles Fort, With Love, The Ammonite Violin & Others, and Tales of Pain and Wonder. This is a classic case of what happens when I get distracted and drag my feet and give in to depression and then have a ton of backed up writing and...yeah. This happens. I'm only just now getting the mss. together.
And I tried to wrap my brain around doing the "Snow Queen" story. I'm still trying. To me, though, the most interesting part of the story, by far, is the first of the seven parts, "About the Mirror and Its Pieces," and, especially, the shattering of the mirror and the fall of the shards to Earth. Somehow, that's the heart of my story. Isn't it odd that Angela Carter never did "The Snow Queen"?
I actually read some fiction yesterday, "Fishwife" by Carrie Vaughn and "The Doom That Came To Devil Reef" by Don Webb. Along with "Titanosauria (Dinosauria, Sauropoda) from the Upper Cretaceous (Turonian) Bissekty Formation of Uzbekistan."
I returned to Woodstock determined to rid myself of some of the inexplicable clutter of my life before we move in August. What sort of clutter is inexplicable? Well, here's a prime example: Back in 2003, when I first got Farscape on DVD, I boxed up a bunch of Farscape VHS tapes to send to a friend. I never sent them. I kept meaning to, but I never did. I also didn't throw out the box. Instead, I moved it from the loft at Kirkwood to the house at Mansfield Avenue (both in Atlanta) to Providence. Yesterday, I finally threw them away. Despite the fact that throwing out a box full of theoretically perfectly good VHS tapes made my skin crawl. I have photographs:
And, by the way, was a time I'd have never let myself be photographed looking this rough. I'd have at least tried to cover the blemishes. Age has given me the dubious gift of indifference. Anyway, there's the box, and there I am, pretending to be startled.
I opened the box before I let Kathryn toss it out. Remember these things?
All photographs Copyright © 2015 by Kathryn A. Pollnac
And really, that's enough for now.