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Halfway through yesterday, a cold wind blew in and the temperature dropped. That happens here. By four p.m., I finally had to shut my window, the air was so chilly. Today's supposed to reach 80˚F, though we're currently at 72˚F. And while the humidity feels about 90%, it's actually only 73%.

I want to be at the shore. Or in Boston.

Yesterday, I managed a decent word count on "Le Meneur des loups," a little more than 1,000 words. I'm having to rework some of the beginning, much more than I usually do in the way of revision. On a very much related note, I've cut my gabapentin dose from 1500mg a day to 1200mg a day, hoping to clear my mind a little. It's become hard to work, and that's utterly fucking terrifying. Yesterday my head wasn't quite so muddled, and I was able to see some of the trouble with the story. I'm going to try to drop down to 900mg.

June is going to be a nightmare. There's the screenplay that I've hardly touched since February. There's the short story I have to write for Dreams from the Witch House,* and, so far, nothing appropriate has occurred to me. I'll have Sirenia Digest #113. I've got to get together the manuscripts for Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales (Centipede Press) and the volume of juvenilia (Subterranean Press). I have an introduction to write (for another author's novel). I'll be needing to spend time at the Hay, transferring more of my papers and helping get the stuff in order. So, yes. It's going to be a fucking dreadful month.

Having written that paragraph, forget Boston and the shore, I just want to go back to bed.

"Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige." ~ Mike Shiner, Birdman

Last night we watched Alejandro G. Iñárritu's Birdman (2014), which deserves every one of the four Oscars it received. If there was a better film last year, it must be an amazing thing, indeed. Afterwards, we watched Brett Morgen's Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck (2015), which was as brilliant and as sad as I'd been told. One night, two incredible films. How's that for incisive, probing film commentary? Whatever. I have to save what precious little clarity I have for the writing that pays the bills.

Aunt Beast

* As I've said elsewhere, this is the last time I'll be writing for a "women only" anthology.


( 3 comments — Have your say! )
May. 28th, 2015 06:38 pm (UTC)
Last night we watched Alejandro G. Iñárritu's Birdman (2014)

You may have heard that Inarritu has recently referred to superhero films as "cultural poison". I tend to see art more as reflecting than influencing but I thought Birdman did a nice job discussing the sort of corrosive vanity that seems related to the superhero craze. In light of that, it's a bit funny Hugh Jackman announced after seeing Birdman that he intended to continue playing Wolverine as long as he was physically able, and then more recently announced the next Wolverine movie would be his last. I wonder if Inarritu called him after the first announcement and said, "No, no, you misunderstood."

If there was a better film last year, it must be an amazing thing, indeed.

Birdman was nice but I preferred Nymphomaniac, Under the Skin, and The Tale of Princess Kaguya.
May. 29th, 2015 01:04 am (UTC)
I want to be at the shore. Or in Boston.

You could come up to Boston and we could find a shore. I would enjoy this.

My parents adored Birdman.
May. 29th, 2015 06:25 pm (UTC)
It's warmer here, and I'm far north of you. I always thought a writer had to be a masochist, or at least it would help. I think the the most frightening story I ever read was about a writer who was at the the far side of the bell curve of his career. He was digging in trash for his least worn out type writer ribbon, praying he could sell a story so he could pay his rent. He was to old to start a different career, and to spent to save his current one. There was some supernatural element, but real life was worse.
( 3 comments — Have your say! )