Day 3 of the Great Providence Rain-a-thon of 2017. Though, truthfully, there haven't been more than a dozen truly sunny days since Spooky and I got back from Alabama the first week of May. That's what it's been like around here, but you know that if you've been keeping up. If anyone is, they know that. Currently, it's 76˚F and overcast, and the humidity is at 88%. The sky looks like mold.

Yesterday, I did 1,009 words on a story that I am, for now, calling "Three Monsters Walk Into a Bar," and it's a story featuring the Signalman, set two years after the events of Agents of Dreamland. Day before yesterday, it occurred to me, and I just started writing. I'm really not sure where it's headed. A scene in a diner in Los Angeles. Anyway, it will be featured in Sirenia Digest No. 137.

Yesterday wasn't a good day. It was a day and a night when the anxiety and fear and anger coalesced into something as focused and bright as a laser.

The most pernicious of the New Myths, the young myths of the young 21st century, is that our lives were dull and lonely before the internet. They were not. They were, though, a lot less distracted.

Last night, we watched Bryan Singer's The Usual Suspects. It had been a few years. The film's American release date was August 16th, 1995, and last night it occurred to me that it was very likely the first new movie after Elizabeth's death that I saw in a theater.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast



11:08 a.m.