If I'm not careful, this could lead to a story. And I'm not trying to find a story right now. I'm just wishing I could hibernate.
In my Subterranean Press update yesterday, I failed to include Subterranean magazine #2, which will be released sometime between Frog Toes and Tentacles and Alabaster. I did so because even though it's the special "Caitlín R. Kiernan issue," and includes my new sf story "Bradbury Weather" and a reprint of "Andromeda Among the Stones" and a new interview, it's not, strictly speaking, one of my books. Nonetheless, I do urge you to snag a copy of the zine, which will also include work by Charles de Lint, Joe Hill, Charles Coleman Finlay, Jack McDevitt, Robert Silverberg, and Michael Bishop. A mere six bucks (unless you want to spring for the hardback edition, which will also get you my chapbook, The Merewife).
Yesterday was a grand symphony in frustration (curbed only by a delightful conversation with usagiko about Japanese vibrator vending machines), and today will be given over to what I hope will be the final draft of the proposal for Secret Project B. Then it's back to work on Daughter of Hounds. And I may finally do the next chapter of The Girl Who Sold the World, just to loosen up the prose glands.
The Lady of Manners has at last opened her Gothic Charm School. I would squee if I knew how.
Last night, I finally defeated Maester Seymour and his aeon Anima. I am entirely in lust with Yuna's mystery frost aeon, whom I'm pretty sure is actually an ancient Nebari goddess that has been appropriated by Final Fantasy X. Oh, to have a LJ icon of her (hint, hint).
The eBay auctions continue. Monster doodles for all "Buy It Now" purchases. The Dry Salvages, The Five of Cups, In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers (illustrated by Dame Darcy!). Your bookshelves will thank you.