The last thing I need is technology devising new ways to make me feel insecure.
Yesterday might have been worse. But it's hard to believe that I wasted so many years of my life in Birmingham. I makes me a little ill, thinking about it. After two years in Atlanta, I'd forgotten the level of constant background hostility I encountered anytime I went anywhere in Birmingham. Here, people generally mind their own business.
On the trip down, I read John W. Campbell's "Twilight," and we listened to Rasputina and Magnetic Fields. On the trip back, I dozed and ate salted cashews.
I now have an Ambien prescription, so maybe I'll get a little more sleep. These five-hour nights are wearing on me.
It seemed like I had something of substance to say this morning, but it also seems to be eluding me (again). I suppose I'll make more notes for Daughter of Hounds today. Spooky has many errands to which to attend. This book, this book is swelling in my head, and I pray that I'm equal to what it's asking. I know now that it will likely be divided into three sections, and that there will be stories set within the greater story of the novel. Substories. Daughter of Hounds will be the culmination of everything I began in Threshold (and maybe all the way back in "Anamorphosis"). I'm beginning to think this will be my first really long novel. Too bad I'm not being paid by the word. The most difficult thing about this book (and I might have said this already) will be that it's set twenty years from now, but it's not a science-fiction story. So I have to manage to handle all the Things To Come without drawing too much attention to them.
We got home about 10 p.m. last night, and I turned on the television and watched Barton Fink on FMC. Gods, do I love that movie. I had such a thing for Judy Davis back about 1991.
Oh, I hear there's going to be a story on Farscape: Peacekeeper War in the June 13th issue of TV Guide.