I spent several hours yesterday dealing with my line edits and rewrites for "Bainbridge." I've been with this story the better part of a month now, and I fear I'm reaching that point where I'm losing perspective. This will be the final story in Alabaster, even though it takes place before all but one of the others, and I want it to feel climactic. I want it to be better than all the rest, which is asking a lot of myself, as I rather love "Waycross," in particular. This is Dancy before the events in Threshold and the "Live Panther" sign and Sinethella and the Gynander and that nasty business in Savannah with the Stephens Ward Tea League and Society of Resurrectionists. But after the death of her mother and grandmother, after whatever she fought in the cabin off Eleanore Road, after the sanitarium. And it's a lot of other things, too. I'm asking a lot from this story. So, yesterday was more frustration and the anger that comes when I'm faced with the consequences of my own limitations. Before it was over I attacked an empty cardboard box with a carving knife, which I suppose was very Dancy of me and all, but which did nothing for Spooky's nerves. Anyway, here's a look at my yesterday (behind the cut):
The bottom half of Page 24.
Multiply that about 138 times, and you'll have some idea of my yesterday. Sort of. All this time with Dancy, I've come to see just how much she means to me and perhaps why. I'm not sure I love any other character more than I love Dancy. There are a few I might love as much. Deacon Silvey, Emmie Silvey, Salmagundi Desvernine, Narcissa Snow, maybe Meredith Dandridge. But none of them have Dancy's determination, or her fury, which is the smallest fraction of some fury that has always been at the center of me. And when I say "love," I don't mean that I'm merely fond of Dancy Flammarion. I mean that I love her. It has made writing all her stories before Threshold very hard, because I know, always, the details of her bitter end (in at least two different universes). And now "Bainbridge" makes the profundity of her damnation all the clearer. Someday, in a moment of terrible weakness, I'll write a story wherein Dancy sidesteps her fate and has a long life entirely devoid of monsters. It would be a lie, but I might find comfort in it, anyway.
And let it never be said that I do not scour bad movies for some redeeming tidbit. In the case of The Cave, it's a Finnish band, Nightwish, which I'd never heard before (even though their first release was in 1997). About half of one of their songs, "Nemo," is used in the closing credits. Some might find them over-produced or too theatrical or too orchestral or too metal or too something else. But I quite like them. If you can, give "Nemo" a listen.
A note to all Sirenia Digest subscribers: expect the journal to arrive on or near the 15th this month. Meanwhile, the auction of letter X of Frog Toes and Tentacles continues. Here's an image to remind you just how much you need to bid (and here's a link to the other eBay auctions):
So...anyway. Not much else to be said for yesterday. After all the rewriting, after an unremarkable dinner, I washed my hair and had a long hot bath. We began reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I got to sleep about 3 a.m., after much tossing and turning. And now I see it's getting late, and I can't deny I'm procrastinating. Time to write...