Yeah, so no words yesterday. And there will be no fiction words again today. Maybe tomorrow. This is one reason I will never be a "craft" writer. I know that there are times when I have to wait, and all the workmanlike determination on Earth will not force words from out the aether when the words simply are not coming. This is not the same as saying something like, oh, "I only write when the mood strikes me." If I only wrote when the mood struck me, I'd still be trying to finish The Five of Cups
. It's also not saying that I must wait for inspiration. Inspiration comes and goes. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it hinders. Sometimes it heckles. Sometimes it's a gibbering idiot drooling on my shoulder. What I am
saying is that I have learned when I have to back away.
Yesterday, Spooky helped me get out of the house. We tried Piedmont Park, where I very much wanted to be, but there was still a chill wind. We had lunch at The Vortex. We prowled a couple of video/DVD rental places. It was not an interesting day, but it was an okay day, and a better day than I'd expected it to be, and a better day, too, than the day before. Last night, we watched a bizarre but entertaining and somewhat artful Thai sf film, Garuda
(2004). And because a perfect surreality was required for the evening, we then watched The Nomi Song
(also 2004). And that was yesterday.
While we were sitting in The Vortex, I watched the demonstrators in Los Angeles, all the kids who'd taken part in the school walk-outs streaming through the streets. It was heartening. At least someone
out there is still willing to stand up for themselves. As to the issue of illegal immigrants, I must admit that I no longer believe that human beings can own land, that land can be owned by anything. Individuals and nations may proclaim
ownership and then use force to sustain the illusion, but that doesn't make it so. All Homo sapiens
are "aliens" to North America. The "Native" Americans came from Asia. The Europeans came along much later and claimed the whole continent for their own. They brought in African slaves. But everyone
here's a squatter, a transplant, an interloper. You are exotics, one and all. I don't care what your papers say or how many generations your family's been here. I just don't see those sorts of borders anymore. It's all a lot of noise over imaginary lines drawn on paper. People should be free to come and go as they please.
My thanks to tactileson
for the book which arrived yesterday. I've read of good bit of it already. Oh, and thanks for the CD, as well.
No sooner had I posted my entry late last night, Gomphos
and the Bush Administration's attempts to rewrite the science of global warming
, than Spooky brought this article
to my attention,
another gigantic iceberg breaking free of Antarctica. D-16, 8 miles wide by 15 miles long. Another little bit.
Spooky's posted photos of Ignatius over in her LJ
, and if you liked his brother, Sweet William, and their maiden aunt, the clairvoyant "feylian," you should have a look and maybe leave a comment. Also, the Alabaster ARC auction
ends in 2 days and 8 hours. I am very grateful for the bids it's received, but would remind you there are other auctions
, and those
books are now beginning to feel inferior and look askance at the ARC. You can help. Anyway, I think that's all for now. Move along.