December 7th, 2006


the void where sleep would be

Asleep at two a.m. last night (all times CaST), and then, five hours later, the blink of a sleeping eye, I woke at seven a.m. So I lay in bed trying to find my way back down to sleep. I listened to Spooky sleeping, to Hubero roaming the hall, to the sounds the heater makes, to a truck somewhere down the street. About 7:45, birds began to sing. At eight o'clock I gave up and crawled to my desk. I sat here and watched the sun rise, bringing bleak light but no warmth. And I think I must have passed delirious about three this afternoon, right after the Red Bull that didn't wake me up, but did a fine job of making me jittery. Yeah, insomnia. Or whatever. Night after night after night, but this was the worst in some time.

And yet, I still managed a very respectable 1,878 words today. Oh, and I talked with my publicist in NYC. After the writing, we went for a very short walk. It's wicked cold (as they say in Boston). Even Spooky the Exiled Yankee was chilled to the bone after only a few minutes in that wind. Even she of the Great White North, slayer of polar and walrusi, even she says it's cold. We only made it as far as the corner, where we grabbed the new issue of Creative Loafing and headed straight the @#!@%@! back home. And proofed Chapter Three of Low Red Moon. Yay me. Even asleep and delirious, the frelling work gets done. Sure, I have bags beneath my eyes and my heart's beating funny and every time I stand for longer than five minutes it feels like I'm on a boat (on a rough sea). But the work gets done. Because. Who the frell else would ever do this crap if not for me. Ah, but I do love Narcissa. She's something I got right. It's easy when you're only writing yourself, when it's only some dim shade of fictional autobiography. See? You guys benefit from my sleep deprivation. I'll regret having said that tomorrow. Narcissa Snow and her razor blades and her dead mother's diary. That's my favorite chapter in the whole damn book.

We should have done two chapters, but I lost the ability to distinguish between commas and semi-colons.

Mars changes even as The Dinosaurs of Mars slowly comes together in my mind. That is, actual discoveries, such as liquid water, and imagined "discoveries," like the goofballs who think they've spotted a humanoid skull lying on the surface at Gusev Crater (though they seem to generously concede it might only be the head of a humanoid statue). If these fools keep it up, they'll get the book written before I do. I mean, no one on Earth is going to believe I didn't get the idea from this website. I wish someone out there would just would send these folks out into a desert and make them sit still and look at rocks for about a week. Let them learn to tell the difference between perception and reality, between shadow and form. Yes, Virginia, optical illusions are fer real. And then there's all the fun you can have with PhotoShop. But still, I must bow before the bold paranoia of this paragraph:

Yes they are watching me dispense this information to you but really they are sitting back using me and even more watching you to gauge your reactions or lack of same to this information. Further, the secrecy controller types aren't the only ones watching you. Will the sleeper awaken? Only you can decide.

Will the sleeper awaken? No, that's really what it says.

But, remember...only you can decide. By the way, this guy isn't so good with commas, either.

Uh...what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. For a limited time, you may purchase all 13 back issues of Sirenia Digest for only $100, and we'll even throw in a free signed copy of the tpb of Silk. That's a savings of $44! This offer only applies to people have not yet subscribed, of course. But new subs still get the free signed copy of the tpb of Silk. Why? Because we like you. This offer lasts only so long as my whim may dictate.

You do realise that I'm typing this in my sleep, right? Human skulls on Mars. Yep, that's a CRK dream if ever there was one.

Meanwhile, in case you missed this a few days ago:

I'm reposting (below) the information regarding the new subpress mini interview, in case you missed it yesterday: (uh...)

The aforementioned Sirenia Digest mini interview is now up at Subterranean Press. Just click here. Also, subpress has kindly posted an excerpt from "The Cryomancer's Daughter (Murder Ballad No. 3)" (from Sirenia Digest No. 8, July '06), which you can reach by clicking here. Or, you may reach both from the subpress news page (click, then scroll down). I'm hoping we see a few more subscribers. As They say, our operators are standing by. Also, Saturday Dec. 2nd, proclaims the platypus, is a grand day to pre-order Tales from the Woeful Platypus.

Note that part of the fourth question is missing. It should read: SubPress: And just what do you mean when you talk about what the Sirenia Digest website calls "darkly fantastic erotica"?

Now I'm gonna wake up. Thanks. Drive around, please.