May 25th, 2009


Howard Hughes and the War Against Morphological Tyranny

Bad insomnia last night. It was sometime after 4 a.m. before I found sleep, or it found me. This morning, I'm only pretending to be awake. It isn't working very well.

A rather spotty writing day yesterday. I only managed 757 words on "Galápagos." Actually, I managed a bit more than that, but tossed a good deal of it out. I have reached what is likely the climax of the story, which, for me, is where it began. That is, this is the scene that my imagination first spat up, a couple of weeks or so back. But all that other stuff had to come first, the portion of the story preceding and building to this revelation, and now I'm faltering. This sort of thing happens quite often. I see, clearly, some scene, and then I write towards it. Only, expectation accretes about the scene, all those images, and when it's finally time to write it, I'm so afraid of not living up to my imagination...I'm pretty sure I've said all this before.

Not much else to yesterday. The temperature Outside neared 80F, but it was cloudy, with rain showers here in Providence. Plans were made for the dreaded birthday -05, which is tomorrow. Sonya (sovay) will be taking the train down from Boston. I think the sooner we make it to Wednesday, the better off I'll be. Anyway, back to yesterday, there was leftover spaghetti, and four more episodes from Season One of The X-Files. A little WoW, but it was mostly Shaharrazad getting her mining skills up to 300, which meant going back to Azeroth and the hives of Silithus to mine ooze-covered thorium. Oh, and then, back in the World's End Tavern in Shattrath, she mixed port and egg nog, and ended up dancing on the stage in nothing but her undies while L80ETC played "The Power of the Horde." I have screencaps, but I'm too asleep to edit and upload the shameful things right now. Later, I used the Tarot for meditation, and Spooky read me the first chapter of Andrea Barrett's The Voyage of the Narwahl, which I'm liking quite a lot, so far.

And here's another reminder about the new trade paperback edition of Alabaster, 'cause these books don't sell themselves. Maybe if I were a Mormon homophobe who used sparkly tales of necrophilia to peddle "the erotica of abstinence," they would.

And happy birthday to docbrite. May the day be everything you wish of it.