June 27th, 2013

Shaw

"When we couldn't sleep for all the heat, soft talk began to harden."

For now, summer has slipped behind a veil of rain and cloud. The temperature has dropped into the seventies.

Yesterday, I didn't write. I'm trying to find a story. Sometimes, it's very easy, finding a story. Often, they find me. Other times – probably usually – it takes a little work to come across that germ that can be fashioned into a story. And still other times nothing at all comes when I call. Other times like now. I have a story due at the end of July, and no idea whatsoever. I don't mean that I can't think of a plot. Fuck plot. I make a habit of avoiding the tyranny of plot as much as possible. I mean the simple idea that is the foundation of Story.

I didn't mention the beautiful Ambrose Bierce volume (Centipede Press) that S. T. Joshi sent me. It arrived day before yesterday, along with a package from Jason Brock.

I've been answering a lot of email – which I pretend is work, when it's only the busyness of writing. I've been answering a lot of email, and still I'm behind on answering my email. Yesterday, I chose a font for the Centipede Press edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. I'd been putting that off for weeks. I learned that I have until the end of July to finish my proofreading of The Ape's Wife and Other Stories. I signed books for Kathryn to send away to folks who'd won eBay auctions. I signed the contracts for the French edition of The Drowning Girl, and I signed the contracts for the Audible edition of Blood Oranges, but none of that is writing, which means none of that is work. Those are merely things that have to be done. Filler, if you will.

If you were a contributor to the "Tale of the Ravens" Kickstarter and have yet to receive your reward, please do not contact Kathryn. The delay has been my fault, so you should be contacting me. I have neglected finishing the story for the chapbook. Do not ask why, because I can arrive at no explicable reason. But I haven't finished the last few pages. I come back to it, from time to time, and it will, eventually, be done. I apologize for the wait. Anyway, yes, my fault. Contact me. greygirlbeast(at)gmail(dot)com

Yesterday, I read "A new juvenile specimen of Guanlingsaurus (Ichthyosauria, Shastasauridae) from the Upper Triassic of southwestern China" in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology (33:2). Old, old bones from an old, old sea, from a sea far away in time and space. Once, I was a time traveler.

Does anyone else here do that silly Pinterest thing? It's a moderately effective means of time displacement. I started an account some time ago. Sort of vaguely engaging; certainly not addictive. Occasionally, I remember it's there.

Time For More Coffee,
Aunt Beast
Western Interior Seaway

"Back at the start it was easy to see...."

I just received a package from Jada, containing photographs from digs and museum work we did in Alabama, circa 1983. I thought those images were lost forever. But here they are, only a bit faded. My face from several life times ago, looking forward at the me of now, and who the fuck thought I'd ever live so long? Not me.

Jesus fucking fuck, this is weird. But a good weird. Sad, but good. Bittersweet. Lost friends. Lost mentors. Concrete photos of a possible future that has (and might always) haunt me. A reminder that we, to paraphrase the Rolling Stones, don't always get what we want, but if we try...well, at least we might survive.

Explorer Post 272. The Red Mountain Museum. Limestone Creek. Greene County. Mosasaurs and toxochelid turtles and pterosaurs. The "Gordies." My face at eighteen and nineteen. Fat Kitty! Maybe, one day, I'll find the courage to post some of these.

Jada, thank you for saving these for that day I would need them, after I was so careless and lost them. I love you.

Dizzy in Time,
Aunt Beast

PS: Also, the package from Ireland arrived.