November 19th, 2013

house of leaves

"Her jaw aches from wanting, and she's sick from chlorine."

This spate of insomnia appears to have no intention of ever letting go of me. Last night was especially difficult. I lay awake. I lay awake and thought the sorts of thoughts I should not think even when I am awake. I lay awake and worked out, down to lines of dialogue, the first bit of The Dinosaurs of Mars. Then I worked out the opening of the fourth chapter of Cherry Bomb. Then I considered what will be in Sirenia Digest #94. I watched fragments of old movies. Round and round. I might have slept three hours, but I doubt it added up to quite as much as that.

I've lost track of word counts, which is what happens when I do not pause to write everything down. Regardless, on Sunday I finished the third chapter of Cherry Bomb. And put together Sirenia Digest #92. I am told it's a good issue.


On Friday afternoon, I made this announcement on Facebook and Twitter, so you may already have seen it:

I have been given the green light to announce that I've agreed to do a second five-part Dancy mini-series for Dark Horse Comics, which will pick up shortly after the end of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales (which I don't consider a genuine mini-series). It should come out sometime late in 2014, I think. I'll keep you posted. We're in the earliest planning stages.

So, there you go.


MAVEN is on its way to Mars. It's only ten months from here to there.


A sunny cold day today. The sky best described by that unspeakable phrase lifted from me. Only a few colorful leaves remaining on the trees. Here in Providence it's 44˚F (feels like 36˚F). The wind's gusting to 26 mph. They call that a "breeze" here in Rhode Island. Yesterday, though, the mercury made it all the way up to 66˚F. It was down right decent out there.

We left home about 2 p.m. (CaST), and we drove over to Blackstone Park on the shores of the Seekonk River, south of Butler Hospital and Swan Point Cemetery. It is a beautiful place, the park. I want to write about its history, but I think insomnia has rendered me entirely too stupid. I need to bathe in coffee. Um...wait. Here's a link. History. Right. Anyway, we walked beneath the trees for a time. I lay on a stone wall and – even with the annoying sound of road construction not nearly far enough away – I was amazed at how peaceful the world could be. Away from this room. Away from this machine. Away from the neighborhood. There are photos:

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On the way home, we stopped on Thayer Street, and I looked at a new pair of Doc Martens. I got my Docs in the summer 1993, and I suppose it wouldn't be splurging to get a new pair twenty years later. But I haven't decided if they'll be black or "cherry." Cherry? They used to call that shade oxblood, back when Docs were made in England. I suppose "cherry" is less likely to squick out the teenage girls. "We need a friendlier, fruitier word, one that does not call to mind slaughter." Right. I tried on a pair. I decided to think on it. I fucking hate buying shoes.*

Meanwhile, we're spending evenings with Guild Wars 2 and with Johnny Truant and Will Navidson. I've developed a new obsession with the basal sauropodomorph dinosaurs of South America (Eoraptor, Guaibasaurus, Saturnalia, Chromogisaurus, Panphagia, etc.), and I've been tracking down the papers that can be downloaded online (such as those from PLoS ONE). We've begun the final season of Dexter. And last night there was The Walking Dead.

I think about real people who live in the real world where they interact with other real people.

Her bravery is mistaken for the thrashing in the lake
Of the make-believe monster whose picture was faked.
~ Neko Case

Do Not Sleep,
Aunt Beast

* Turns out, they're still called oxblood in the UK.