August 28th, 2015

The Red Tree

"...and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull."

Yesterday was autumn. I think today will be, too. Tomorrow, summer may make a special encore appearance. There's never anyway of knowing, not here. I do not know the erratic, perfidious rhythms that the seasons dance to in New England. I half suspect no one does.

Sirenia Digest #115 went out yesterday, with a preview of Agents of Dreamland. At least one person likes it. On his Facebook, Johnathan Strahan writes:

Just read a chunk of Caitlín Rebekah Kiernan's novella 'Agents of Dreamland', which comes on like some parched, hypnotic, sage-soaked amalgam of Lovecraft, Tom Robbins and every X-Files nightmare you ever had. Practically poetry. And certainly a fine sight. Can't wait to see what happens next in Winslow.

~ and ~

I read the whole thing aloud, and it's like that moment where you hear Jack Palance on Roger Waters 'The Pros and Cons of Hitchiking' talk about 'the body on the plain', but it goes on for pages....

You want to get on my good side? Compare me to Roger Waters. Anyway, I'm going to be proofreading the whole thing today, and maybe these words will make the process a little less painful. Maybe it will make me go a little less harshly with my mean red pen.

Yesterday I also answered the sorts of questions that writers occasionally have to answer, some for John Joseph Adams and some for Ellen Datlow. The former, I was being asked about "Rats Live On No Evil Star," which I wrote in 1997. Or maybe 1998. And I'm being asked what inspired it, what I was thinking at the time, etc. And fuck if I know. That was eighteen years ago, and I've written almost two hundred short stories and ten novels since then. I do good to remember my own birthday. There might have been a time that I enjoyed talking about my own work, but that was long, long ago. This is why I no longer give interviews.

Yesterday, the ARCs for Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea: The Best of Me (Volume Two) arrived. And it's a strange thing to hold in my hands. Now I have that to proofread, as well. And I'm scrambling to get the artwork together for the limited edition. Very behind schedule. Very.

I know that my life has reached some fucked-up low point when I can enjoy two straight hours of Naked and Afraid, which has to be approaching the nadir of reality TV, at least in terms of the pleasure we can derive from watching others suffer. For fuck's sake, Kiernan.

Aunt Beast