February 14th, 2016

The Red Tree

"I've always been a coward, and I don't know what's good for me."

Crazy fucking cold here today. Indeed, I haven't felt this sort of cold since last March, when we were staying in Neil's mountain cabin and a wendigo knocked out the power the night before I had to be in Manhattan for a reading. Currently, here in Providence we still have a windchill warning – third day, I think – and the temperature is only 1˚F, with a windchill of -18˚F. The low last night, -7˚F with a –28˚F windchill. Our forecast high for the day is 11˚F. At least the sun is out, and there's no snow falling.

Yesterday consisted entirely of copyediting. I made it through, roughly, the first half of the Mythos Tales manuscript. Today, I'm going to do my best to finish, but that's more than three hundred pages of red marks I have to get through. Queen Tedium. I included this note at the end of Beneath an Oil-Dark Sea:

The author wishes to note that the text for each of these stories, as it appears in this collection, will differ, often significantly, from the originally published texts. In some cases, stories were revised for each reprinting (and some have been reprinted numerous times). No story is ever finished. There’s only the moment when I force myself to stop and provisionally type THE END.

It will also be including it at the end of Mythos Tales, and, for that matter, the PS Publishing reissues of Tales of Pain and Wonder, The Ammonite Violin & Others, and To Charles Fort, With Love. Also, this will be the last enormous collection that I ever, myself, compile. In the future I will do only collections of a reasonable length, and if any one wants a huge retrospective like this, they can edit it. I need to spend more time on unwritten stories and less time on my past work.

Side Two of Kate Bush's The Hounds of Love (1985), which is actually The Ninth Wave, is one of the most amazing things ever, ever put to vinyl.

Yesterday, Spooky made a huge pot of black-eyed peas and salt pork to get us through three or four freezing days, and later we worked on a new Gorey jigsaw puzzle, played some GW2, then watched a new Bowie documentary on PBS, Francis Whately's David Bowie: Five Years. Very excellent. We followed it with Jim Mickle's Cold in July (2014), an adaptation of Joe R. Lansdale's novel. Unfortunately, it's a film wherein the parts end up being greater than the whole, and things never quite come together. I blame it largely on the Mickle's direction almost entirely lacking a point of view. Don Johnson, Sam Shepherd, and Michael C. Hall do their best with what they're given, but the end result is a bit like a glass of flat beer. And yes, that's an odd analogy.

That's all for now, kiddos.

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast