First off, subscribers should expect Sirenia Digest #7 on Monday or Tuesday. Basically, everything's together, text-wise, and now I'm waiting on Vince. This month's issue includes the second half of "The Black Alphabet" (N-Z), as well as a reprint of "Giants in the Earth" (with art by Richard A. Kirk) and Sonya Taaffe's (sovay) "Constellations, Conjunctions" (illustrated by Vince). So, #7 will be both longer than usual and a bit of a departure for the digest. This will be the first time I've included another author's fiction, and I'm hoping it will serve to introduce more people to Sonya's writing and perhaps urge them to pick up Singing Innocence and Experience. And if you're not a subscriber, this is easily remedied.
Yesterday was in almost all ways an improvement over Thursday, thanks in part to a healthful tincture of Absolut Citron and Gran Gala, cranberry juice and fresh lime. I didn't write, but I worked, which is better than sitting on the front porch watching big black carpenter ants. I kept myself busy with the digest and e-mails that had accumulated. I took care of some eBay business. I started Jeff VanderMeer's City of Saints and Madmen (Bantam Books, 2002), which I'm enjoying immensely. After dinner, at twilight, Spooky and I had a very pleasant walk in Freedom Park. There were bats and swallows and lightning bugs. Who could ask for more? Then we watched something on the National Geographic Channel about bison (and wolves and coyotes and eagles and elk and ravens) in Yellowstone. Later still, we watched Star Trek: Generations, which was a bit better than I remembered, though Shatner was as stiff as ever. I did enjoy Malcolm McDowell, though, and Kirk's final words: "Oh my." Nice. I told Spooky I hope that my last utterance isn't "oh my," but this morning, it doesn't seem entirely inappropriate to the occasion. And that was yesterday, give or take one mundane thing or another.
My thanks to Dana Christina, who very kindly provided me with passes to the Atlanta Independent Film Festival. Unfortunately, Spooky and I haven't felt much like theatre crowds the last couple of days, but the gesture was kind and greatly appreciated, nonetheless.
At some point yesterday, I found myself reading Amanda Palmer's blog, and this bit, in particular, struck a nerve:
i am a performer. it's my job to get up on that stage and entertain the crowd, even when i'm sick, even when i'm sick of it, even when i'm ready to keel over in exhaustion. there's something noble about plastering that grimace and/or smile on your face and heaving yourself up there, trying anyway. but for god's sake, i still need to be honest about it. i feel like that's the only saving grace. hello everyone, here are my mistakes. i don't want to be here tonight. we're touring too much and the show is starting to suffer, my voice is starting to sound like it's being ripped apart by the middle of every set. good evening everyone: no illusion for you.
And, while it's true that she's a musician and I'm a writer, I understand these lines completely. She's sums up perfectly how things have been for me the last two or three years: we're touring too much and the show is starting to suffer, my voice is starting to sound like it's being ripped apart by the middle of every set.
Thanks to everyone who's commented or e-mailed me about the discovery of a fairly complete specimen of Gansus yumenensis. A very wonderful find, indeed.
Argh. Noon already. I have the prolegomena for #7 to write today, and I need to do the illustrations for "Night," so I suppose it's time to give the platypus a swift kick. Please have a look at the eBay auctions. A couple of new things were added yesterday, including a two-for-one Low Red Moon ARC deal and a copy of the subpress hardback of Low Red Moon (with subpress ARC). Look. Bid. Buy it now. Write me (greygirlbeast(at)gmail(dot)com) if there's something you're looking for that isn't listed. Come on. I know you want to.
I might manage another entry later today, as there are a couple of conspicuous omissions in this one...