The black mood lifted yesterday, unexpectedly and for no reason I could identify (which is usually the case), and so there was work. There was even writing. The corrections for DoH went away to NYC, and it's good to have that out of my hands. I can say now that the novel truly is finished. At least, I've done all I can do. I began a piece which is currently called "Untitled 23," but which will hopefully have a different title farther along. I suspect it's meant for Sirenia Digest #10 (September). I wrote a couple hundred words, and then there was a wonderful downpour which distracted me, so I sat with Hubero and watched the rainfall from the living-room window. Spooky came back from the post office, and we read a piece I'd written for SD #4 (February), "Untitled 17," because I needed to hear it. Then we read Angela Carter's "The Earl King," because I needed to hear that, too. Suddenly, it was almost 5 p.m., and I was afraid I'd let the whole day slip away from me. But I went back to writing and managed to do 1,020 words, finishing up at 6:45 p.m. There was also a lot of e-mail yesterday. I think I'm almost caught up on my e-mail.
With luck, I'll ride this crest another day or two and be able to finish "Untitled 23" before I come to the next trough.
Spooky made a very complex and wonderful "stoup" for dinner, with fresh kale and mushrooms and celery and tomatoes. When we took our walk, after dark, the rainy day had given way to a foggy, drizzly night, which was nice. These walks are good. I seem to have shed that terrible old habit of not leaving the house for ten or eleven days straight. I'm no more social, but at least I'm not a frelling shut-in. I watched the second half of the new ep of Miami Ink (and the whole thing with the face of the Virgin Mary on an old grilled cheese sandwich, well, yuck, but at least it made me laugh), and worked a little more, and then we read two more pieces by Angela Carter — "Wolf-Alice" and "The Fall River Axe Murders" — because "The Earl King" had only whetted my appetite. Then I needed something easy, so Spooky read me Robert McCloskey's Time of Wonder (1957). There were dreams, and they were not good, but I cannot now remember them, which is for the best.
In between everything else, I'm going to try to start the next round of eBay auctions today.
I was too tired last night to bother cross-posting yesterday's second entry, "The Lovecraft Tree," but MySpace and Blogger people can follow this link if they're interested. I'm thinking I'll do a permanent memorial page for the tree somewhere, whenever I can get around to it. Okay, the platypus is rattling a tin cup against the bars of its cage, and that's my frelling cue...