I wrote 1,441 words yesterday on "Metamorphosis B" and finished it. It somehow manages to be dreadful and sexy at the same time, which pleases me.
Today, I will begin another new piece. All I know right know is that it will not be "Metamorphosis C," and that it's going to be male-on-male, as I've felt like I've owed certain Sirenia Digest readers a little of that flavour for some time now. Thing is, writing erotica the last year and a half, I have discovered something. It is almost impossible for me to write that which is not one of my kinks. And I have quite an enormous range of kinks, but manly man-on-manly man action is not one of them. I can do bois and girlie boys and so forth, but that's about it. Oh, penises are fine and dandy, especially if they wind up doing things evolution never intended them for, but I suck (so to speak) at the whole manly man thing. Which is odd, because all the cisgendered male lovers I've ever had were fairly manly men. At least, they thought so. And yes, I am straying into TMI territory. Sorry. I will return to this topic, this curious contradiction, some other time, perhaps.
Daughter of Hounds has been selling quite well at Amazon.com this weekend. At one point late yesterday, it made it up to 7,497 in the sales ranking, which is the best I've seen it do. My thanks to everyone who's pre-ordered. And if you haven't, the platypus says...well, never mind what the platypus says...but I would be very grateful if you did so. Thanks.
Also, for those who might be interested, please recall that the eBay auction for the last Daughter of Hounds ARC I have to sell ends sometime just after 10 p.m. this evening (CaST, so that just after 9 p.m. EST, or 6 p.m. PST — I think). That's about eleven hours from now.
Nothing much notable about yesterday. I'd not left the house since Tuesday evening. And it's not good when I get like that, when I get that bad, so Spooky made me go with her to get dinner last night. We watched Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris' Little Miss Sunshine, which I loved almost unconditionally. Had it done nothing but reveal children's beauty pageants for the twisted freak shows that they are, it would be a fine, fine film, but it has quite a lot more to offer. Alan Arkin, a long time favourite, was brilliant, as was Steve Carell. Later, I played Final Fantasy XII (surprise), and then Spooky read me more of The Hobbit while I looked for inspiration (for whatever it is I'll be writing today) in H. R. Giger's Necronomicon II and a book on symbolist painters. That was yesterday, kaloo kalay.
This morning, while I watched night turn to day, I did some work on a Wikipedia dinosaur article, thus ending my seven-month hiatus from working on Wikipedia dinosaur articles.
And I was thinking, last night, recently both Poppy (docbrite) and Christa (faustfatale) have written about how blogging doesn't take time away from their actual for-real writing, and I was wishing I could say the same for myself. But I come to blogging as I come to everything — a little too intensely. I think I average about an hour a day on blog entries, though it is not uncommon to spend three hours in a twenty-four hour period on the LJ. Not reading other people's entries. Just writing my own. Because I have to write it and proof it and get it all just frelling right and check the facts and etc. & etc. And I've noticed that my entries have gotten rather long lately. So, maybe I'll try to keep them just a little shorter. Thing is, like Wikipedia (something I've also spent too much time on), I actually enjoy writing blog entries.
Okay. Now I need breakfast ramen and wasabi rice crackers and maybe more caffeine.