Yesterday, I wrote 0 words. Go me. For now, the Forced March has halted. There is other work that must be done. The Forced March may resume, in a weakened strain, later this week. The less said about Wednesday, the better. But I did 1,573 words, there on that last day of January, that month when I'd pledged to write at least 1,500 words every damn day. It's not a pledge I'd expected to come anywhere near to keeping. I thought, surely, by the 3rd or 4th, I'd have come to my senses. No such luck. Out of 31 days, I wrote on 28 of them. I worked 30 of them, with only one day off (on the 21st). Two were days given over to writing-related work during which no actual writing was done. I managed to write 1,500+ words 27/31 days (one day — Tuesday, the 9th — I wrote "only" 631 words). My total word count for the month was 47,826 words, exceeding my goal of 46,500 by 1,326 words. The Word Bank closed out in the black with 3,593 spare words. So, all things considered, the experiment was a success, but a success I intend never to repeat again so long as I live. I cannot write this way, not if I mean to write well. Mark this as one of the vilest months of my life. And move on.

Yesterday was a sort of mandatory day off. I spent most of it in bed. We did our Imbolc thing late in the evening. Spooky had picked more Narcissus on Tuesday, and they all blossomed. Early last night, we watched Brian De Palma's The Black Dahlia. Previously, the only De Palma film I've ever actually liked was 1987's The Untouchables, and I can say today that's still very much the case. The Black Dahlia is a confusing mess of a film, and I have no idea what Scarlett Johansson was thinking.

I hope people found Sirenia Digest #14 to their liking. Feedback is, as always, welcome.

Alabaster has made the 2006 Locus Recommended Reading List, I am pleased to report.

—————

The last few weeks, I dream about the white room and the albino amputee more nights than not. I've never had a "recurring" dream that came with such frequency and clarity. I am starting to detect minor variations, whereas I was almost sure, for a while, that the dream was identical every time I dreamt it. But it's not that things are different one time to the next. It's more like I notice things I may not have noticed before, or upon waking I recall things I did not previously recall. Were I capable of lucid dreaming, there are things I would look for. One thing that I have slowly become aware of is that, in the dream, I do not have use of my left arm. It seems shriveled and numb. So, maybe that's one thing the albino woman and I have in common. We are both cripples, though she more dramatically so. I still do not know why I'm looking for missing syringes or what the photo album means, exactly what I'm being asked to find. There is a question I ask sometimes — "What am I seeing?" or "What is it that you want me to see?" I see now those are actually two very different questions. There's talk of "the war in Taiwan," but I have no idea where or when that white room is supposed to be. The dream does not seem to be leading anywhere. It's more like a loop, or an echo that grows stronger instead of fading.

—————

Watching them come and go,
Tomorrows and the yesterdays,
Christians and the unbelievers,
Hanging by the cross and nail.