greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

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The Flamboyent Cuttlefish

I would think that by just about any sane measure, I would count as a very prolific writer. At times, somewhat too prolific for my own good. And with this in mind, it seems inevitable that there will be these dry spells. These times where I sit and stare at the keyboard until I must either find some suitable diversion, some work substitute, or start breaking things. Yesterday, I spent a good portion of the day trying to write. I found a title. I found a good portion of the story — here, behind my eyes. But all that made it from my brain to the screen of the iMac was the title: "The Ape's Wife." This is the aforementioned Kong story, which I have decided is not destined for Sirenia Digest, but for the pages of Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy, an anthology which will be published by subpress. So, there, I have a title and I know some part of the story, and today, with luck, it will not rain, but the words will come, which is really the same thing.

When I could no longer stare at the keyboard (I think it was about 5 p.m.), I distracted Spooky from working on the taxes (gathering receipts for Herr Accountant) and read her an Angela Carter story, "Wolf Alice," one of my very favourites. Then I read her one of my favourite Bradbury stories, "Tyrannosaurus rex" (originally published as "The Prehistoric Producer"). And then we had a walk. I needed a sweater, which seemed odd as we've been having days in the high seventies and low eighties (and it's even cooler today). Nothing remarkable about the walk. Down to the end of Seminole where the skateboarders hang out, where their ramps, geometrical oddities of plywood and particle board, sit abandoned on days they're not using them. Days like yesterday. There was a chilly wind, but the sun was bright and warm. We walked as far as Videodrome, which really wasn't very far, not as far as we should have walked. I'm trying to do better with this whole exercise thing, dull though it may be.

Back home, UPS delivered the signature pages for the hardback edition of Subterranean Magazine #6, which includes a new sf story by me, "Zero Summer." I decided I would wait until tonight to deal with the signature sheets. After dinner, we watched Brian W. Cook's Color Me Kubrick, which I found wonderful in a ghastly way, or ghastly in a wonderful way — one or the other. I downloaded new wallpaper for the Unnamed iMac from the National Geographic website. At midnight, we watched a new Nova documentary on cuttlefish. And that, near as I can recall, was yesterday.

I have yet to decide how I feel about the news of a film adaptation of Edward Gorey's "The Doubtful Guest." I see so many ways this could go very wrong.

In yesterday's entry, I forgot to mention that on Tuesday I had to proofread the galleys for a reprinting of "So Runs the World Away." I am still very fond of this story, and I found myself wondering if I might want to write a story about Dead Girl and Bobby after they leave Providence. I still am undecided.

The Canon has been repaired and, even now, is on its way back to us, so soon there will be photos again.

And I think that's it for now. But, wait...the platypus says this would be an exceptionally good day to pick up a copy of Daughter of Hounds, and the platypus, it should be noted, has a damned uncanny sense about such things.
Tags: angela carter, dry spells, gorey, ray bradbury, so runs the world away, writing, zero summer
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