Yesterday, I wrote 1,473 words on "Untitled 27" and finished the vignette. If I could pick but a single word to describe the piece, I think that one word word be intense. If nothing else, it is intense. It doesn't woo you, doesn't hold your hand and buy you candy and flowers and take you to a movie. All in all, it's more like the pieces in Frog Toes and Tentacles, I suspect. I would like a different title, and maybe I will find one. This evening, I'll do a little editing on it and send it away to Vince to be illustrated. Sirenia Digest #18 will also include my long "short" story "Houses Under the Sea."
I have zero enthusiasm for this stroll into the grey wastes of Nurn, and I see nothing to be profited by lying about a thing like that. Belatedly, it occurs to me I might have found a boat willing, for a price, to take me across the Sea of Núrnen to Thaurband or Nurngost and I wouldn't be taking the long way around. But I shall not now cry over spilled milk. Just shut up and walk, Kiernan. You have only ten days left, which is both the good and the bad news.
Down the way, the road's divided;
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I don't know
Refer to the yellow, red and green.
A decent enough walk yesterday. And after dinner, an episode of Nature I'd not seen about an herpetologist's search for very large crocodiles in Asia, Africa, and Australia, specimens over twenty feet, and the question of whether or not the trophy slaughter of crocodiles before hunting bans and restrictions began might have removed the "giant gene" from various populations, since the largest specimens were (artificially) selected against. And then I was up until three thirty reading the Steinbeck biography. If nothing else, Steinbeck's misadventures and general shiftlessness during his twenties and early thirties make me feel a little better about having been such a grand fuck up during that portion of my own life.