greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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People laugh at anything, And things just fall apart.

Something good this morning. Something that made me smile and made me feel a little less like there is no point whatsoever to this Thing That I Do. Daughter of Hounds made the American Library Association's 2007 Reading List in the category of "Fantasy." Sure, I didn't win, but who gives a shit. I made the list, and it's a short list to make. Also, it pleases me greatly that Daughter of Hounds was listed under "Fantasy" and not under "Horror" (though I was very pleased to see Dan Simmons' superb The Terror on the "horror" list). And sure, they left out my middle initial, but they left in the síneadh fada, so that's cool. And I'm also glad I didn't know about this until after it was over, so I didn't have to fret over the great unlikelihood that I would actually win. This is much better. Truly, between this and Shahrazad surviving her spice agony, my week has been made.

Gods, I'm not awake. Seven hours of sleep, and, still, I'm not awake. Oh, and the dream was back.

Yesterday, I did 1,285 words on Chapter Two of Joey Lafaye. The pyro guys are all in place. Today, the charges get blown, and whatever doesn't actually happen in camera will be added in post, right? Finally, I am beginning to feel this book, even if it's not the book I'd hoped to end up feeling.

Last night, for Kid Night, we ate hot dogs and chocolate-chip cookies and watched five episodes from Season One of Angel. I was especially pleased with "I Will Remember You" and "Hero." But I still hate Cordelia. Later, I edited a short rp transcript for the Dune: Apocalypse forum (expect typos, because I was half asleep), then shared a dream with other members of the Omega Institute in Toxia. Yeah, that's Second Life stuff. And I still don't have any of the screencaps from Wednesday night edited. But maybe tomorrow.


Like I said, the "space balloon" dream was back last night. This morning. Almost all of it at once, and brighter and louder than any of the previous dreamings of it. I'm growing sick of the thing. A few days ago, someone commented, via email, that I seemed more matter-of-fact about this dream, and wondered if that meant its effect on me was lessening. The answer was no then, and it's still no. But there's not much point in doing more than reporting it, and even that seems rather futile. I cannot influence its outcome. It will play out as my subconscious mind or the Jungian collective unconscious or the goddamned PTB wish it to play out, regardless of my desires. I'm not sure there was anything new this time around, though there was a handgun in the shower with me, and I'm not sure I noticed it before.


I'll sit down and get Sirenia Digest #26 together tomorrow. I need to go back over both my stories, and write the prolegomena. But I have Vince's art. I just want to give the novel another full day of my attention before I step away even for a short time. Anyway, this means it's still not too late to subscribe in time to get the newest issue, which I expect will actually be emailed out on Monday.

Hello, coffee. Hello, platypus.

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