Yesterday, I wrote 1,440 words on "Untitled 33" and found THE END. The story came to 5,775 words, total, before any line edits that I'll do this afternoon. It's like a ride on a Tilt-a-Whirl, this one. Murder that might be only suicide. Suicide that might be only murder. The idea of "consensual" murder, which interests me greatly, except that there's always the possibility that the narrator is anything but reliable. And I do not know whether she is or not. I have had readers and editors and agents appalled before that I do not know such things, but why should I? The mystery is a mystery to me, as well.
Today will be spent proofreading "Untitled #33," and writing the prolegomena for Sirenia Digest, laying the issue out, sending it off to thingunderthest to be PDFed. This month, we have the new story, plus a long excerpt from The Red Tree, plus a new artist interview by readingthedark, and I hope people will be pleased.
If you have not, please do have a look at the current eBay auctions. Bid if you are so able. Thanks.
Still raining here in Providence. I've hardly left the house in a week.
Last night, Spooky made a very fine chicken stew, with eggplant, green bell pepper, mushrooms, potatoes, and so forth. Afterwards, I needed a guaranteed "comfort" film, so I chose the director's cut of James Cameron's Aliens (1986). My, but this film has aged well. It's hard to believe it's twenty-two years old. The girl who played Newt —— Carrie Henn —— is now thirty two. Wrap your brain around that. And she never appeared in another film. Aliens is still a beautiful, brilliant thing. A glorious, terrible spectacle of fire and shadow. Ellen Ripley stands as the archetype of the sf heroine. And Hudson is still as annoying as ever. It's almost impossible for me to say which of the four Alien films is my favourite, as each sets out to do such very different things. Alien is straight-forward Lovecraftian horror. Aliens is epic adventure. The criminally underappreciated Alien³ is possibly the most complex, harking back to the simple horror of the first film, but combining it with a skein of sociopolitical subtexts. And then Alien: Resurrection, a black comedy, of all things, and I love it, warts and all. I think I always forget that Aliens, aside from being a fine, fine action flick, is also a damn moving piece of cinema. Ellen and Newt deserved to make it back to Earth, of course, but, of course, how many of us ever get what we deserve?
After the movie, World of Warcraft, though not quite as much. I really, truly, am in love with the whole world of the Sin'dorei ("blood elves"), which is, by far, the most fully realised part of WoW that I've seen. And I got my very own imp last night, Volyal. So, I made it to Level 21 with Mithwen, the night-elf fighter, and to Level 8 with Shaharrazad, the blood-elf warlock. Working both sides of the street, as is were, Alliance and Hoarde. At one point yesterday, I began to wonder how many celebs have admitted to being WoW addicts. Robin Williams. Ben Affleck. Cameron Diaz. Vin Diesel, of course. Lots more. I may compile a list.
Okay...the work is waiting.