And, too, I'll say again, that it's a crying shame that Second Life is so burdened with being an online dating/social network and a haven for shitwits (of many, many species) that it will never realize even half its potential as an innovative medium for storytelling. I keep hoping that some new sim service emerges, one which provides the degree of potential creative freedom that now exists on SL, but which also exists solely to permit creators to create, and which doesn't tout itself as a fancy chat room, a solution for those without a RL social life, or sex life...or a life, period. One that has some way of sorting out the chaff, as it were. I keep hoping, and it keeps not happening. This comes up because, over the last week, on a couple of occasions, I've slipped back into SL, into New Babbage briefly, and a couple of people have been trying to get me back into the rp there. But every time I enter SL, without fail, within half an hour or less, I'm confronted by the inanities that drove me to leave two months ago.
Blah, blah, blah.
Nothing much in the way of a writing day yesterday. I read back over what I'd written on Monday, and discovered that the story had, in fact, derailed. But I couldn't really see how to set it right again, and began to suspect that it's simply the wrong story for me to be writing at the moment. Truthfully, I'm bloody exhausted and any story's the wrong story for me to be writing at the moment. But I have a deadline at the end of the month, for this piece and for Sirenia Digest #36. I spent maybe an hour talking it over with Spooky, the problems I'm having with the new story, and, finally, she told me to get up and get dressed, that she'd drive me down to Beavertail. I was too tired and too frustrated to say no.
Winter is coming on fast, and Conanicut Island has changed a lot since the last time we were there, a month or so ago. The trees are mostly bare, revealing marshy places and fieldstone walls. The wind was freezing. We climbed down on the rocks below the lighthouse, but my feet have gotten bad again, what with all the exercise I've not been getting, what with all the writing and the not leaving the house. I was clumsy on the rocks. The tide was in, so we couldn't really get to the pebbly beaches that give up beach glass. I only found a few pieces, and picked through shells and crab and lobster claws. But the sea was good, as She always is. The sun was setting by the time we arrived, and I don't think we stayed more than half an hour. There were a few unhappy looking gulls, but I saw no cormorants. On the way out of Beavertail, we spotted a small hawk perched in a tree, staring out to sea. I slept the entire way back to Providence.
For dinner, Spooky warmed up last night's chili. We read Chapter Three of The Red Tree, so I'd not feel like a total slacker. We watched three more eps of Firefly. I made another post to crk_blog_vault. Later, we played maybe an hour of WoW. The service was offline most of yesterday and last night, scheduled maintenance that turned into some sort of clusterfuck. But, that was probably for the best, anyway. It is too easy a distraction. We went to bed about 2:30 a.m., and Spooky read me Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are (more comfort food). The dreams were bad, but not bad enough to leave me dreamsick.
And I really do apologize for making such an utterly cranky post.
Here are some photos from Conancut Island. Let me see if I can save today....
A bit northwest of the Beavertail Lighthouse, looking southwest towards Narragansett and Point Judith. You can just make out a bell buoy in the distance.
From the same spot, but with the view to the north. A cold evening on the rocks.
Beavertail Lighthouse, view to the south.
Mackerel Cove, as the setting sun torches everything. View to the southeast.
Pretty much the same as above.
All photographs Copyright © 2008 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac.