Yesterday, I wrote 1,181 words on the as-yet-untitled "Little Red Riding Hood" retelling (for Sirenia Digest #47). I had hoped to finish it, but that should be easy to do today.
And if you're local, remember that I will be reading from The Red Tree tomorrow evening at 7 p.m., at the Brown University Bookstore (244 Thayer Street, Providence, RI. 02912 - Phone: 401-863-3168 - Toll Free: 800-695-2050). This will likely be my last public reading from the novel.
The eBay auctions continue. Please have a look, and do bid if you are able and inclined. Thanks.
As longtime readers know, I'm not big on giving advice regarding writing and publishing. It's just not something that I generally feel comfortable doing. This is not a "how to" blog. Indeed, I've turned down stints as a writer in a couple of the more popular "how to" blogs, because I don't like proffering advice. Anyway, that said, I will say something painfully fucking obvious. I don't care how much you want to be a writer, or how avid a reader you may be. I don't care how much you network. If you are too lazy to be bothered to use (or learn) proper grammar and spelling, you're screwed. Give it up now, and save some poor schmuck a headache, one of the poor schmucks whose job it is to read slush piles and try to decipher submissions from "authors" who cannot be bothered with punctuation, capitalization, correct spelling, etc. Maybe the world is doomed to devolve into a den of textspeak and l33t and People Who Simply Can't Be Bothered, but it has not happened yet. And sure, if you want to bend the English language and experiment, if there is a method to your unconventional syntax, that's fine. After you actually learn the way the language works, then you can play Joyce and Faulkner. Sorry; I hate breaking my own rules. But I'm tired of seeing the blogs and Facebook messages of self-described writers and reviewers who are either illiterate or lazy, and who seem to think it's okay.
It occurred to me late last night, after discovering that Barney Frank is just another hysterical "transphobic" butt plug, that I'm sick of the whole -phobic/-phobia suffix thing. Because this isn't fear we're dealing with here. It's hatred, and I will no longer let people who hate me off the hook by playing along with the niceties of political correctness and pretending that they're, instead, afraid of me. We are not faced with "transphobia," or "homophobia." We are faced with hatred, and it's time to cut the crap and say so. Therefore, a new term is needed. Last night, I came up with "transmisia." "Transsexualmisia" would be more correct, but then, "homophobia" should be "homosexualphobia" (if my Latin is way, way off, someone please correct me). Sure. People often come to fear the things they hate, but it's hate at the forefront here, and it's hate that should be recognized and confronted. Yeah, lots of people will insist I have this backwards, that fear breeds hatred. I politely insist that they're mistaken.
Late yesterday afternoon, I took a break from the story and accompanied Spooky to the farmer's market at the Dexter Training Grounds. It was good to get out of the house for a bit, and enjoy the warm day. It was a fine, crisp autumn day. We got apple cider, a jar of habanero relish, and a jalapeño for the chili Spooky made for dinner. All from local farmers. I took some photos, which are behind the cut. Later, we watched the first two episodes of Season Two of Pushing Daisies. And that was yesterday, give or take.
All photographs Copyright © 2009 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac.