Yesterday, instead of leaving the house to photograph graveyards in the snow, I wrote 1,668 words on The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. When I started this book, I vowed to myself that there would be no dream sequences. This goes back to my sometimes feeling like I'm working on autopilot. Dream sequences are a great tool, and allow the narrative to go places it cannot otherwise go. But I wanted to make it through a novel-length narrative without recourse to a dream. That is, I wanted to write a fully waking book. But, I haven't quite succeeded. Yesterday was a list of dreams Imp dreamt between July 9-15th, 2008, with annotations, and it wasn't quiet the same thing as writing actual dream sequences, but still. I think my mind exists always too near that limen, where dreams and wakefulness bleed together.* It was a dumb vow to vow, vowing I'd steer clear of dreams.
Thanks for all the comments the last three days. It helps to hear other voices, and answer. I'm feeling too disconnected these days. There is the world, out there, and there's me and Spooky, in here, and then there's me, in here. And, mostly, I feel stuck in the latter, looking out.
I've started working with Lee Moyer, so he can get started on the cover art for Two Worlds and In Between. We'll be talking later today.
I'm feeling frazzled. This will be day ten without a day off. Maybe tomorrow.
We've begun a round of eBay auctions. Please have a look. Books, people. Books.
I was too tired for much of anything but television last night. Well, DVDs and streaming from Netflix. What passes for television here in the future. Spooky and I have a guilty love for Jeremy Wade and River Monsters (which I think airs on Animal Planet), and we streamed a couple of episodes last night. I have a feeling all the other ichthyologists make fun of Jeremy Wade behind his back. Then we watched del Toro's Hellboy II: The Golden Army again. Having made it through Blade II a few nights back, we wanted to see one of del Toro's better movies. And I see that my thing for Anna Walton as Princess Nuala hasn't waned. Later, we read more of Kit Whitfield's In Great Waters.
Okay. Here come the doughnuts.
* Which may be why I'll never have a bestseller and am doomed to die in poverty and squalor, a junky stranded on the banks of a shantytown deep in the Amazon....