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The snow is here again. Not that it ever went anywhere. The new snow is here, adding another stratum atop the last. Though, at least it may not be as bad as the Weather Channel was predicting last night (early this ayem). Still, I don't think Providence will be free of this blanket until sometime in late March. I woke this morning about seven o'clock and stood in the parlor a moment, in the perfect grey quiet, watching the slow white rain.

Note that between now and Valentine's Day, Spooky's offering free shipping on any jewelery purchase from her Dreaming Squid Dollworks and Sundries Etsy Shop. Please have a look. Right now, my favorite piece is the mermaid's garden skeleton key necklace. I tried to get her not to sell it, but I usually lose those arguments. So, buy it for someone and make him, her, or it very happy, with my blessings.

Yesterday was...I'm not sure I have an adjective for what yesterday was. In my Moleskine I wrote, "Scaling back ambition." And also, "This is the day when I realized that I'll not be writing the book I thought I'd be writing, but, instead, the book that I can write." Spooky and I spent hours talking through what's left to be done, how much has been written thus far, deadlines, the story as I understand it, and my somewhat precarious mental state. I have two months until I have to deliver the novel, and if I'm only halfway through, I'd need until the end of May. Which I don't have and can't get. Also, the manuscript would be, at a conservative estimate, 150,000 words long (my contract stipulates 100k). And, sure, it's nice to take the high road and declare that the book will be as long as the book needs to be. But, sometimes, the high road is inaccessible to even the best climbers, and another route has to be found. Yesterday, I began finding that alternate path through The Drowning Girl, seeking another way to tell exactly the same story without rewriting anything I've done so far. It's going to require at least a few days to sort out, but I'm starting to see how it can be done.

Probably, yesterday was the most utterly terrified I've been of and about this novel, and also the day when I suddenly felt very relieved. Someday, when it's finished, I can talk particulars.

And my thanks for all the kind words that people offered in the comments yesterday. As much as words can help, they helped. I read them all, even if I didn't reply to them all. I finally admitted, publicly to something I've known for a long time. In response to whiskeychick, I wrote:

"...the truth is that, in one way or another, I've been writing exactly the same book, trying to achieve exactly the same catharsis, since Silk. It will never be written out, and I have to accept that. Haunted people do not get unhaunted, and closure is essentially a lie."

It is my intention never to write this book again after The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. I won't have written it out, or found "closure," or have healed, or any of that nonsense. It'll still be right here locked up in my chest, where it's always been. But what's going to make this novel different from all the others will be Imp coming to understand that haunted is forever. There are no exorcists, no psychiatric miracles, no magic words, no salted earth, no cleansing fire, nothing with the power to dispel our ghosts. Not really. And you live, or you die. Either way, you move on.

Anyway....

Not much else to yesterday. I was very late at the doctor, until about 8:30, and then there was the market, and dinner, and a few hours of intense rp in Insilico. The latest incarnation of the Xiang AI may not be the strangest yet, but she may be the most lost. Oh, she named Nemo. Then, I was unable to get to sleep until almost five ayem, and didn't sleep long enough to escape the effects of the Seroquel, so I'm kind of oogy just now. And here's the view from our front parlor window this morning:





Photograph Copyright © 2011 by Kathryn A. Pollnac.



On this day in 1926, eighty and five years ago, "The Call of Cthulhu" first appeared in print.

Comments

( 17 comments — Have your say! )
nokomis1339
Feb. 1st, 2011 05:57 pm (UTC)
I moved to the South about four years ago, and now I'm finally able to say I miss seeing the snow like that. It has that serene beauty that drizzly rain never quite manages. Still, I don't miss driving in it enough to actually move back.

~L~
greygirlbeast
Feb. 1st, 2011 05:59 pm (UTC)
I moved to the South about four years ago, and now I'm finally able to say I miss seeing the snow like that.

I do like it. It's still new to me.

Edited at 2011-02-01 05:59 pm (UTC)
nokomis1339
Feb. 2nd, 2011 01:17 am (UTC)
I think I miss what it symbolizes; it reminds me of the magic of the two words, "Snow day" when I was a kid, and how it made blankets feel cozier and hotchocolate taste better. I stopped appreciating it for several years and only thought of it as an advisary of my car and an obstical between me and my groceries. Now it looks magical again in the picture. Thank you for reminding me.

~L~
greygirlbeast
Feb. 2nd, 2011 02:31 am (UTC)

The whole time I a kid, I think there might haven been, over twelve years, five or six snow days (I was in Alabama and Florida). And, actually, most of those were ice-storm days.
nokomis1339
Feb. 2nd, 2011 02:48 am (UTC)
I grew up in a valley that was sheltered from the brunt of the winter force, but when I moved to the shore of Lake Ontereo for college I witnessed my first real ice-storm. I have to admit, hearing the branches of trees snapping off under the weight of the ice throughout the night was one of the eeriest things I've ever heard.

Snow days were one of the few perks that came with having two teachers as parents, because my mom taught in one school district, my dad in another, and my brother and I attended school in a third. My school district included all the kids who lived in the hills where the roads were particularly treacherous, so at the first sign of snow we closed down, whereas my parents taught kids from valleys so their districts rarely closed. It was kinda nice sitting smugly on the couch in my pjs while my parents had to hustle to brave the cold.

~L~
communique
Feb. 1st, 2011 09:43 pm (UTC)
?
2011 - 1926 = 85
greygirlbeast
Feb. 1st, 2011 10:07 pm (UTC)
Re: ?


Damn it, Jim. I'm a writer, not a mathematician!
lee_in_limbo
Feb. 1st, 2011 09:47 pm (UTC)
This is the day when I realized that I'll not be writing the book I thought I'd be writing, but, instead, the book that I can write.

I am pretty convinced that I never would have been able to write the first draft of Terminal Monday as written if I had done so under contract. It's simply not a novel I could have predicted. That said, I'm also not at all certain it will ever see print, which is unfortunate, as I suspect it contains some of my very best writing in forty years.

Still looking forward to The Drowning Girl, in whatever form she arrives.

And I love when application of crazy meds effectively throws off my entire following day. Nothing makes me reconsider whether sanity is a viable option so much as pursuing it and having it slip between my fingers like trails of smoke.
greygirlbeast
Feb. 1st, 2011 10:10 pm (UTC)

Nothing makes me reconsider whether sanity is a viable option so much as pursuing it and having it slip between my fingers like trails of smoke.

All I can say is I'm much better than I was this time last year. At least I can say that much.
lee_in_limbo
Feb. 1st, 2011 10:22 pm (UTC)
I can definitely appreciate that. I'm more stable these days than I was early in the last decade. I just resent that I don't feel as... coherent?... as I guess I hoped I would.
greygirlbeast
Feb. 1st, 2011 10:47 pm (UTC)

I just resent that I don't feel as... coherent?... as I guess I hoped I would.

After twenty-five years of treatment, I've learned to have zero expectations. If I don't hope, I'm not disappointed.
(Deleted comment)
greygirlbeast
Feb. 2nd, 2011 12:55 am (UTC)
still...seeing things this way can be damn hard, harder maybe than carrying the ghost with you to the exorcist?

I'm saying, you can carry the "ghosts" to an exorcist (or psychiatrist, or whoever). You can pay them and play pretend awhile. But nothing's ever gonna get you unhaunted.

Edited at 2011-02-02 12:55 am (UTC)
(Deleted comment)
jessamyg
Feb. 2nd, 2011 01:24 am (UTC)
Just a quick note to say that sanity is subjective and overrated. That said, being solipsistic about it, we can only take anyone elses view of the world as hearsay, and our own outlook on the world is the only viewpoint we can ever have. Sometimes I believe that and sometimes I don't and sometimes I just think I should go back on my medication. If this makes any sense it will be a miracle. Lack of sleep plays havoc with my coherence.
greygirlbeast
Feb. 2nd, 2011 02:29 am (UTC)

Just a quick note to say that sanity is subjective and overrated.

For me, it was finally a matter of having reached a point where, last winter, I was all but unable to function, and was causing misery to people I cared about. Now I can function, and things are easier on us all. Issues of subjectivity, whether valid or not, are in this instance overshadowed by more utilitarian considerations.
alumiere
Feb. 4th, 2011 03:13 am (UTC)
Thank you...

"Haunted people do not get unhaunted, and closure is essentially a lie."


you can carry the "ghosts" to an exorcist (or psychiatrist, or whoever). You can pay them and play pretend awhile. But nothing's ever gonna get you unhaunted.

These have been on my mind for days now, and prompted a really long drawn out rant about some of my ghosts. Why have we not fixed the bullshit humans seem to insist on inflicting on others even in the 21st century? My ghosts get louder when idiots and bigots are in power.
( 17 comments — Have your say! )