No writing yesterday. I spent most of the afternoon at Emory, doing more research for Chapter Two of Daughter of Hounds, which I still hope to begin today.
And I'm struggling against a profound sense of futility, which, all things, and recent events, considered, probably isn't suprising.
Set me aflame and cast me free,
Away, you wretched world of tethers...
My best library discovery yesterday was New England's "Black Friday," when, on May 19th, 1780, "Darkness came on like an eclispe. By 9 o'clock, A. M., persons could not see to weave. Candles were lighted to dine by. As the day began to prematurely put on the appearance of twilight, cattle lowed, and fowls went to roost. The darkness of the succeeding evening was almost palpable. Many feared and trembled lest the end of all things had come." There is, of course, a disappointingly prosaic explanation for this affair, one that I guessed at once. And, for that matter, one that I will most likely disregard in Daughter of Hounds. Charles Fort would not have approved of the forest fire scenario, anyway, no matter how obvious it seems. He would say it was entirely too convenient, that the sun is obscurred in Massachusetts and there is an assumed forest fire in New Hampshire, that someone wrote a poem about the fire in 1780 which happened not to be published until 1881. I'm feeling about as disagreeable as Fort right now. I am presently disinclined to accept the merely rational.
And speaking of Mr. Fort, I'll have more details on To Charles Fort, With Love tomorrow. We're working out the final Table of Contents. Sadly, for various reasons, a number of stories I wanted to appear in this collection will be excluded.
Please check out our latest round of eBay, which is paying Spooky's dentist bill.