Yeah, okay. I'll get the kitten pr0n out of the way upfront. Meet James Selwyn Nightshade:
Sirenia Digest #80 just went out to subscribers. If you're not a subscriber, well, you ought to be.
My contributor's copies of Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart and The Yellow Book arrived on Friday. The latter is, honestly, one of the most beautiful things I've ever done with Subterranean Press. If you've not already ordered a copy, well...there are always the people who complain when the books have sold out. Fair warning.
I excel at having bad years. But even I'm impressed at how shitty this one's turned out. It's only July, and already I can truthfully count it as one of the three or four worst of my forty-eight years. The worst since 2005, which was the worst since 1995. Which was the worst since 1986. Maybe, someday, I'll see that the whole mess of 2012 gets an improper public disclosure. Maybe it'll always remain my tarted-up secret. At the moment, I'm trying hard to convince myself that all that is of genuine consequence is how the shitstorm has put me so far behind when I didn't have a single day to spare, workwise, and how I have to get back in the saddle and keep writing. Next novel. Next short story. Etcetera and don't look back. Do my best not to ever look back. I've been struggling with various shades of WB since Readercon. Since then, I've written one week out of three. By now, I should be at least four or five chapters into Fay Grimmer. I've written One (before the con), and have zero interest in writing Chapter Two. That's a pretty good example of how things stand.
I want to be at the sea. I want to close my eyes. I want to stay lost in the haze of drugs that allows me to forget who I am and how I got here and where I'm probably headed.
And then there's this journal. Several times now, I've resolved to draw it to a close. Several times, I've gone back on my resolution. But now, we have a new crop of the Thought Police. The "[____]fail" Troll Brigade is watching our every move. Our every word. I always thought it was the Right Wing that was the threat to our freedom of speech. It seems to be getting uglier out there, and it seems to be getting uglier fast. Truthfully, I'm not up to the squabbling. I've said almost – almost – everything I've had to say on the subject.
Kill your fear.
Don't let these self-righteous assholes silence you, cripple you, hinder you. You do that, and they've won a victory they'll never know what to do with, except use it to start another flamewar. Because they live for the outrage. And if (yes, I'm actually going to say this today) a lesbian transwoman with severe mental- and physical-health issues (including a whopping case of PTSD) who has survived rape, an abusive childhood, a lover's suicide, and decades of gaybashing...if I can suck it up and fucking resist the allure of the Cult of Victimhood, than so can you. If I don't need childish "trigger" warnings and my precious, fragile feelings constantly shielded from the Big Bad World (which always will be Big and Bad), then neither do you. Scars are signs that we're still alive, that we've healed as best we ever will. I will not personally abide this crap. But your life is yours.
I have a few more things I need to discuss, as regards the above. One or two more entries. Then, I think, the LJ will be reserved primarily for news of upcoming projects and releases, eBay auctions, etc. – assuming I can pull myself out of this idiotic slump (which is my problem). I'm not going to shut it down. But I'm going to stop reading other people's blogs and tweets and what have you. I'm too quick to anger, and there's far too much endless, self-centered contention going round. I never can seem to look the other way. I'm not vanishing from the interwebs. Not even close. But I have to remove myself from this fray, because...I'm tired of beating the proverbial dead horse. It's the flies, maggots, and the stench, you know? The wannabes have time to whinge. I don't.
Are these harsh words? You're goddamn right they are.
By the way, here's the Readercon convention committee's statement on recent events. If Readercon matters to you, you ought read it.
In eleven hours and twenty-one minutes, Curiosity lands in Gale Crater.