Yesterday, I wrote the second half of Chapter 7 of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales (which is appearing monthly in Dark Horse Presents). Scripting is never easy for me. I can't simply write. I have to explain. It's tedious. There's an insane economy involved. Comics are a peculiar medium, stranded somewhere between prose and film. Prose with pictures. Film at 1 fps. Probably, many comics creators would rankle at those analogies. But this is me, not them. Comics are, to me, like freeze-frame cinema. A film composed entirely of freeze-frame shots, with title cards superimposed.
I also had to deal with Photoshop yesterday.
It was a very, very tedious day.
It rained. Spooky made chili. We watched another episode from Season Two of Game of Thrones. Wonderful stuff. A couple of days back, someone wanted to know my favorite characters. At the moment, Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, is – far and away – my favorite. Tied for second place would be Tyrion Lannister and Arya Stark. And the amazing Brienne of Tarth is catching my eye (at 6"3', she and I are the same height). Also, I'm reading The Mystery of Lewis Carroll by Jenny Woolf and Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon. Last night, I managed to fall asleep – about 4 ayem – without The Red Pill, and I slept six consecutive hours on my own.
There were unpleasant dreams. But nothing unusual. Rejection. That's a common theme. Not literary rejection. Rejection by friends sand/or colleagues who have, in real life, done...well, let's leave specifics alone. Personal rejection. Ghosts of 1986, 1989, 1992, 1993, 2005, et al.
Yesterday afternoon, Spooky ventured out to find a replacement camera. She found a candy-apple red Canon SX160. I must say, it takes pretty snazzy photos. So, as we mourn the camera that died, and bemoan the planned obsolescence that drives consumerism, we celebrate the new camera. Which does take better pictures. We had difficulty finding a camera in our price range that was a decent size, large enough we could easily hold onto it and so the buttons weren't so microscopic as to be unmanageable by adult fingers. Suddenly, when I wasn't looking, cameras have shrunken to the size of baseball cards, and people bitch and moan if a given model won't fit in their back pockets. Isn't that why there are "telephones" that take photographs? Anyway, there are five photographs behind the cut. Spooky took them last night. All low light, so just a little grainy. This is our third digital since 2004. The second one, she who just croaked, we got it in 2009.
What the fuck!
The prow of Selwyn.
Kitchen mantlepiece by nightlight.
All photographs Copyright © 2013 by Kathryn A. Pollnac
Today...well, it won't be a day off. I have to read over the Alabaster script, and email it to Dark Horse. I need to finish with the CEM of Black Helicopters, so Spooky can get all that back into the mail to Subterranean Press. I need to choose a short story that can be posted in order to promote The Ape's Wife and Others. Other email. But it's not a writing work day.
I am actually rather pleased with the way I made it through February. I began Red Delicious and made it past the 100-page mark. I wrote a vignette, "What Dread Hammer? What Dread Grasp?" I managed to also write an issue of Alabaster: Boxcar Tales and get Sirenia Digest #86 out to subscribers.