Also, I just discovered a review of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir that I had not previously seen, from Library Journal (March 12, 2012), in which I am declared "dark fantasy’s most quixotically brilliant writer." Which is cool, even if I am seen as a madwoman who tilts at windmills. Likely, it's an accurate assessment.
The heat broke, and today is cool and cloudy. Currently, it's overcast and 75˚F, and there are probably storms on the way. It's a break we needed, I suppose. The thermostat in the middle parlor reads 79˚F, and Spooky is pleased, as are the cats. The next several days look to be very similar to today. Which, for me, could get very oppressive, and I do hope the forecast changes.
I'm working on this story – that still has no title – and I have yet to feel confident about it, even though I may, possibly, be halfway through the thing. That's a bad, bad sign. Well, two bad signs: not yet having a title and the lack of confidence. I don't hate it. I rather like it. But I have trouble believing anyone else will. It takes place over at least two weeks, but completely forsakes a linear narration. All is in present tense. There is a reason for this, one beyond experimentation, that the story makes clear (but maybe not clear enough). I wrote another 1,009 words on it yesterday. I am dreading working on the damned thing today.
Around five p.m. yesterday we left the House and left Providence and drove south and west to Moonstone Beach. I have some beautiful photographs, but I don't presently have the time required to edit the best of them and upload them for this entry (that would have taken an extra 45 minutes or so). Later. Hell, I still have photos from the trip to New Orleans that I want to post but have not gotten around to doing so. Anyway, the beach was warmer than usual, and the sea was choppy, with some of the biggest waves I've seen at Moonstone (excepting those associated with a big storm). A bunch of ass clowns were shooting a rap video with a huge green screen set up (yes, really), and this involved the smoking of copious amounts of weed. I was getting stoned sitting fifty yards away. The seagulls were getting stoned. I adore weed, truly, but a) smoking is illegal on all Rhode Island Beaches and b) I don't go to Moonstone to smell other people's pot smoke.
We dug in the sand and filled up the holes we dug. Spooky got her feet wet and pronounced the water "freezing." I've yet to swim this year, and that wasn't encouraging. Right now, the water temperature at beaches in Jacksonville, Florida is 80˚F and warmer than that at Gulf Shores, Alabama. In Block Island Sound (which sloshes against Moonstone Beach), the water temperature is currently 73˚F. Okay...stop. I'm just depressing myself more.
I truly do not want to write today.
Okay...forget the freezing water and the pot-smoking ass clowns. The beach was, otherwise, sublime. Whatever went wrong that has led to my dislike of Conanicut Island hasn't happened at Moonstone. We watched birds and clouds and stayed until the sun was almost down.
And so it goes.
Returning To Bed Is Not An Option,