Tags: eir

walter3

63

Rainy and 44˚F here, with the windchill at 38˚F. During breakfast, a thunderclap sent Selwyn scampering for cover, and I've not seen him since.

I did try to write yesterday. But I'd slept so poorly the night before, it was hard to focus, and instead I wound up doing some research for the story that I'm trying to writing. I reread "The Call of Cthulhu" (it had been a few years) and parts of the second volume of S.T. Joshi's I Am Providence: The Life and Times of H.P. Lovecraft. And a bunch of Wikipedia articles. That was yesterday.

Last night, we had leftover chili and watched more of the new Lost in Space. And then I slept poorly again, thanks to a headache.

Later,
Aunt Beast




11:31 p.m.
Bowie3

84

Sunny today, and there are hardly any clouds. Currently, it's 40˚F, with the windchill at 32˚F.

Waiting to hear from my agent about the aforementioned job, needing the waiting to be done.

I have spent far too much of my life waiting. There are few things more frustrating.

Later,
Aunt Beast




9:31 p.m.
house of leaves

"...and her nurse, with her pitchers of liquors and milk."

Sunny today. The temperature is sitting right at freezing, 32˚F, but the windchill's at 24˚F. It occurs to me that I have not left the House since January 11th. There's still a little snow on the ground, and nothing I see from the windows makes me want to venture Outside. But tomorrow we're going down to Saunderstown to visit with Spooky parents, so I'll be forced out then.

Yesterday, I proofread "Excerpts from An Eschatology Quadrille," "Ballad of a Catamite Revolver," "Untitled Psychiatrist No. 3," "The Dinosaur Tourist (Murder Ballad No. 11)," and "Objects in the Mirror." Which brings me to the end of the ms for The Dinosaur Tourist. But now I need to set it aside and get back to Sirenia Digest. But proofreading, it was heartening to see that I managed to write some genuinely good fiction in 2017, even if none of it was of the novel length that everyone clamor for and for which I am paid considerably more than I am paid for short fiction. But we do what we can do. Hopefully, I can get back to The Dinosaur Tourist in only a couple of weeks.

Yesterday, I had email from Andy Rindsberg, a paleontologist acquaintance of many years, from the University of West Alabama in Livingston and also from Mary Prondzinski, collections manager at the Natural History Museum of the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa.

I've decided to read Michael McDowell's Blackwater series again. I've not read it since 1983, when the books were new.

Last night, Spooky made a delicious baked chicken in a spicy, hot tomato sauce, with mushrooms and bell pepper, and we had it with Brussels sprouts and potatoes.

We're trying to get into The Gilmore Girls, because we liked The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel so much. But, so far, I'm not enjoying it much at all, and the things that work about The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel are nowhere to be seen. I'm concluding that I'm not the target audience, whatever that may have been.

A couple of posts from Facebook, from day before yesterday:

These Democrat special election wins are showing us that it will be the DNC that restores balance and normalcy and brings an end to the nightmare, not the pipe dreams of third, fourth, and fifth parties that helped get us into the mess.

~ and ~

I do not believe that the ends justify the means, that justice can follow from denial of due process, or in the efficacy of inquisitions and blacklists. I do not believe in guilt by accusation or that basic human rights can be secured by denying anyone their basic human rights. If the path to justice that you've chosen requires you to become the very thing you profess to oppose (or something worse), then your success will merely mean that an old evil has been replaced with a new and equally toxic evil.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




10:12 p.m.
white

"...age like winter bare."

I posted this on Facebook about an hour and a half ago: Here in Providence, it's currently 9˚F, and the windchill is -6˚F. Our high today will be 13˚F. Our low tonight will be 0˚F, with windchills well below zero. I'm not supposed to be here. Since then, the temperature has risen to 11˚F, but the windchill has not budged. The cold presses in at the house like water pressure at the bottom of the sea, and the sky is blinding blue, wide and carnivorous.

I did try to work yesterday.

Last night, we huddled in the bedroom and watched TV on the MacBook. Or something like that. I got to sleep about three a.m., and I dreamt of collecting mosasaur bones in a warm place.

Later,
Aunt Beast




11:39 p.m.
Heavy Horses

Sweet Sixteen

Currently, it's sunny and 46˚F, with a windchill of 43˚F.

I'm battling a monster of a sinus headache today, but I am determined to at least get this journal entry posted.

Today is not only the 157th anniversary of the publication of Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life, it's also the beginning of Jethro Tull Season 2017-2018 and the sixteenth anniversary of my blog, begun on this date in 2001. I was a babe of thirty-seven, living in a loft in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, writing "From Cabinet 34, Drawer 6" and just getting started on Low Red Moon. There was, blessedly, as yet no such thing as "social media." Neil Gaiman convinced me that keeping a public journal could increase my readership. I don't think it ever turned that trick, but it did become a habit, and here we are.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,006 words on a new story. Once I swore I'd never write another vampire story. It's a promise I keep breaking. I broke it again yesterday. For now, the story is titled "King Laugh."

Also, I have entirely neglected to mention that on Monday Bill Schafer (Subterranean Press) and I began discussing my next short story collection, which I will likely call The Dinosaur Tourist and which would be released late in 2018.

Last night, Spooky made lasagna, we played Guild Wars 2, and we watched drag queens. I read "Gigantic pterosaurian remains from the Upper Cretaceous of Mongolia" and "New information on the cranial morphology of Avimimus (Theropoda: Oviraptorosauria)." And that was Thanksgiving.

So, on this auspicious day, I leave you with this view from the Red Room. That's Eir, the MacBook, there on the desk.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




4:33 p.m.
Bowie3

"Keep your weather eye open, and sing out every time."

There was sun this morning, but even as quickly as I type this, the clouds are moving in again. We'll have rain this evening. I feel beaten down. I feel as if I don't have a single chill and cloudy-day's worth of strength left in me, and yet we are only at the threshold of New England's interminable six or seven or eight month cold. Currently, it's 48˚F.

I did write yesterday. I did 1,115 words. But I suspect it's all junk that has to be tossed out today.

I'm almost halfway through Moby-Dick. I love every word of this novel.

Last night, more TV. I call it that, though, these days, we most often watch "TV" on my MacBook. My I will always call it TV, because TV is a thing that belonged to a fairer and more hopeful past. But, yes, last night more TV: All Things Must Pass: The Rise and Fall of Tower Records (2015), and then the first half of Rolling Stone: Stories From the Edge, and then two more episodes of White Famous.

Fuck you, November, but, all the same, shield me from December.

Later,
Aunt Beast




1:12 a.m. (this morning)
white

"Darkness brings evil things. Oh, the reckoning begins"

Summer has ended. I entirely forgot yesterday was the last day. Green autumn has become Autumn sensu stricto. I didn't even leave the House. Now, I have to dig in and wait out the long cold, which should end sometime in late May or early June. Currently, it's 60˚F.

Yesterday, I did 1,215 words on "Theoretically Forbidden Morphologies."

The last few months I've seen some weird little tug of war going on at Wikipedia, over whether I should be referred to as "transsexual" or "transgender." One person changes it, another changes it back. The whole thing is oddly amusing. For the record, though, lately I have begun using "transgender," because why the fuck not. So, if someone wants to change "transsexual" to "transgender" because sex is icky or it's all supposed to be about gender these days, then fine, go ahead.

Today, of course, is the beginning of the new Guild Wars 2 expansion, Path of Fire. I'm going to try to get my writing done early, while Spooky schelps Lydia to an early vet appointment for her "last kitten shots." Today, we get five new regions AND mounts AND news specializations for every class. Booya.

TTFN,
Aunt Beast




8:59 p.m.
Bowie3

"An accidental amphibian..."

José is meandering about just offshore. Here, it's windy and rainy. Currently, 69˚F.

Yesterday, I spent two hours on line edits, and then I sent "Le Belle Fleur Sauvage" away to Dark Regions Press. The final word count came to 18,667 words. Also, I forgot to mention that on Monday I received my contributor's copy of the Japanese magazine Night Land Quarterly (No. 10), which translates and reprints "Apokatastasis." I wrote that story during a very tumultuous period immediately after 9/11, and it's a strange one for anyone to choose to reprint anywhere. But I trust that the editors had their reasons. Previously, it appeared in To Charles Fort, With Love (2005).

Apokatastasis: the state of being restored or reestablished; restitution.

Yesterday, I got to see a PDF for the complete ms. of Mythos Tales: Houses Under the Sea, with art included. What a beautiful book this is going to be. Today, I have to get started on Sirenua Digest No. 140.

Last night, we watched the second episode of the Ken Burns Vietnam series. It occurs to me that more than 20% of my life was lived during the Vietnam war.

Later,
Aunt Beast




2:05 a.m.