Dear Sweet Filthy World

A day teetering on the edge of a shit day, which most of my days are these days. The optimism I briefly felt in April and May, associated with getting my COVID-19 vaccine and the presumption that most everyone else would do likewise, that buoyed my spirits, even after the January 6th attack on the Capitol and the knowledge that Trump's attack on American democracy would continue for at least as long as this walking, talking, eating, shitting threat to national security exists. But all that stingy bit of optimism has dissolved, and now there is only a deeper despair than I felt this time last year.

Sorry. No one wants to hear this shit.

Sunny much of the day. It started raining about half an hour ago. We got a storm late in the day yesterday, as well. It's that time of year. Our high today was 89˚F, with a heat index well over 90˚F. Which is normal.

I got up this morning and did another 1,054 words on "In Utero, In Tenebris." I did some work this afternoon on the latest Pleistocene sample and finished it, after turning up fragments of a carnivore jaw and a few armadillo osteoderms.

I cannot say I was sorry to hear that Lovecraft Country has been canceled.

I promised you a photo of O Mundo Invisivel Entre Nos, so here it is, below. There are a lot of images at Amazon, including some of the amazing interior stuff, so look at that, too. This book is not so much illustrated as illuminated. Oh, and according to Amazon, it was actually published in January 2019. That might be true. It may have simply taken that long for them to get copies to my agent (who sent them to me).

Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast




5:10 p.m.

Sunny again today, but still with some clouds. Our high was, and presently is (so our high so far), 87˚F, with the heat index at 92˚F.

I woke at six this morning, which was earlier than I'd intended. But what the fuck, I'd gotten to sleep by midnight, so I figured I'd get up, have some breakfast, then get to work. And, instead, I fell the fuck back to sleep and woke at 8 a.m. Because I am a creature of excruciating habit, or excruciatingly a creature of habit, this threw the whole day into a less than productive tailspin. I finally gave up and played Guild Wars 2 and tried not the think about the words I did not get written today.

What am I writing? Fuck it, I'll tell you. The novel is called The Night Watchers, and it is essentially a new and more supernatural incarnation of the novel that would have been Interstate Love Song (based on the short-story of the same title). I really like it, all of it that's in my head, and that's a lot of it. If I can quit fucking around, it could be done by the end of the summer. The print and ebook versions will be published by Subterranean Press, and hopefully there will be an audiobook. Likely there will. It's set mostly in and around north-central Alabama, but spans many, many decades. The title is borrowed from Peter Straub's Ghost Story, one of my favorite books of all time, ever.

But you knew that about me and Ghost Story. I mean, if you are one of those Constant Readers.

But I gotta admit, balancing the fiction, no matter how much I like the novel at hand, with the sudden and marvelous paleontology opportunities is a challenge. But. Fiction keeps the rent paid and the lights on and food on the table. Paleontology just, you know, makes me feel like I'm doing what I was put on earth to do. And it's all sort of ironic. For me - as frustrating as I might find it, as much as I would usually rather be doing something else - writing is easy as pie. On the other hand, paleontology is fucking hard work – and I'm not talking about physically demanding fieldwork and fossil preparation. I'm talking about the intellectual rigor, discipline, and plain ol' smarts involved. So, I'm going to be busting my butt to do the fairly easy thing that pays the bills to earn the luxury of busting my butt to do the very hard thing that pays not one red cent. Irony. But, that said, I am just grateful for both opportunities, at this point in my life and at this point in history.

By the way, SubPress has announced Vile Affections (and the accompanying chapbook Cambrian Tales), and you may see the cover. In fact, you can now place preorders! Right here. Note: Only those who bought the signed numbered edition of Comes a Pale Rider may preorder the signed numbered edition of Vile Affections at this time. Anyone may preorder the trade hardcover.

And here's some crap I posted today to Twitter and Facebook:

I'm just waiting for one of these anti-COVID vaccine yahoos to realize that, in effect, every time they use any medication they are – in the eyes of pharmaceutical companies and medical science – essentially guinea pigs or lab rats or Rhesus monkeys, FDA approval or no.

~ and ~

Fact: When you are so afraid that you can only win an election when fewer people vote, so you try to make it harder and harder for folks to vote, especially those whom you suspect won't vote for you, you've failed democracy.

~ and this, which someone else said and which I retweeted ~

Let's perfectly clear...Democrats do not want to de-fund the police. Dems want to demilitarize and de-brutalize the police.

I leave you with my level 80 holosmith (an elite engineering specialization), Mandy J. Wolowitz (née Hansen), at Timberline Falls. Yes, she has a lightsaber.

Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast




3:50 p.m.

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Mostly rainy today, following from last night's storm. Well, not so much rainy. Just cloudy...and as I typed that, the sun came out. Huzzah. Currently, it's 82˚F, with the heat index at 87˚F. Our high was 82˚F.

I was up at 7 a.m., had a baloney sandwich for breakfast, and then I wrote. Do not ask me what. I wrote. We shall see where it goes.

I did paleo' work, and I talked to Mike, and really that's all I want to be doing – the science. It's hard not to resent the writing. I have, always, since the nineties when I became a professional author. I make money at it, and I cannot ever stop – probably. But it keeps me from giving all my brain and however few years I have left to me to a thing that I genuinely love. Sorry. That's always in the front of my mind these days. And I love to share.

I have these things I posted today to Twitter:

Seriously, we have a very, very good chance of seeing Donald Trump elected again in 2024 (or someone at least as bad), and you need to have that in mind at every moment of every day. Along with asteroids and nuclear war, there's our worst-case scenario. Id est, it is NOT over. We are not yet safe,

~ and ~

The capacity for critical thought + compassion = the antidote for fascism.


~ and ~

One of the things makes it clear Trump has become a cult leader, not a political leader, is the way his adherents accept anything he says, no matter how unfounded & ludicrous, as gospel. This is also a great example of why we need to teach children critical thought.

And while I'm at it, Marjorie Taylor Greene (bloviating MTG) is, undoubtedly, one of the most evil humans currently living.

Later,
Aunt Beast (who, like you, has two quadrates)





5:10 p.m.

Bright and sunny today. But the weather is cooler. Our high was only 87˚F.

I did not begin the novel I am trying to begin; maybe tomorrow.

I am trying to disassemble a scaffolding of defense mechanisms I carefully built, beginning last spring, to allow me to cope with COVID-19 lock down/self isolation by minimizing boredom and anxiety, and it is proving far more difficult than I had expected. I did a good job, and tearing the thing down is harder than it was to erect it. Just going outside is a chore – not because I continue to be afraid of catching the coronavirus, but simply because I spent a year virtually never leaving the house because I was afraid of catching the coronavirus. I accounted for almost every minute of every day. I allowed very little "free" time, time that was not allotted to some pursuit scheduled for that specific portion of the day, whether it was reading, working, watching a movie, having a snack, brushing my teeth, or – well, you get the idea. Under normal conditions, this is clearly pathological, but it got me through the thirteen months until Kathryn and I could be vaccinated. Now, I immunity to COVID-19 is about 95%, ~88% against the Delta variant, and, for now, that's as good as I can get. I need to start living like a person again, and, back to where this started, it is not proving easy. Just forcing myself to leave the house for a few minutes a day takes effort. Breaking down that elaborate schedule is proving almost impossible. It does not help that I was reclusive when this began.

Today's comfort movie was Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. I miss 1969, when I was five and my heroes were cowboys and astronauts.

Speaking of, yesterday I finished my re-read of The Right Stuff and began re-reading Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World. This book not only warned of America (indeed, the world) arriving at the exact place we currently find ourselves, twenty-five years after it's publication, but it points the way out. If it could be heard.

Kathryn's birthday is still impending, and it's still not too late to have a look at her Amazon wishlist. Thank you.

Later,
Aunt Beast




5:05 p.m. (not a snek)

Not a bad day. The sun came back, and it got very warm. We had a high of 91˚F. At one point I checked the heat index, and it was 98˚F.

I only slept about four hours.

Spooky went to Record Store Day and stood in the broiling line with the other music nerds. Dogfish Head was handing out free beer.

This morning, I did 1,067 words and finished "Untitled 46." And, by the way, here's how the digest is gonna work this summer, because I have to a) write a novel and b) work of three different paleo' papers. There are still two unaccounted for issues from last year, because of the many months I spent unable to write. "Untitled 46" will be used for the missing Sirenia Digest 173 (June 2020). Which, by the way, will leave only May 2020 left to fill the gap. This summer's three issues will consist of excerpts from the novel in progress. It's being written for Subterranean Press, and Bill Schafer was kind enough to permit me to do this.Yes, in case you have not heard, my next two novels will be released by SubPress; I ma done with NYC publishing for the foreseeable future. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy to excerpts, little appértifs, tastes of what is to come, because there is only so much of me to go around.

Something I posted to Twitter this afternoon: Tyrannical, despotic Putin praises Trump, and, in a sane world, that would be that. All she wrote. The literal kiss of Death. We wouldn't see another Republican president for at *least* another decade. But remember, this is Bizarro World. This is the Upside Down.

Last night's episode of The X-Files was the underwhelming "Shadows," and night before last was the equally underwhelming "The Jersey Devil." I will be glad when we are free of Season One (though it still has a few gems in store).

Did I mention Spooky's upcoming birthday? Are her Amazon wishlist?

Later X-Taters,
Aunt Beast




8:57 a.m.

Another rainy day. Monotony is setting in. We were under a flash flood watch for much of the day. As you can see from the photo below, it was not an idle threat. The high was only 71˚F (!).

There was a time in America when, more often than not, we pulled together and did what was right. It's how we beat polio. It's how we helped defeat the Nazis. It's how Nixon was removed from office. This is not some idle Greatest Generation/Baby Boomer wishful-thinking myth. We were a functional collective, not a nation of whining idiots declaring "you can't make me."

No real work yesterday. The weather drags me down. A nice royalty check came, and we can always use those. I stared at the galleys for Vile Affections and the stared back at me. I talked with Spooky about the novel I'm about to start. I pulled a new Pleistocene sample from the Lane cabinet to begin work on soon. Today, there has to be realwork. I will not be like the QAnon-Trumper idiots and wait until someone has to try and force me to do what is right.

Sorry. I'm so mad at those assholes right now...

Last night's episode of The X-Files was "Squeeze," introducing the awesomely creepy Eugene Tooms (who shows up again later in the first season).

Later,
Aunt Beast (who's gonna get some shit done, and screw depression, and screw this rain)




4:11 p.m.

A day when an open window is like the door to a furnace. With the heat index, we made 103˚F before a few merciful afternoon thundershowers. Currently, it's 77˚F.

Today printed clean copies of the manuscripts for all the several alphabets that I've written since 2006 for Sirenia Digest, as Subterranean Press is collecting them into a single volume soon, and I need to proofread it all. And I tried to get my brain to think about the story I'm trying to writing for the next digest. And I worked on the Winifred block. And I talked with SubPress and with Jun. On Friday, Jun's bringing me a bulk sample of middle Eocene matrix to pick through for shark and fish teeth, something else to make the isolation go faster and to make myself feel useful. And I'm packing up what's left of my collection of Alabama Late Cretaceous fossil to donate to McWane. It's mostly shark, fish, and mollusks. But it will be safer there and do more good. So, it felt like a day when I actually got stuff done.

Oh, and keep a weather eye out for Ann and Jeff Vandermeer's The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, on sale tomorrow, which reprints my story “La Peau Verte.”

Tonight, good RP in Second Life. Our Toreador coterie is coming together very nicely. We're up to something like seven or eight members (though one or two are not Toreador). My thanks for Kat and Chris and everyone else who's making this happen. And on this night) in 1969, when I was five years old, my mother made me and my sister stay awake to watch the moon landing. I have been grateful all my life. It is one of my oldest and most cherished memories. Americans used to stand in awe of scientific achievements.

And today on Facebook I called the Horror Clown a bioterrorist.

Oh, and Spooky made a quick trip to Greenwise (where everyone wears masks) and came home with a jar of really good kimchi.

Later VamTaters,
Aunt Beast




4:20 p.m.

A good bit of hard rain today. We still made it to 94˚F with the heat index, but the rain's cooled the night a bit. It's 76˚F.

I slept for shit last night. Felt sick half the day. Felt fucking wretched.

So, here's a long-overdue promise to my Sirenia Digest subscribers. I have let Covid-19 and all the rest of it put my ability to work into a tailspin, but I resolve that before August 1 I will get two issues of the Digest written and out to you, and then I'll only be one issue behind. I will do this thing or hurt myself trying. Or I will do this thing and hurt myself trying. But I will do this tying. Two new issues, May and June, two new pieces of fiction. Promise.

Saw a very good new National Geographic documentary on the 1980 Mt. Saint Helens eruption today. I cannot believe it's been forty years.

I've got some good stuff going on in Second Life, finally, after a year of intermittently trying to make it work again for RP. So, my grateful thanks to Melissa and Chris and Kat. What noisy cats are we.

I think that's all for now. Oh, except I actually said this tonight: "Sort of like if Donald Trump had good taste."

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast the Sleepless




11:09 p.m.

A sunny and warm day. Our high was 88˚F, and it's still 80˚F.

No, I didn't write today.

I sat down meaning to say something about what's happened here in Birmingham over the last twenty-four hours. But it's been a horrific day, and I just don't have it in me. Look at the news and see what happened in Birmingham last night. At about 11:15 a.m. this morning I had Kathryn drive me downtown to make sure that the McWane Science Center was still safe, given the two building flanking it, well, one had been looted and gutted by fire and the other, the Alabama Theater, had windows broken and was also looted. McWane was safe and I came home and spent the day alternating between following the news online and trying to sleep.

There's so much more I wish I could say, but I'll leave you with these posts from Facebook, which I made early today:

Birmingham, I am saddened and sickened and profoundly disappointed with you this morning. I honestly believed we were better than this. To allow peaceful protests to devolve into burning and looting, to give into the intents of outside agitators, to burn our own city to no end whatsoever.

~ and ~

We just got back from downtown. To my great relief, McWane is safe. But, ironically, the nearby Fashion Mall, site of the 1960 Woolworth's lunch counter sit in, a civil rights landmark, was looted and destroyed, gutted by fire. The historic Alabama Theater also took some relatively minor damage. The air stank of burning and melted plastic. Birmingham has declared a state of emergency, and ANYONE found on the streets after 7 p.m. who is not an essential worker WILL BE ARRESTED.

~ and finally ~

Over half a century ago, MLK warned us that “Every time a riot develops, it helps George Wallace.” Well, in 2020 every time a riot develops it helps Donald Trump.

----

Tonight, Kathryn and I watched Scott Teems' The Quarry (2020), which was very good, with an especially strong performance by Michael Shannon.

Later,
Aunt Beast




9:07 a.m.

A sunny, warm day that culminated in a titanic thunderstorm near sunset. Our high was 87˚F, and it is now 69˚F.

You really do not need recourse to conspiracy theories. You put a demented halfwit in charge of 3,796,742 square miles populated by 328,239,523+ human beings and, sooner or later, unless you're very lucky (yeah, right), something bad will happen. We should just be grateful it's only a pandemic. At least it wasn't a nuclear war (knocks on wood).

This afternoon I watched a documentary about atomic testing in Nevada.

Between stress, anxiety, and this shattered molar, the struggle to eat continues to wear me down. As I told Billy Martin earlier today, "Mammalian teeth are one of evolution's most inexplicable and regrettable foibles."

Later Taters,
Aunt Beast (old and increasingly toothless)




5:25 p.m. (Sunday)