The Long Winter of My Distraction
A strange storm has come and gone. We didn't get the terrible winds that were forecast, just eight inches or so of very fine, dry snow. The windows are jagged carpets of frost. Presently, the temperature in Providence is 16˚F, though the windchill is -4. Apparently, Accuweather has decided windchill isn't a useful enough word, and they're invented - and registered - "RealFeel." Last night, the windchill went down to -22˚F or so. I feel as if I ought to be out walking in the snow. But it truly is miserably cold. I fear that, though I boast of not being the sort who becomes jaded, I am becoming jaded to snow. After five years, it's just...more snow. Snow again. You can only awake to the suburbs of Moscow so many times before it starts to lose its novelty:
Joshi liked "The Peddler's Tale, or Isobel's Revenge" quite a lot, and I cannot help but post what he said to me in an email night before last. It actually made me smile:
This is a wonderful story--an exquisite and prose-poetic fairy tale that, in my judgment, is superior to the great majority of Lovecraft tales that inspired it. This is the kind of tale Lovecraft should have written if he wished to write properly in the manner of Lord Dunsany.
You'll find the story in Sirenia Digest #95 (December 2013), which will go out as soon as Vince finishes the art.
I used to worry about placing images behind cuts, as a courtesy to people reading through their friend's lists on LJ. But, these days, the majority of my blog readers are coming from FB and Twitter and never see another LJ, and I'm tired of all that html.
Maybe I can be bothered again later, next time there are photos.
These were taken with a new camera, by the way. Spooky got it Wednesday night, because we needed something can be used underwater and in very cold temperatures. It's a Nikon Coolpix AW110, waterproof to 59 ft. and freeze proof to 14˚F. This afternoon was actually almost too cold for it. Oh, and it has built in GPS. And can do our taxes.
You can now get the the Blood Oranges audiobook from Audible, read by Amber Benson. It's very cool.
I know it's Friday, but it feels like Sunday. And these short paragraphs are killing me. I mean, what the fuck? Am I forgetting how to blog in actual paragraphs, or have I simply run out of things to say? Are my days that fucking dull? Have they become that indistinguishable one from the other? Yes, very likely. The short paragraphs are a symptom.
Anyway, enough for now.
Later,
Aunt Beast
Can't you hear those drivers wail?
Can't you see those bright rails shine?
Wanna catch that fireball, man,
Leave that North Land far behind. ~ Gillian Welch
All photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
Joshi liked "The Peddler's Tale, or Isobel's Revenge" quite a lot, and I cannot help but post what he said to me in an email night before last. It actually made me smile:
This is a wonderful story--an exquisite and prose-poetic fairy tale that, in my judgment, is superior to the great majority of Lovecraft tales that inspired it. This is the kind of tale Lovecraft should have written if he wished to write properly in the manner of Lord Dunsany.
You'll find the story in Sirenia Digest #95 (December 2013), which will go out as soon as Vince finishes the art.
I used to worry about placing images behind cuts, as a courtesy to people reading through their friend's lists on LJ. But, these days, the majority of my blog readers are coming from FB and Twitter and never see another LJ, and I'm tired of all that html.
Maybe I can be bothered again later, next time there are photos.
These were taken with a new camera, by the way. Spooky got it Wednesday night, because we needed something can be used underwater and in very cold temperatures. It's a Nikon Coolpix AW110, waterproof to 59 ft. and freeze proof to 14˚F. This afternoon was actually almost too cold for it. Oh, and it has built in GPS. And can do our taxes.
You can now get the the Blood Oranges audiobook from Audible, read by Amber Benson. It's very cool.
I know it's Friday, but it feels like Sunday. And these short paragraphs are killing me. I mean, what the fuck? Am I forgetting how to blog in actual paragraphs, or have I simply run out of things to say? Are my days that fucking dull? Have they become that indistinguishable one from the other? Yes, very likely. The short paragraphs are a symptom.
Anyway, enough for now.
Later,
Aunt Beast
Can't you hear those drivers wail?
Can't you see those bright rails shine?
Wanna catch that fireball, man,
Leave that North Land far behind. ~ Gillian Welch
All photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac