"With nothing and no one to live up to."
Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Daoibh! Éire go Brách!
This is our sixth St. Patrick's Day in this House. This morning, I hung my Irish flag in the front window, as I do every year. I've lived in this House two years longer, now, than I have ever lived in any other. It's all very damn strange.
My favorite St. Patrick's Day link, "Why There Are No Snakes in Ireland," which used to be hosted at the National Zoo in Washington, seems to have vanished. The internet is worthless as an archival medium. So, here's a surrogate, at National Geographic: Snakeless in Ireland: Blame Ice Age, Not St. Patrick.
Frigid in Providence this morning. When I woke, it was 19˚F, with a windchill of 3˚F (and 52˚F in Dublin). The temperature has since risen to 25˚F, with the windchill at 14˚F. We've only three days to go until the Vernal Equinox, and there's not a hint of green in all the state, it seems. Here is yesterday's stale Hell:
My agent has just informed me that we've finalized the contract for the second "best of" volume (still untitled). I'll be posting the more-or-less set-in-stone Table of Contents later this week, maybe even tomorrow. It took me six drafts to get it right, a great deal of work, really. We've settled on thirty stories, total. I don't have an expected release date yet, but I'm guessing late 2014. I'll be delivering the ms. on May 15th. Now, we begin contract negotiations on The Dinosaurs of Mars, I believe. Meanwhile, yesterday was all tedium and frustration, as I attempted to get the cyborg story, "The Living and Their Stillborn" back on track. But I fear the story is another stillborn thing, doomed by the fact that it really seems to have nothing to say that's worth saying. I've been working on this story, pretty constantly, since March 5th, and I have only 2,833 words to show for my trouble. I am near to throwing in the towel.
By the way, though I know who's not reading this, Spooky has a message to Thomas Ligotti: "It's your fault I have a back ache right now."
Last night we watched Nick Ryan's The Summit (2012), then the first episode of the new Cosmos (despite my intense dislike of Seth MacFarlane). It was great seeing Neil deGrasse Tyson step into Sagan's shoes. I do wish they'd found a score equal to Vangelis'. Still working on finishing the enormous Burroughs biography, and I'm on part two of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
Later,
Aunt Beast
This is our sixth St. Patrick's Day in this House. This morning, I hung my Irish flag in the front window, as I do every year. I've lived in this House two years longer, now, than I have ever lived in any other. It's all very damn strange.
My favorite St. Patrick's Day link, "Why There Are No Snakes in Ireland," which used to be hosted at the National Zoo in Washington, seems to have vanished. The internet is worthless as an archival medium. So, here's a surrogate, at National Geographic: Snakeless in Ireland: Blame Ice Age, Not St. Patrick.
Frigid in Providence this morning. When I woke, it was 19˚F, with a windchill of 3˚F (and 52˚F in Dublin). The temperature has since risen to 25˚F, with the windchill at 14˚F. We've only three days to go until the Vernal Equinox, and there's not a hint of green in all the state, it seems. Here is yesterday's stale Hell:
My agent has just informed me that we've finalized the contract for the second "best of" volume (still untitled). I'll be posting the more-or-less set-in-stone Table of Contents later this week, maybe even tomorrow. It took me six drafts to get it right, a great deal of work, really. We've settled on thirty stories, total. I don't have an expected release date yet, but I'm guessing late 2014. I'll be delivering the ms. on May 15th. Now, we begin contract negotiations on The Dinosaurs of Mars, I believe. Meanwhile, yesterday was all tedium and frustration, as I attempted to get the cyborg story, "The Living and Their Stillborn" back on track. But I fear the story is another stillborn thing, doomed by the fact that it really seems to have nothing to say that's worth saying. I've been working on this story, pretty constantly, since March 5th, and I have only 2,833 words to show for my trouble. I am near to throwing in the towel.
By the way, though I know who's not reading this, Spooky has a message to Thomas Ligotti: "It's your fault I have a back ache right now."
Last night we watched Nick Ryan's The Summit (2012), then the first episode of the new Cosmos (despite my intense dislike of Seth MacFarlane). It was great seeing Neil deGrasse Tyson step into Sagan's shoes. I do wish they'd found a score equal to Vangelis'. Still working on finishing the enormous Burroughs biography, and I'm on part two of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.
Later,
Aunt Beast