"I can't seem to find my way up from the basement. A demon holds my place on earth 'till I die."
I dreamed I was in a bombed-out European city near the end of WWII. I was at the edge of a wide green lake, catching water snakes.
The heat is back. At least, it's hot inside the House. I don't know what it is out there. I haven't bothered to check the weather or open a window. In Rhode Island, opening a window will yield vastly more accurate results than consulting any meteorologist.
Yesterday, I wrote 958 words and finally found THE END of "Far From Any Shore." The rest of the day was spent getting more photoreferences out to Lee Moyer for the cover painting of Beneath and Oil-Dark Sea: The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan (Volume Two).
I posted this on Facebook yesterday:
So, my agent has read "Interstate Love Song: Murder Ballad No. 8," and she says (in an email with the subject line "omg!"): "Your story is amazing. Some of your best writing, no question. Dark, god knows, but really really good!" When I asked if, then, she thought it would, indeed, make a good novel, she replied, "A gorgeously written dark and literary serial killer novel with incestuous lesbians as the main characters and perps? I’m in. Possibly not a slam dunk in commercial terms, but it will be great." This has made my week. I know what my next novel will be. This will be my first completely, undeniably non-supernatural novel*.
That was the very good thing about yesterday. The novel will be titled Interstate Love Song: A Murder Ballad. I hope to begin it as soon as Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird has been written for Dark Horse, so probably in the early autumn. With luck, I'll have it finished by the end of next summer.
Congratulations to setsuled, who had the winning bid on the copy of From Weird and Distant Shores. Another round of eBay auctions has begun.
Think I'm gonna have five stars tattooed at the base of my neck, little black ones, with CARCOSA above them.
Kathryn and I had a walk most of the away around Dexter Training Ground. My feet are so bad these days that's a very long walk for me.
Okay, off to the salt mines with me.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
* I contend that both The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl: A Memoir are non-supernatural novels, but it seems to be a contentious issue. But, you ask me, authorial intent trumps all.
The heat is back. At least, it's hot inside the House. I don't know what it is out there. I haven't bothered to check the weather or open a window. In Rhode Island, opening a window will yield vastly more accurate results than consulting any meteorologist.
Yesterday, I wrote 958 words and finally found THE END of "Far From Any Shore." The rest of the day was spent getting more photoreferences out to Lee Moyer for the cover painting of Beneath and Oil-Dark Sea: The Best of Caitlín R. Kiernan (Volume Two).
I posted this on Facebook yesterday:
So, my agent has read "Interstate Love Song: Murder Ballad No. 8," and she says (in an email with the subject line "omg!"): "Your story is amazing. Some of your best writing, no question. Dark, god knows, but really really good!" When I asked if, then, she thought it would, indeed, make a good novel, she replied, "A gorgeously written dark and literary serial killer novel with incestuous lesbians as the main characters and perps? I’m in. Possibly not a slam dunk in commercial terms, but it will be great." This has made my week. I know what my next novel will be. This will be my first completely, undeniably non-supernatural novel*.
That was the very good thing about yesterday. The novel will be titled Interstate Love Song: A Murder Ballad. I hope to begin it as soon as Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird has been written for Dark Horse, so probably in the early autumn. With luck, I'll have it finished by the end of next summer.
Congratulations to setsuled, who had the winning bid on the copy of From Weird and Distant Shores. Another round of eBay auctions has begun.
Think I'm gonna have five stars tattooed at the base of my neck, little black ones, with CARCOSA above them.
Kathryn and I had a walk most of the away around Dexter Training Ground. My feet are so bad these days that's a very long walk for me.
Okay, off to the salt mines with me.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
* I contend that both The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl: A Memoir are non-supernatural novels, but it seems to be a contentious issue. But, you ask me, authorial intent trumps all.