"And Sodom, South Georgia woke like a tree full of bees."
Overcast, dark, rainy. Currently, the temperature in Providence is 47˚F, with a "real feel" of 45˚F. And - at least on this side of town - the trees are bare.
A few days ago this LJ quietly celebrated its eleventh birthday. The last eleven years have brought more changes than I ever could have imagined. A few of them weren't bad. A miniscule number were even good.
Finally, last night, after the application of a judicious amount of weed, I slept. I slept hard for a bout six and a half hours, woke, then slept another half hour. That's the best sleep, by far, that I've had in a week. I'm hoping this episode of insomnia has passed.
Hopefully it means that I can write today, having slept last night. Nothing was written yesterday. I'll be going back to work on "Dancy Versus the Pterosaur."
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“The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice.” ~ William Faulkner
Unfortunately, the corollary is pretty obvious and obviously true: the same goes for shitty artists.
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Please (!) have a look at the current eBay auctions. There's a copy of La fille qui se noie, the French language edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, and we won't be offering many if those. There's also a copy of Cherry Bomb, a Cherry Bomb ARC, a copy of Blood Oranges, and a copy of Alabaster: Grimmer Tales. Please, to a look. Thank you.
Last night, after tuna casserole, we watched Tim Burton's Big Eyes, an eerily charming and visually striking film. I went in completely ignorant of the whole Keane fiasco. But I do hope that no one was supposed to believe, even for a moment, that Christoph Waltz was making even a halfhearted attempt to hide his Austrian accent. And we finished the first season of Daredevil. Bravo, Drew Goddard and Company.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
A few days ago this LJ quietly celebrated its eleventh birthday. The last eleven years have brought more changes than I ever could have imagined. A few of them weren't bad. A miniscule number were even good.
Finally, last night, after the application of a judicious amount of weed, I slept. I slept hard for a bout six and a half hours, woke, then slept another half hour. That's the best sleep, by far, that I've had in a week. I'm hoping this episode of insomnia has passed.
Hopefully it means that I can write today, having slept last night. Nothing was written yesterday. I'll be going back to work on "Dancy Versus the Pterosaur."
---
“The good artist believes that nobody is good enough to give him advice.” ~ William Faulkner
Unfortunately, the corollary is pretty obvious and obviously true: the same goes for shitty artists.
---
Please (!) have a look at the current eBay auctions. There's a copy of La fille qui se noie, the French language edition of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, and we won't be offering many if those. There's also a copy of Cherry Bomb, a Cherry Bomb ARC, a copy of Blood Oranges, and a copy of Alabaster: Grimmer Tales. Please, to a look. Thank you.
Last night, after tuna casserole, we watched Tim Burton's Big Eyes, an eerily charming and visually striking film. I went in completely ignorant of the whole Keane fiasco. But I do hope that no one was supposed to believe, even for a moment, that Christoph Waltz was making even a halfhearted attempt to hide his Austrian accent. And we finished the first season of Daredevil. Bravo, Drew Goddard and Company.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast