A sunny and cold second day of 2016, and it makes me just absolutely frabjous, it does. Out there, the air is 36˚F, but feels like 30˚F. Someone who'd apparently never heard of windchill once asked me how I could tell how cold it feels, as opposed to what the thermometer is telling me. As if they didn't believe in Herr Fahrenheit, the Magical German Weather Elf who lives in my left nostril.
“A writer needs his poisons. The antidote to his poisons is often a book.” ~ Philip Roth
Yesterday was blessedly unremarkable. I have set of eleven photographs that sum it up, and I offer them with no farther explanation whatsoever:
All photographs Copyright © 2016 by Caitlín R. Kiernan, caught by Nemo
Today, I have to post this entry, brush my teeth, send a short story to Ellen Datlow, and talk with Jared at Centipede Press about the potential illustrator for Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales.
Do I have any New Year's resolutions? Only two. Firstly, eat less refined sugar, and secondly, don't fuck shit up as badly as I did last year.
I read today that the average American spends ~90% of her/his life indoors. Made me feel better about myself, but pretty bad for Americans as a whole.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast