"Saying, 'everything is broken.'"
Mostly cloudy here, and currently it's 68˚F.
I think I have decided I have to set aside "Three Monsters Walk Into a Bar" and try to come back to it at the end of July. The tooth drama, being sick from the antibiotics, other stuff have have conspired to throw me off, and I need to get some distance between it and myself. I need to get something finished for Sirenia Digest No. 137. Though I may also include what has been written on the story thus far in that same issue.
God, I want my old motivation and energy back, the sort of motivation and energy I had back as recently (and as long ago) as 2010 and the first half of 2011, before the chaos and disappointments and bullshit of Dark Horse and Quinn and the movie deal and the screenplay for The Red Tree and the Gabapentin and all the rest of it happened to me. And now these rotten goddamn teeth. Before all that, I had the work ethic of a goddamn Puritan. Before all that, I could write two goddamn novels in a year.* Well, I did that just the once, but still.
Yesterday, I received a very nice letter from the John Hay Library, and with it my copy of the deed of gift for my papers. The letter describes them as "Twenty-Three Linear Feet of Manuscript Materials, Including Correspondence Journals, Manuscripts, and Publications, Circa 1970-2015**, In Print, Electronic, and Web-Based Formats." Really, twenty-three feet? Damn.
Last night, I finally saw the season finale of RuPaul's Drag Race, and I was very pleased that Sasha Velour won. It was such a lackluster season, but there at the end, Sasha really shone. I've got this weird thing with the show. My favorite has won every year since Season Three. If only I had that sort of luck with presidential candidates.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
11:22 a.m.
* That would be The Drowning Girl: A Memoir and Blood Oranges.
** That should read 1970-2017.
I think I have decided I have to set aside "Three Monsters Walk Into a Bar" and try to come back to it at the end of July. The tooth drama, being sick from the antibiotics, other stuff have have conspired to throw me off, and I need to get some distance between it and myself. I need to get something finished for Sirenia Digest No. 137. Though I may also include what has been written on the story thus far in that same issue.
God, I want my old motivation and energy back, the sort of motivation and energy I had back as recently (and as long ago) as 2010 and the first half of 2011, before the chaos and disappointments and bullshit of Dark Horse and Quinn and the movie deal and the screenplay for The Red Tree and the Gabapentin and all the rest of it happened to me. And now these rotten goddamn teeth. Before all that, I had the work ethic of a goddamn Puritan. Before all that, I could write two goddamn novels in a year.* Well, I did that just the once, but still.
Yesterday, I received a very nice letter from the John Hay Library, and with it my copy of the deed of gift for my papers. The letter describes them as "Twenty-Three Linear Feet of Manuscript Materials, Including Correspondence Journals, Manuscripts, and Publications, Circa 1970-2015**, In Print, Electronic, and Web-Based Formats." Really, twenty-three feet? Damn.
Last night, I finally saw the season finale of RuPaul's Drag Race, and I was very pleased that Sasha Velour won. It was such a lackluster season, but there at the end, Sasha really shone. I've got this weird thing with the show. My favorite has won every year since Season Three. If only I had that sort of luck with presidential candidates.
Later Taters,
Aunt Beast
11:22 a.m.
* That would be The Drowning Girl: A Memoir and Blood Oranges.
** That should read 1970-2017.