“So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.”
Another day of miserable weather. Heavy rain. The temperature is currently 44˚F, with the windchill at 41˚F.
I spent yesterday looking for a story I'll hopefully begin today, something for Sirenia Digest 155. I'm pretty sure I've never been so far behind on my writing as I am at the moment. I've got two Dancy stories that need to be written (~20k words!), SD 155, edits on The Red Tree for the long-promised Centipede Press edition, and...other things. I've hardly written a word for the past two months, not since early October. And this wretched weather is not helping.
But I'm taking inspiration from pornography, as has often been the case.
Last night, we watched all ten of the new episodes of The Ranch. It's an odd sort of affair, those ten episodes, an extended reaction to the sacking of Danny Masterson. God, I miss Rooster, and I still hope he will return to the series somewhere farther along. Trying to deal with the character's abrupt departure, and with the derailment of whatever the story was to have been before Masterson was forced out, the series has turned angry and dark and sad. And off balance, struggling to find its footing.*
Spooky's about to head out to the market for groceries. She's braver than I.
At the risk of losing a couple dozen followers, I have to admit it's heartening to see the backlash against attempts to ban "Baby, It's Cold Outside." Maybe there's hope yet.
“The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shockproof, shit detector.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
I leave you with a photograph of P.O. Box 590133, mentioned in yesterday's entry.
Later Taters,
CRK
12:58 p.m. (Thursday)
* I've just learned that the series has been renewed for a fourth season, so at least there's that.
I spent yesterday looking for a story I'll hopefully begin today, something for Sirenia Digest 155. I'm pretty sure I've never been so far behind on my writing as I am at the moment. I've got two Dancy stories that need to be written (~20k words!), SD 155, edits on The Red Tree for the long-promised Centipede Press edition, and...other things. I've hardly written a word for the past two months, not since early October. And this wretched weather is not helping.
But I'm taking inspiration from pornography, as has often been the case.
Last night, we watched all ten of the new episodes of The Ranch. It's an odd sort of affair, those ten episodes, an extended reaction to the sacking of Danny Masterson. God, I miss Rooster, and I still hope he will return to the series somewhere farther along. Trying to deal with the character's abrupt departure, and with the derailment of whatever the story was to have been before Masterson was forced out, the series has turned angry and dark and sad. And off balance, struggling to find its footing.*
Spooky's about to head out to the market for groceries. She's braver than I.
At the risk of losing a couple dozen followers, I have to admit it's heartening to see the backlash against attempts to ban "Baby, It's Cold Outside." Maybe there's hope yet.
“The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shockproof, shit detector.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
I leave you with a photograph of P.O. Box 590133, mentioned in yesterday's entry.
Later Taters,
CRK
12:58 p.m. (Thursday)
* I've just learned that the series has been renewed for a fourth season, so at least there's that.