"You can't walk, you can't ramble, 'cause you're gonna have to scramble..."
Another rainy day, cooler than yesterday. Currently, it's 51˚F, with the windchill at 49˚F.
1. Today I got back to work on The Cerulean Alphabet, and did 903 words on N and O. The second half needs to be finished in the next few days. It will be appearing late this month in Sirenia Digest #169.
2. Also today the postman brought me my Valentine's Day present from Spooky, an gorgeous enamel mosasaur pin, which has joined my SVP patch on the bag I use for the museum work (see below). The pin was made by Andrea Radeck, by the way, and she has many wonderful designs available.
3. The late check thing has become an actual fucking crisis. I learned toady that it won't be coming for at least two or three weeks, so we're gonna be short on rent this month. Still wanna be a freelance fiction writer? Sure, you can be a critical success with a great agent, a shelf full of awards, and an archive at Brown University, but that doesn't mean anyone has to pay you on time. Doesn't mean you can't get to the end of the month and not have to worry about where the rent money's coming from. At this point, only propriety is keeping me from naming names. Anyway, please looks at the eBay auctions and bid if you can. They're how we're gonna squeak by this month, clearly. I'll sign and personalize any book, as well as draw a one-of-a-kind monster doodle on the title page. Thanks. Spooky's added copies of the sold-out-on-publication Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams and The Aubergine Alphabet.
4. Gonna say this AGAIN. I know folks mean well, but I don't think of myself as a woman writer. Or a bisexual writer. Or a trans writer. Or anything of the sort. I'm JUST a writer. I do not feel that I have ever been marginalized by the publishing industry* (and I've been at this now since 1992), and, with respect to those who feel otherwise, I don't like being segregated into or saddled with any of the many categories of identity politics. Also, someone asked how I felt about being called a Southern writer, and I replied: If I HAD to classify myself, beyond, say "weird fiction," which I'm sorta okay with, I'd probably say "Southern writer," even though an awful lot of my work is set in New England. I think even the New England stuff has a sort of Southern vibe.
5. Mostly, after work, it was a laid-back sorta day, still recovering from last week. I almost finished reading "A Bird's Eye View: Hesperornithiforms as Environmental Indicators in the Late Cretaceous Western Interior Seaway." And we played more Black Desert Online. I had a chicken pot pie for dinner, and we're watching That 70s Show, getting towards the end of this year's Kittypalooza.
6. It was a decent, productive day, all in all, despite the fact that I only slept about four and a half hours last night.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
7:43 p.m.
* Oh, there have been loads of shitty, bigoted comments from readers, and even from other writers, but that's a different matter for another time.
1. Today I got back to work on The Cerulean Alphabet, and did 903 words on N and O. The second half needs to be finished in the next few days. It will be appearing late this month in Sirenia Digest #169.
2. Also today the postman brought me my Valentine's Day present from Spooky, an gorgeous enamel mosasaur pin, which has joined my SVP patch on the bag I use for the museum work (see below). The pin was made by Andrea Radeck, by the way, and she has many wonderful designs available.
3. The late check thing has become an actual fucking crisis. I learned toady that it won't be coming for at least two or three weeks, so we're gonna be short on rent this month. Still wanna be a freelance fiction writer? Sure, you can be a critical success with a great agent, a shelf full of awards, and an archive at Brown University, but that doesn't mean anyone has to pay you on time. Doesn't mean you can't get to the end of the month and not have to worry about where the rent money's coming from. At this point, only propriety is keeping me from naming names. Anyway, please looks at the eBay auctions and bid if you can. They're how we're gonna squeak by this month, clearly. I'll sign and personalize any book, as well as draw a one-of-a-kind monster doodle on the title page. Thanks. Spooky's added copies of the sold-out-on-publication Little Yellow Book of Fever Dreams and The Aubergine Alphabet.
4. Gonna say this AGAIN. I know folks mean well, but I don't think of myself as a woman writer. Or a bisexual writer. Or a trans writer. Or anything of the sort. I'm JUST a writer. I do not feel that I have ever been marginalized by the publishing industry* (and I've been at this now since 1992), and, with respect to those who feel otherwise, I don't like being segregated into or saddled with any of the many categories of identity politics. Also, someone asked how I felt about being called a Southern writer, and I replied: If I HAD to classify myself, beyond, say "weird fiction," which I'm sorta okay with, I'd probably say "Southern writer," even though an awful lot of my work is set in New England. I think even the New England stuff has a sort of Southern vibe.
5. Mostly, after work, it was a laid-back sorta day, still recovering from last week. I almost finished reading "A Bird's Eye View: Hesperornithiforms as Environmental Indicators in the Late Cretaceous Western Interior Seaway." And we played more Black Desert Online. I had a chicken pot pie for dinner, and we're watching That 70s Show, getting towards the end of this year's Kittypalooza.
6. It was a decent, productive day, all in all, despite the fact that I only slept about four and a half hours last night.
TTFN,
Aunt Beast
7:43 p.m.
* Oh, there have been loads of shitty, bigoted comments from readers, and even from other writers, but that's a different matter for another time.