vaulting quiescence
Another sunny day, a little warmer than yesterday. By the middle of this coming week we'll once more be in the seasonal nineties Fahrenheit. Our high today was 82˚F.
No work. I didn't sleep especially well, and...well..I spoke of the lull that so often comes to me after I finish something big (and "Living a Boy's Adventure Tale" was big). That's this. But I have to avoid allowing that lull to lapse into actual stagnation. It's very, very easy for that to happen. I start telling myself, "Hey, that was a hard job. Give yourself a break. Rest. Recharge." And before I know it I've lost a whole week, and a week becomes two weeks, and so on. So, tomorrow, whether it's fiction or mosasaurs, tomorrow I go back to work. I am relearning my old self-discipline and worth ethic, which has taken such a blow from the worldwide chaos and horror of the past two years - from the stress and increased isolation I have suffered because of these things. But I am a freelance writer. And if I don't drive myself, if I don't crack that whip , well, no one else is going to, which, you ask me, is one of the definite downsides of "being your own boss."
What I did do today is read. I finished Bruce Hopkins' excellent biography of Sir Edmund Hillary and began Piu Eatwell's book on the Black Dahlia murder, Black Dahlia, Red Rose.
Saw the first two episodes of Stranger Things Season Four last night, and I was not disappointed. Also, I adore Maya Hawk, who just happens to be the daughter of Uma Thurmond and Ethan Hawke. Cool fucking parents.
Below, today's photo is a reminder that you can only find my story "Strandling" in Ellen Datlow's new anthology, Screams from the Dark: 29 Tales of Monsters and the Monstrous. So, there's that.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thanks.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:30 p.m.
No work. I didn't sleep especially well, and...well..I spoke of the lull that so often comes to me after I finish something big (and "Living a Boy's Adventure Tale" was big). That's this. But I have to avoid allowing that lull to lapse into actual stagnation. It's very, very easy for that to happen. I start telling myself, "Hey, that was a hard job. Give yourself a break. Rest. Recharge." And before I know it I've lost a whole week, and a week becomes two weeks, and so on. So, tomorrow, whether it's fiction or mosasaurs, tomorrow I go back to work. I am relearning my old self-discipline and worth ethic, which has taken such a blow from the worldwide chaos and horror of the past two years - from the stress and increased isolation I have suffered because of these things. But I am a freelance writer. And if I don't drive myself, if I don't crack that whip , well, no one else is going to, which, you ask me, is one of the definite downsides of "being your own boss."
What I did do today is read. I finished Bruce Hopkins' excellent biography of Sir Edmund Hillary and began Piu Eatwell's book on the Black Dahlia murder, Black Dahlia, Red Rose.
Saw the first two episodes of Stranger Things Season Four last night, and I was not disappointed. Also, I adore Maya Hawk, who just happens to be the daughter of Uma Thurmond and Ethan Hawke. Cool fucking parents.
Below, today's photo is a reminder that you can only find my story "Strandling" in Ellen Datlow's new anthology, Screams from the Dark: 29 Tales of Monsters and the Monstrous. So, there's that.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thanks.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
3:30 p.m.