"Listen Mister, can't you see I got to get back...?" (69)
Guess what? Another sunny early autumn day in north-central Alabama. Our high was 73˚F.
Today Spooky proofread "Oneironaut Collage" and said she liked it a lot. But she biased, you know. And, here at the very end, as I'm about to type in her edits, I'm thinking of changing the damn title. As for what I did today, damn little. I was not well, but I did manage to proofread the first half of "Bradbury Weather," a very long story with lots of hard science (as opposed to the so-called "soft" sciences). It's one of the stories I wasn't going to proofread for the bazillionth time, but...my resolve faltered. Anyway, I'll finish it tomorrow. Bill Schafer has shown the patience of Job, waiting on the final version of the manuscript for Bradbury Weather (it was due in July), but I think he's gonna murder me if I don't get it to him soon.
Yo, Paul Sammon, I got your message, and thank you for the Big Cartel kindness, and one day I will actually remember to write you back, I swear.
Despite all the chaos and horror right now, despite all the angrifying shit coming from the Far Right and the Far Left, from both the Trumpers and Gen Z, and never fucking mind world politics, I have decided that I'm been mouthing off about politics too much lately, and it isn't good for me. I need to try and put that shit out of my head and work. That said, here are a couple of things I posted to Twitter today:
If any given piece of art does not piss off at least one person, it has failed.
~and~
Another word that is rapidly being ruined: transactional.
Mike Polcyn is calling tomorrow at 2 p.m., and I need to be on the ball for that. My work on the Big Mosasaur Paper (MP2) stalled out when I began editing Bradbury Weather and writing "Oneironaut Collage," even though it was almost finished after almost three hard months of work. I'm hoping Mike will give me the kick in the ass I need to get it over the finish line.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thank you.
Oh, today's photograph is a closeup from one of the Winifred jackets. Normally, the Mooreville Chalk is a preparator's dream, chalky clay that you hardly need more than a toothbrush to remove. But this stuff, the basal Mooreville I've termed the "Erie Bend member" (uppermost Santonian/lowermost Campanian), it's filled with glauconitic sand that renders it just slightly softer than concrete. The bones are still in great shape, but getting them out with dental tools, dilute formic acid, and a Dremel (I don't have access to an air scribe) is murder.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
5:28 p.m.
Today Spooky proofread "Oneironaut Collage" and said she liked it a lot. But she biased, you know. And, here at the very end, as I'm about to type in her edits, I'm thinking of changing the damn title. As for what I did today, damn little. I was not well, but I did manage to proofread the first half of "Bradbury Weather," a very long story with lots of hard science (as opposed to the so-called "soft" sciences). It's one of the stories I wasn't going to proofread for the bazillionth time, but...my resolve faltered. Anyway, I'll finish it tomorrow. Bill Schafer has shown the patience of Job, waiting on the final version of the manuscript for Bradbury Weather (it was due in July), but I think he's gonna murder me if I don't get it to him soon.
Yo, Paul Sammon, I got your message, and thank you for the Big Cartel kindness, and one day I will actually remember to write you back, I swear.
Despite all the chaos and horror right now, despite all the angrifying shit coming from the Far Right and the Far Left, from both the Trumpers and Gen Z, and never fucking mind world politics, I have decided that I'm been mouthing off about politics too much lately, and it isn't good for me. I need to try and put that shit out of my head and work. That said, here are a couple of things I posted to Twitter today:
If any given piece of art does not piss off at least one person, it has failed.
~and~
Another word that is rapidly being ruined: transactional.
Mike Polcyn is calling tomorrow at 2 p.m., and I need to be on the ball for that. My work on the Big Mosasaur Paper (MP2) stalled out when I began editing Bradbury Weather and writing "Oneironaut Collage," even though it was almost finished after almost three hard months of work. I'm hoping Mike will give me the kick in the ass I need to get it over the finish line.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thank you.
Oh, today's photograph is a closeup from one of the Winifred jackets. Normally, the Mooreville Chalk is a preparator's dream, chalky clay that you hardly need more than a toothbrush to remove. But this stuff, the basal Mooreville I've termed the "Erie Bend member" (uppermost Santonian/lowermost Campanian), it's filled with glauconitic sand that renders it just slightly softer than concrete. The bones are still in great shape, but getting them out with dental tools, dilute formic acid, and a Dremel (I don't have access to an air scribe) is murder.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
5:28 p.m.