Fire and Dreams (365)
“If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.” ~ Mark Twain
A summer day, sunny, not all that hot. Our high was 92F, with a heat index of 94F.
And even though I only slpt until 3 a.m., it was somehow, against all odds, a productive day. I wrote 1,321 words on the piece I'm calling "A Buyer's Guide to Commonplace Bizarreness." And then, much later, Kathryn read back over the first few chapters of The Night Watchers (below).
This was going to be an entry explaing why, exactly, I have been number my blog entries, beginning exactly one year ago today. But I think it's too fucking depressing, and I don't think I can be more depressed than I am at the moment, so it would only be a sad waste of effort. I will say, one year ago, we unexpectedly found ourselves in possession of what should have been twice enough money to return to Providence (based on what it cost to move there in 2008 and what it cost to move back in 2018). However, the vicious post-COVID-19 rent spike, coupled with the severe, almost unbelievable damage that AirBnB has done to Providence (and all Rhode Island), led to months and months and months of fruitless searching. Providence at Manhattan prices. Eventually, we gave up and signed the lease here for another year. We are trying as hard as we can to hang on to as much of the miraculous moving fund as we can, and maybe by this coming spring we might have another shot. But I am not optimistic. Unless someone buys film rights to some or another novel of mine, and the front-end is high six figures, something like that. But yeah, after today, no more unexplained numbers.
We tried. We tried very, very, very hard.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thank you.
Later,
Aunt Beast (bad dog)
3:57 p.m.
A summer day, sunny, not all that hot. Our high was 92F, with a heat index of 94F.
And even though I only slpt until 3 a.m., it was somehow, against all odds, a productive day. I wrote 1,321 words on the piece I'm calling "A Buyer's Guide to Commonplace Bizarreness." And then, much later, Kathryn read back over the first few chapters of The Night Watchers (below).
This was going to be an entry explaing why, exactly, I have been number my blog entries, beginning exactly one year ago today. But I think it's too fucking depressing, and I don't think I can be more depressed than I am at the moment, so it would only be a sad waste of effort. I will say, one year ago, we unexpectedly found ourselves in possession of what should have been twice enough money to return to Providence (based on what it cost to move there in 2008 and what it cost to move back in 2018). However, the vicious post-COVID-19 rent spike, coupled with the severe, almost unbelievable damage that AirBnB has done to Providence (and all Rhode Island), led to months and months and months of fruitless searching. Providence at Manhattan prices. Eventually, we gave up and signed the lease here for another year. We are trying as hard as we can to hang on to as much of the miraculous moving fund as we can, and maybe by this coming spring we might have another shot. But I am not optimistic. Unless someone buys film rights to some or another novel of mine, and the front-end is high six figures, something like that. But yeah, after today, no more unexplained numbers.
We tried. We tried very, very, very hard.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Thank you.
Later,
Aunt Beast (bad dog)
3:57 p.m.