The Fist of Determination, the Crush of Urgency
Cloudy most of the day, but we started getting a little sun this afternoon. Nothing like the marvelous heat of Thursday. Our high was only 65F.
Summer cannot come soon enough.
The ms. for Bright Dead Star is essentially done. I still need to tweak the introduction just a little, and there are questions of a few Post-It notes I have not addressed. But...almost done.
Kathryn and I spent a big chunk of today talking about my writing and about our financial troubles, about what needs to be written when to cover the rent and other bills, about doing what I have always done, creating the parachute out of nothing as I plummet towards the ground rushing up the meet me. Hopefully, now that my teeth are stable and I'm eating again, putting on a little weight, etc. and etc. (and I fucking hate talking about this crap) all of this will begin coming more easily again. I have been ill for a very long time now. I didn't really know how bad it was until this past October. It has dealt a serious blow to my ability to work, but now...well. You know, fuck it, that's enough of that for one day. But it wouldn't hurt none at all if you found one of my books or one of Spooky's shirts at the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop that you'd like to have for your own. FREE MONSTER DOODLES with all books until I say otherwise.
I am weary of feeling like a bum.
Two documentaries today, an American Experience about the history of flight attendants and an episode of Nova about recovering Pliocene-aged DNA in Greenland (2-2.5 mya). Also, I finished Peter Watts' Maelstrom and began βehemoth: β-Max. He truly is an underrated author.
You know what I was saying yesterday or the day before about the best television now being on AppleTV, well...last night's series' finale of Masters of the Air proved it. This nine-part WWII drama is one of the best things that's been on TV in years. (Yes, it would be nice if Apple paid me to say these things; they don't.)
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:34 p.m.
Summer cannot come soon enough.
The ms. for Bright Dead Star is essentially done. I still need to tweak the introduction just a little, and there are questions of a few Post-It notes I have not addressed. But...almost done.
Kathryn and I spent a big chunk of today talking about my writing and about our financial troubles, about what needs to be written when to cover the rent and other bills, about doing what I have always done, creating the parachute out of nothing as I plummet towards the ground rushing up the meet me. Hopefully, now that my teeth are stable and I'm eating again, putting on a little weight, etc. and etc. (and I fucking hate talking about this crap) all of this will begin coming more easily again. I have been ill for a very long time now. I didn't really know how bad it was until this past October. It has dealt a serious blow to my ability to work, but now...well. You know, fuck it, that's enough of that for one day. But it wouldn't hurt none at all if you found one of my books or one of Spooky's shirts at the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop that you'd like to have for your own. FREE MONSTER DOODLES with all books until I say otherwise.
I am weary of feeling like a bum.
Two documentaries today, an American Experience about the history of flight attendants and an episode of Nova about recovering Pliocene-aged DNA in Greenland (2-2.5 mya). Also, I finished Peter Watts' Maelstrom and began βehemoth: β-Max. He truly is an underrated author.
You know what I was saying yesterday or the day before about the best television now being on AppleTV, well...last night's series' finale of Masters of the Air proved it. This nine-part WWII drama is one of the best things that's been on TV in years. (Yes, it would be nice if Apple paid me to say these things; they don't.)
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:34 p.m.