Put Some Words Here
Much cooler today. Our high was, I think, 77F. Wow.
Not much sleep. But I was writing by 6 a.m., and I did another 1,256 words on the chapbook/novella. And then I wrote the first draft on the jugals of this new mosasaur taxa for MP2. I spoke with Jun on the actual phone, actual voices. I fiddled around with the Bashi Marl matrix a little. It's been sitting neglected. When I have so little time and energy for paleo', most of it has to go to mosasaurs, not Eocene fish.
So, not a bad day. Sire, that lurking sense of apocalypse that everyone should be feeling. But that's default at this point.
Here's a couple of things I posted to Facebook:
Okay, a story about Peter Straub and The Drowning Girl. It took me three years to write that novel, and when it was done, I HATED it. It was far too strange a book, I thought, for anyone to like. Then Peter read the manuscript, and he told me it was brilliant, and he said he didn't even know I had a book like this in me, and he compared it with William Faulkner (to me a god), and he sort of became book's champion. He helped me keep believing in myself. And that is not the best thing Peter ever did for me, but it's one I thought maybe fans of the novel would appreciate.
~ and ~
The truth is that I rarely enjoy the company of other writers. I hate talking about writing. If there's another writer I love, say Peter Straub or Dallas Meyer, Harlan Ellison or Bernie Wrightson, who became good friends, it's happened in spite of them being authors. Now, add to that how difficult is is for me to travel (I was last on a plane in 2010, last on a train in 2014), and this awful thing happens. I try to stay in touch with people, but I don't do cons anymore, and...suddenly someone dies. It's like I thought she or he would live forever. And I am left with a hundred conversations that should have happened. Sorry. All this crap is on my mind. (Sonya, you know I love you, even if you are a stinkin' writer.)
---
Tonight we saw a monster movie that I can only describe as very fucking dull. And dumb. And cheap. Dumb, dull, and cheap. We mostly talkied through it. The title...who cares. Follow this link if you care. Yawn. But at least it was free.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
8:34 a.m.
Not much sleep. But I was writing by 6 a.m., and I did another 1,256 words on the chapbook/novella. And then I wrote the first draft on the jugals of this new mosasaur taxa for MP2. I spoke with Jun on the actual phone, actual voices. I fiddled around with the Bashi Marl matrix a little. It's been sitting neglected. When I have so little time and energy for paleo', most of it has to go to mosasaurs, not Eocene fish.
So, not a bad day. Sire, that lurking sense of apocalypse that everyone should be feeling. But that's default at this point.
Here's a couple of things I posted to Facebook:
Okay, a story about Peter Straub and The Drowning Girl. It took me three years to write that novel, and when it was done, I HATED it. It was far too strange a book, I thought, for anyone to like. Then Peter read the manuscript, and he told me it was brilliant, and he said he didn't even know I had a book like this in me, and he compared it with William Faulkner (to me a god), and he sort of became book's champion. He helped me keep believing in myself. And that is not the best thing Peter ever did for me, but it's one I thought maybe fans of the novel would appreciate.
~ and ~
The truth is that I rarely enjoy the company of other writers. I hate talking about writing. If there's another writer I love, say Peter Straub or Dallas Meyer, Harlan Ellison or Bernie Wrightson, who became good friends, it's happened in spite of them being authors. Now, add to that how difficult is is for me to travel (I was last on a plane in 2010, last on a train in 2014), and this awful thing happens. I try to stay in touch with people, but I don't do cons anymore, and...suddenly someone dies. It's like I thought she or he would live forever. And I am left with a hundred conversations that should have happened. Sorry. All this crap is on my mind. (Sonya, you know I love you, even if you are a stinkin' writer.)
---
Tonight we saw a monster movie that I can only describe as very fucking dull. And dumb. And cheap. Dumb, dull, and cheap. We mostly talkied through it. The title...who cares. Follow this link if you care. Yawn. But at least it was free.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
8:34 a.m.