Day 20 (2025 A.D.)
Brutally cold last night, not much better today, despite the sunshine. The low was 17F (8F windchill), and we only made it to 30F. Back into the teens tonight; we are still under a "cold weather advisory."
Happy 79th birthday, David Lynch, wherever you have gone (if anywhere).
I almost wrote this morning, then, instead, spent the day working of the galley pages of Zoetrope Bizarre. I made it about one third through the ms. This novella is one of those things I actually enjoying writing, like Black Helicopters a sort of literary brainteaser. Maybe puzzle sounds less frivolous. Whichever. A game, I think I mean. A game of words and character, theme and atmosphere - and a dash of plot - that I play with myself. And like Black Helicopters, this new thing, Zoetrope Bizarre, it feels unfinished. Oh, I think it's very good as it is. I'm proud of it. But it also feels unfinished, and it makes me think of the original version Black Helicopters (Subterranean Press, 2012). When Tor agreed to publish a new edition in 2018, they also let me add about a third to its length, scenes that, over the years, had occurred to me, scenes I'd either already written just for myself or had written notes for. I'm rambling. But yes, it feels like that, which is a good thing. It gives me enthusiasm for my fiction, which can be very, very hard for me to manage.
I'm reading zoologist Jeremy Wade's River Monsters: True Stories of the Ones That Didn’t Get Away. I'm a fan of his show, and I felt like something light before getting back to some heavier nonfiction. Oh, and the afternoon's film was Jason Reitman's Ghostbusters: Afterlife (2021).
A free article at the New York Times (not behind a paywall): Trump Targeted Scientists in His First Term. This Time, They’re Prepared. One can only hope.
And yes, the second reign of the Horror Clown has begun. We let it happen twice.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Danke.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
7:09 a.m.
Happy 79th birthday, David Lynch, wherever you have gone (if anywhere).
I almost wrote this morning, then, instead, spent the day working of the galley pages of Zoetrope Bizarre. I made it about one third through the ms. This novella is one of those things I actually enjoying writing, like Black Helicopters a sort of literary brainteaser. Maybe puzzle sounds less frivolous. Whichever. A game, I think I mean. A game of words and character, theme and atmosphere - and a dash of plot - that I play with myself. And like Black Helicopters, this new thing, Zoetrope Bizarre, it feels unfinished. Oh, I think it's very good as it is. I'm proud of it. But it also feels unfinished, and it makes me think of the original version Black Helicopters (Subterranean Press, 2012). When Tor agreed to publish a new edition in 2018, they also let me add about a third to its length, scenes that, over the years, had occurred to me, scenes I'd either already written just for myself or had written notes for. I'm rambling. But yes, it feels like that, which is a good thing. It gives me enthusiasm for my fiction, which can be very, very hard for me to manage.
I'm reading zoologist Jeremy Wade's River Monsters: True Stories of the Ones That Didn’t Get Away. I'm a fan of his show, and I felt like something light before getting back to some heavier nonfiction. Oh, and the afternoon's film was Jason Reitman's Ghostbusters: Afterlife (2021).
A free article at the New York Times (not behind a paywall): Trump Targeted Scientists in His First Term. This Time, They’re Prepared. One can only hope.
And yes, the second reign of the Horror Clown has begun. We let it happen twice.
Please visit the Dreaming Squid Sundries shop. Danke.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
7:09 a.m.