Burn bright through the night, two pockets lead the way...
By now, Sirenia Digest subscribers ought to have #17, which Spooky sent out at about one a.m. this morning. However we had at least five bounces, so if you are a subscriber and you have not received #17, you should promptly e-mail Spooky at crk(unnderscore)books(at)yahoo(dot)com. I'm very pleased with how this issue came together. Comments encouraged, as always.
Yesterday was sort of a day off. But not really. Byron called about 11:30 and we joined him for "brunch" at Grandma Luke's. Yesterday was Byron's birthday. He has not yet reached the dreaded -0, so it was not a day of mourning for him. I had blueberry pancakes. Yum. Spooky had the banana bread French toast, which she says isn't nearly as heavy as it sounds. I am not accustomed to being out and about so early (or eating such huge breakfasts); the whole thing was sort of weird.
Otherwise, yesterday was spent finishing up #17 and getting it off to thingunderthest for PDFing. The part of the day I didn't spend resting and having half a day off. Last night, we finished re-reading Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five, which impresses me more with each reading. It's that sort of brilliant.
And here it is the day before Beltane. Perhaps I'm missing the spirit of the thing, the liberty of isolation, but I find being a "solitary practitioner" of Wicca incredibly annoying. But. And on the other hand. I have intentionally steered clear of covens, because I know I would only piss everyone off after they exchanged the favour (or whatever). Ah, but to be in Edinburgh tonight, where they do this sabbat up right. Spooky proposed we set the four burners on the stove to high and dance about it naked, waving wooden spoons. Likely we shall not.
My thanks to sovay for pointing me to a positive mention of Daughter of Hounds in STLtoday.com, which is the website for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. An article (or column, I'm not sure); "Genre Fiction" by Dorman T. Shindler. I was especially pleased that Mr. Schindler notes that Threshold and Low Red Moon are "not so much prequels as novels linked by characters and theme." Anyway, you can read the whole of the article here.
Today I have to do the Edward Gorey interview, and I have a meeting with D at 5 p.m., so I have to go over all my notes on the "Onion" screenplay again. And I need to get "The Ape's Wife" started. There are also the signature sheets for the PS Publishing edition of The Day It Rained Forever, which I need to sign. They arrived here on Saturday, and Bradbury has already signed them.
A peculiar dream this morning. Turned out, I'm not the alien. Rather, I'm one of the last surviving earthlings, and almost everyone else (including Spooky) are the aliens. But I'm not buying that for a second.
Yesterday was sort of a day off. But not really. Byron called about 11:30 and we joined him for "brunch" at Grandma Luke's. Yesterday was Byron's birthday. He has not yet reached the dreaded -0, so it was not a day of mourning for him. I had blueberry pancakes. Yum. Spooky had the banana bread French toast, which she says isn't nearly as heavy as it sounds. I am not accustomed to being out and about so early (or eating such huge breakfasts); the whole thing was sort of weird.
Otherwise, yesterday was spent finishing up #17 and getting it off to thingunderthest for PDFing. The part of the day I didn't spend resting and having half a day off. Last night, we finished re-reading Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five, which impresses me more with each reading. It's that sort of brilliant.
And here it is the day before Beltane. Perhaps I'm missing the spirit of the thing, the liberty of isolation, but I find being a "solitary practitioner" of Wicca incredibly annoying. But. And on the other hand. I have intentionally steered clear of covens, because I know I would only piss everyone off after they exchanged the favour (or whatever). Ah, but to be in Edinburgh tonight, where they do this sabbat up right. Spooky proposed we set the four burners on the stove to high and dance about it naked, waving wooden spoons. Likely we shall not.
My thanks to sovay for pointing me to a positive mention of Daughter of Hounds in STLtoday.com, which is the website for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. An article (or column, I'm not sure); "Genre Fiction" by Dorman T. Shindler. I was especially pleased that Mr. Schindler notes that Threshold and Low Red Moon are "not so much prequels as novels linked by characters and theme." Anyway, you can read the whole of the article here.
Today I have to do the Edward Gorey interview, and I have a meeting with D at 5 p.m., so I have to go over all my notes on the "Onion" screenplay again. And I need to get "The Ape's Wife" started. There are also the signature sheets for the PS Publishing edition of The Day It Rained Forever, which I need to sign. They arrived here on Saturday, and Bradbury has already signed them.
A peculiar dream this morning. Turned out, I'm not the alien. Rather, I'm one of the last surviving earthlings, and almost everyone else (including Spooky) are the aliens. But I'm not buying that for a second.