"Abraham’s daughter raised her bow."
Last night's appearance at the North Kingstown Free Library in Wickford was actually quite a success. My thanks to Elizabeth Donovan for arranging it with the North Kingstown Arts Council. It wasn't even necessary to resort to discussing odontological evidence for an omnivorous diet among the Paleocene "Condylarthra" (polyphyletic) as opposed to the insectivorous diets of their Cretaceous progenitors. Instead, I read selections from Chapter One of The Drowning Girl: A Memoir, followed by a discussion of the making of the book trailer (and of book trailers, in general, and how awful most are), the difficulties I had over the two years I wrote the novel, and...other stuff. I dropped no F-bombs. Not even by accident. Oh, also Spooky's mom was there, which is the first time she's ever been at one of my readings, so that was cool. After the reading, we stood Outside in the cold, listening to the spring peepers. Alas, we forgot the camera, so no photos of last night.
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"Eckhart saw Hell, too. He said: The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won't let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they're not punishing you, he said. They're freeing your soul. So, if you're frightened of dying and...and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth." ~ Louis, Jacob's Ladder (1990).
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After this entry, a LOT of the posts for the next week or so will be given over exclusively to promoting Alabaster: Wolves, as #1 will be released in a mere five days, and we need very, very good sales figures. How much more Dancy people get after #5 is going to be entirely dependent on the sales of this mini-series, and I cannot stress that strongly enough. You have the power to keep the story going.
Here's the newest (of about twenty) interviews, and it's one I especially like, over at the Dark Horse Blog. Please read it. Please post links to it in your LJs, Facebooks, on Twitter, wherever. Thank you.
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Sick again. Well, nothing contagious. Not that sort of sick. The sort that comes from having awakened at 5:30 ayem (after having gotten to sleep at 3:30 ayem) from nightmares, my right arm cramping horribly from its having flopped over the side of the bed and hyper-extended at the elbow. Sweating and ill. And then being unable to sleep, because I am seized with the absolute certainty that I've done something to fuck up the most important development in my career to come along in ages, and I can almost figure out what I did, but not quite, just almost. And the sun is rising. The trucks and shouting children are waking up. Footsteps above me. Kathryn sleeping. Covering my face so maybe I can forget about the sun, but the thoughts hammering away just as hard.
Yeah, this bullshit has to stop. I was beginning to feel well again yesterday, finally, and I'm sick of this. I will do what I can do, and that is all any of us may ever do. I have to sleep again. I have to grow calm. I have to write. I have to make it through this cold weather, so that I may reach the sea and lie on sand or slate, listening to the waves until my mind again finds at least the frayed fucking edges of peace. My brain is its own worst enemy (getting back to Meister Eckhart, quoted above), and I have only myself to hold in check. I am the mistress of none other, and none is my mistress nor master. And...yeah...I'm going on. Delirium following from stress-induced sleep deprivation will do that to a person.
Making diamonds in your head gives you one bull-bitch tomwallager of a headache.
Oh, and thank you, catconley for a copy of The Hunger Games: Songs from District 12 and Beyond. It's extraordinarily bow tie. Well, except for Taylor Swift, who leaves the ear playing a round of "one of these things is not like the others."
More Pressure, Please (I'm trying to make a diamond, okay?),
Aunt Beast
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"Eckhart saw Hell, too. He said: The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won't let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they're not punishing you, he said. They're freeing your soul. So, if you're frightened of dying and...and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away. But if you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth." ~ Louis, Jacob's Ladder (1990).
---
After this entry, a LOT of the posts for the next week or so will be given over exclusively to promoting Alabaster: Wolves, as #1 will be released in a mere five days, and we need very, very good sales figures. How much more Dancy people get after #5 is going to be entirely dependent on the sales of this mini-series, and I cannot stress that strongly enough. You have the power to keep the story going.
Here's the newest (of about twenty) interviews, and it's one I especially like, over at the Dark Horse Blog. Please read it. Please post links to it in your LJs, Facebooks, on Twitter, wherever. Thank you.
---
Sick again. Well, nothing contagious. Not that sort of sick. The sort that comes from having awakened at 5:30 ayem (after having gotten to sleep at 3:30 ayem) from nightmares, my right arm cramping horribly from its having flopped over the side of the bed and hyper-extended at the elbow. Sweating and ill. And then being unable to sleep, because I am seized with the absolute certainty that I've done something to fuck up the most important development in my career to come along in ages, and I can almost figure out what I did, but not quite, just almost. And the sun is rising. The trucks and shouting children are waking up. Footsteps above me. Kathryn sleeping. Covering my face so maybe I can forget about the sun, but the thoughts hammering away just as hard.
Yeah, this bullshit has to stop. I was beginning to feel well again yesterday, finally, and I'm sick of this. I will do what I can do, and that is all any of us may ever do. I have to sleep again. I have to grow calm. I have to write. I have to make it through this cold weather, so that I may reach the sea and lie on sand or slate, listening to the waves until my mind again finds at least the frayed fucking edges of peace. My brain is its own worst enemy (getting back to Meister Eckhart, quoted above), and I have only myself to hold in check. I am the mistress of none other, and none is my mistress nor master. And...yeah...I'm going on. Delirium following from stress-induced sleep deprivation will do that to a person.
Making diamonds in your head gives you one bull-bitch tomwallager of a headache.
Oh, and thank you, catconley for a copy of The Hunger Games: Songs from District 12 and Beyond. It's extraordinarily bow tie. Well, except for Taylor Swift, who leaves the ear playing a round of "one of these things is not like the others."
More Pressure, Please (I'm trying to make a diamond, okay?),
Aunt Beast