"My body is a cage..."
I'm 99.5% convinced that to swim regularly in Rhode Island I'm going to have to 1) overcome my fear of tourons and 2) invest in a neoprene wetsuit. The first merely requires willpower. The second, it turns out, is reasonably priced. Maybe it's time for the "Buy Caitlín a Protective Layer of Simulated Subcutaneous Blubber" eBay auction. I am completely serious.
Yesterday, I wrote a very respectable 1,898 words on "One Tree Hill (The World As Cataclysm)," and found THE END. At 6,886 words, it's quite a bit longer than the vignette I'd originally imagined it as. So, this month, Sirenia Digest subscribers will get a full-length short story...and maybe something else. Maybe. I am so amazingly behind I'll probably still be staring at my ass this time next year. Anyway, this story is...different. Or it feels different to me. More influenced than usual by Arthur Machen, perhaps. It's quiet.
I awoke to the old familiar numbness/pain cocktail sloshing about in my feet. It was sort of a surprise. Mostly, they're fine these days. The numbness never goes away, but the pain is rarely evident. Today, BLAM. Up past my ankles. Perhaps it's the approaching storm. I would not be surprised if, here in coastal New England, my feet are better at forecasting the weather than are meteorologists.
I want to thank everyone who commented yesterday. It is heartening to hear likeminded individuals, and to have not yet been decapitated by ravenous, lockstepping army ants in the charge of the Art Police. There were some points made in the comments, good points, I want to pick up and expand upon. But not today. My feet hurt, I want to be swimming, there's a storm coming, I don't know what has to be written next, and...other stuff. Maybe later this week.
Oh, and Alabaster: Wolves fans take note. Oh, and also. And (original and for sale) Steve Lieber Alabaster art*!
Lots of Maybes,
Aunt Beast
* Never mind, it sold almost instantly.
Yesterday, I wrote a very respectable 1,898 words on "One Tree Hill (The World As Cataclysm)," and found THE END. At 6,886 words, it's quite a bit longer than the vignette I'd originally imagined it as. So, this month, Sirenia Digest subscribers will get a full-length short story...and maybe something else. Maybe. I am so amazingly behind I'll probably still be staring at my ass this time next year. Anyway, this story is...different. Or it feels different to me. More influenced than usual by Arthur Machen, perhaps. It's quiet.
I awoke to the old familiar numbness/pain cocktail sloshing about in my feet. It was sort of a surprise. Mostly, they're fine these days. The numbness never goes away, but the pain is rarely evident. Today, BLAM. Up past my ankles. Perhaps it's the approaching storm. I would not be surprised if, here in coastal New England, my feet are better at forecasting the weather than are meteorologists.
I want to thank everyone who commented yesterday. It is heartening to hear likeminded individuals, and to have not yet been decapitated by ravenous, lockstepping army ants in the charge of the Art Police. There were some points made in the comments, good points, I want to pick up and expand upon. But not today. My feet hurt, I want to be swimming, there's a storm coming, I don't know what has to be written next, and...other stuff. Maybe later this week.
Oh, and Alabaster: Wolves fans take note. Oh, and also. And (original and for sale) Steve Lieber Alabaster art*!
Lots of Maybes,
Aunt Beast
* Never mind, it sold almost instantly.