"And far away behind their lines, the partisans are stirring in the forest."
Today, Ray Bradbury would have been 92 years old. About 354 million miles from Earth, a rover wanders the landscape his mind pioneered, like Edgar Rice Burroughs and Percival Lowell before him.
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On Sunday, I had a fairly severe seizure and we upped one of my anti-seizure meds. Which has left me feeling pretty wiped out. I've been pushing myself much, much too hard, trying to juggle too many disparate projects with too many pressing and overlapping deadlines. Never leaving the house. Existing in a continual state of stressed out. It was inevitable, given all these factors. So, yesterday morning I spoke with my agent and told her I was taking the next two weeks off to recuperate. Well, taking a semi-vacation. I'll still be working almost every day. Mostly, this means I'm shelving Fay Grimmer for two weeks. Few other things can be shelved. But I have resolved to leave the house and go to all those places I have meant to go all summer, and to rest, and stuff.
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Yesterday, before speaking with Merrilee, I did the revisions on the first four installments of the NEXT Dancy comic, which will be serialized in Dark Horse Presents, beginning in November and running through November 2013. I also went over the page proofs for "Goggles (1910)," which will be appearing in Ann VanderMeer's Steampunk Revolutions (Prime Books). I very nearly titled this one "The Last Steampunk Story." It will be the last I write, I think. I wrote it with that intention, and with the intention of demolishing the paradisal and revisionist Victorian Era of the sub-genre. It will likely be my last Cherry Creek story.
After the first day of work, during this, my semi-vacation, Spooky and I (one day late), paid our respects at the grave of Lovecraft. I placed a moonstone on the top edge of the marker, and Spooky placed a single cat whisker (one of Selwyn's, we think; it was found loose) at the foot of the headstone. Swan Point was green and peaceful, and we would have lingered a while longer if not for our constant worry of their security Nazis. After the infamous harassment of 2008*, I admit I'm still a little "gun-shy." After the cemetery, we had an early-ish dinner at India, our favorite Indian restaurant, on Hope Street, directly across from Swan Point. Tuesday's, entrées are half off. I had the scorching lamb vindaloo. Back home, we had a Dexterthon. Seven episodes. Anyway, there are photos of the day, and one cute picture, taken after midnight, of Selwyn, behind the cut (below). It was a good day.
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I know that, online, the very concept of etiquette wavers in a limbo, somewhere between contempt and clueless. But that's not how it works when you are speaking to me, whether here or on Twitter or on Facebook. One thing this means is that if you believe I have made an error, if I am mistaken on some point, you do NOT publicly correct me. You message me privately. You can do that, you know? Or email me. Either way, it's goddamn easy, and if you do otherwise, I will do my damnedest to make an ass of you. I mean, more than you've already made an ass of yourself. Especially if you "correct" me when I am right. yesterday, on Facebook, when I said biannual, I actually did mean biannual. But someone did not know that biannual and semiannual are synonyms, both meaning twice yearly. What word means once every two years? That would be biennial. C'mon, folks. Gonna be rude? At least get your facts straight first.
All photographs Copyright © 2012 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
This evening, I see the sea.
At Least Aware of Etiquette,
Aunt Beast
* Which actually made Boing Boing and showed up across other websites.
---
On Sunday, I had a fairly severe seizure and we upped one of my anti-seizure meds. Which has left me feeling pretty wiped out. I've been pushing myself much, much too hard, trying to juggle too many disparate projects with too many pressing and overlapping deadlines. Never leaving the house. Existing in a continual state of stressed out. It was inevitable, given all these factors. So, yesterday morning I spoke with my agent and told her I was taking the next two weeks off to recuperate. Well, taking a semi-vacation. I'll still be working almost every day. Mostly, this means I'm shelving Fay Grimmer for two weeks. Few other things can be shelved. But I have resolved to leave the house and go to all those places I have meant to go all summer, and to rest, and stuff.
---
Yesterday, before speaking with Merrilee, I did the revisions on the first four installments of the NEXT Dancy comic, which will be serialized in Dark Horse Presents, beginning in November and running through November 2013. I also went over the page proofs for "Goggles (1910)," which will be appearing in Ann VanderMeer's Steampunk Revolutions (Prime Books). I very nearly titled this one "The Last Steampunk Story." It will be the last I write, I think. I wrote it with that intention, and with the intention of demolishing the paradisal and revisionist Victorian Era of the sub-genre. It will likely be my last Cherry Creek story.
After the first day of work, during this, my semi-vacation, Spooky and I (one day late), paid our respects at the grave of Lovecraft. I placed a moonstone on the top edge of the marker, and Spooky placed a single cat whisker (one of Selwyn's, we think; it was found loose) at the foot of the headstone. Swan Point was green and peaceful, and we would have lingered a while longer if not for our constant worry of their security Nazis. After the infamous harassment of 2008*, I admit I'm still a little "gun-shy." After the cemetery, we had an early-ish dinner at India, our favorite Indian restaurant, on Hope Street, directly across from Swan Point. Tuesday's, entrées are half off. I had the scorching lamb vindaloo. Back home, we had a Dexterthon. Seven episodes. Anyway, there are photos of the day, and one cute picture, taken after midnight, of Selwyn, behind the cut (below). It was a good day.
---
I know that, online, the very concept of etiquette wavers in a limbo, somewhere between contempt and clueless. But that's not how it works when you are speaking to me, whether here or on Twitter or on Facebook. One thing this means is that if you believe I have made an error, if I am mistaken on some point, you do NOT publicly correct me. You message me privately. You can do that, you know? Or email me. Either way, it's goddamn easy, and if you do otherwise, I will do my damnedest to make an ass of you. I mean, more than you've already made an ass of yourself. Especially if you "correct" me when I am right. yesterday, on Facebook, when I said biannual, I actually did mean biannual. But someone did not know that biannual and semiannual are synonyms, both meaning twice yearly. What word means once every two years? That would be biennial. C'mon, folks. Gonna be rude? At least get your facts straight first.
All photographs Copyright © 2012 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
This evening, I see the sea.
At Least Aware of Etiquette,
Aunt Beast
* Which actually made Boing Boing and showed up across other websites.