"I quickly move through the ruins that bow to the ground."
Hot in the office today. I ought be going to the sea to swim. But I think we're going to a film at the Avon, instead. I'm still woozy, and Spooky can't swim until her foot gets better, and it's best I don't swim alone at Beavertail (it's best no one swims alone at Beavertail). But summer is slipping away so quickly.
An e-version of the CEM for Blood Oranges just arrived. I'm not even going to look at it. A hardcopy will arrive soon, as I refuse to edit from electronic CEMs ("copyedited manuscripts"). But I've been told by my editor the copyeditor was only silly on occasion. Spooky has a stamp-making set, and I think, this time, I'm actually going to make a STET stamp. Why not? Also, I should be seeing the final cover for Blood Oranges soon. They will read "Caitlín R. Kiernan writing as Kathleen Rory Tierney,"* because my agent is very bow tie. I hadn't thought we'd get the nom de plum out there in any form.
Part of yesterday was spent trying to figure out what, exactly, would constitute "feminist speculative fiction." Or even feminist fiction. Stories about feminists? Stories advancing the cause of this or that wave of feminism? Stories featuring "strong female characters"**? We have entered the Land of the Hopelessly and Hazardously Subjective. Except it's probably safe to say that neither Sarah Palin or Paul Ryan write feminist speculative fiction.
This morning I dreamt I was Na'vi. It was actually a rather wonderful dream. Now, I miss my tail, and can't figure out what to do with the four extra fingers and toes.
Nothing much to yesterday, which is good. I rested, gamed, had a long bath, washed my hair, ate black-eyed peas and ham steak, and played with Selwyn (who has taken to sleeping with us). We need to make it to the post office soon. I have a copy of The Yellow Book that I owe Wilum Pugmire, and a copy of Tales of Pain and Wonder (2007 edition) to go out to my niece, and a postcard to send to a reader in Rostovoskaya, Russia. Oh, and I talked with Bob Eggleton yesterday about The Dinosaurs of Mars and painting the 3.5' Tylosaurus proriger*** sculpture being sent to me by the astoundingly generous esanko. I'll be dropping it by Bob's studio as soon as it arrives in Providence.
And now...the day.
Yup,
Aunt beast
* This reverses my earlier decision to only write my Blue Canary YA books under this name.
** I understand many Third Wave Feminists strongly dislike this phrase.
*** You'll find my name in that Wikipedia article, by the way...
An e-version of the CEM for Blood Oranges just arrived. I'm not even going to look at it. A hardcopy will arrive soon, as I refuse to edit from electronic CEMs ("copyedited manuscripts"). But I've been told by my editor the copyeditor was only silly on occasion. Spooky has a stamp-making set, and I think, this time, I'm actually going to make a STET stamp. Why not? Also, I should be seeing the final cover for Blood Oranges soon. They will read "Caitlín R. Kiernan writing as Kathleen Rory Tierney,"* because my agent is very bow tie. I hadn't thought we'd get the nom de plum out there in any form.
Part of yesterday was spent trying to figure out what, exactly, would constitute "feminist speculative fiction." Or even feminist fiction. Stories about feminists? Stories advancing the cause of this or that wave of feminism? Stories featuring "strong female characters"**? We have entered the Land of the Hopelessly and Hazardously Subjective. Except it's probably safe to say that neither Sarah Palin or Paul Ryan write feminist speculative fiction.
This morning I dreamt I was Na'vi. It was actually a rather wonderful dream. Now, I miss my tail, and can't figure out what to do with the four extra fingers and toes.
Nothing much to yesterday, which is good. I rested, gamed, had a long bath, washed my hair, ate black-eyed peas and ham steak, and played with Selwyn (who has taken to sleeping with us). We need to make it to the post office soon. I have a copy of The Yellow Book that I owe Wilum Pugmire, and a copy of Tales of Pain and Wonder (2007 edition) to go out to my niece, and a postcard to send to a reader in Rostovoskaya, Russia. Oh, and I talked with Bob Eggleton yesterday about The Dinosaurs of Mars and painting the 3.5' Tylosaurus proriger*** sculpture being sent to me by the astoundingly generous esanko. I'll be dropping it by Bob's studio as soon as it arrives in Providence.
And now...the day.
Yup,
Aunt beast
* This reverses my earlier decision to only write my Blue Canary YA books under this name.
** I understand many Third Wave Feminists strongly dislike this phrase.
*** You'll find my name in that Wikipedia article, by the way...