"I don't know why, but I know I can't stay."
It turns out denial is insufficient to stave off The End. I'm thinking of NCSoft pulling the plug on City of Heroes and Villains, but only because someone pointed me to this article: "The Demise of a Social Media Tracking Platform: Tracking LiveJournal's Decline." It's a good article. Still, I don't want to leave. But I have been systematically backing everything up on Dreamwidth, as should everyone with an LJ account who hopes to preserve the content of that account. The end will come, and, likely, sooner than any of us - even I - think. But preservation matters to me. I flinch when people erase their online journals, the same way I flinch when someone burns a book. I cannot see any intrinsic difference (I don't buy the "written for private eyes" vs. written for "public eyes" argument, as destruction of data is destruction of data).
Back it up. Now. Don't be surprised and/or outraged when the end comes. It is the nature of the internet that all services have a limited "shelf life." LJ will go. Twitter and Facebook and Dreamwidth, they'll go one day, too. This is not printed media. It doesn't last. But I don't think that actually bothers younger folk.
---
Yesterday, I wrote 1,419 words on "Our Lady of the Tharsis Montes." I am trying, hard, to finish it by Monday or Tuesday, without breaking it, which means without rushing it. But. Fay Grimmer was originally due at the beginning of September. Um, not gonna happen, as I've only written three of ten chapters. So, now I hope to have it done by the end of September, but mid October is probably more realistic. I'm not a photocopier, and it was a mistake on my part to pretend that I could be.
You were right, Merrilee; you were right, Spooky; you were right, Dr. Cerullo. But fear of poverty makes writers do whacky shit, kittens. Whacky fucking shit. The book will be finished when the book is finished. As will "Our Lady of the Tharsis Montes."
I know most of my readers understand this, and I thank them for their patience and understanding. You kittens rock with bow ties on.
---
As for the remainder of yesterday, well. Email. Always email. Though, even that, I hear, is on the decline. The kiddies think it's old fashioned. So much clunkier and slower and burdened with meaningful communication than Twitter and Facebook and texting and what-the-hell-ever. I miss stamps and envelopes and stuff. Speaking of which, yesterday Spooky took the CEM for Blood Oranges to UPS and paid $20 to have them back in Manhattan on Tuesday. She could have gotten them there on Monday, but fuck paying $40 to get all those STETs to Manhattan one day sooner. Fuck that shit. Of course, we could have sent the pages back on this past Tuesday, but Spooky hurt her back and has been in too much pain to deal with it, and I don't drive. And...why am I telling you this?
After the writing and the email, Kid Night. Seeing as how it was the observed anniversary of the beginning of Star Trek, we watched J. J. Abrahms' 2009 reboot for the umpteenth time. Fuck, but we love that movie. Oh, and by the "observed anniversary" bit, I am referring to the fact that the original pilot for Star Trek, "The Cage," was completed in 1965 (© 1964), though, of course, NBC rejected it. Anyway, there was also the now traditional pizza from Fellini's, of course, then more GW2 (more and more impressed). I started a guild (on the Tarnished Shore server), Blood of the White Hart. For now, it's only a vanity guild, but I do hope it will eventually go RP. Inquiries welcome. The only caveat, players must have names defensibly (arguably) appropriate to their race and native culture. The game gives good guidelines to this end. Yes, I am a Game Name Nazi.
Before sleep, I read William Gibson's "Hinterlands," which remains one of my favorite sf stories ever. It's also one I point to whenever some idiot starts talking about fundamental differences between "horror" and sf. "Hinterlands" is both solid sf and about as horrific as a story can get (it appears, by the way, in Gibson's collection, Burning Chrome).
And that was yesterday. Now, please have a look at our "help pay the taxes" auction, Round One. Why has no one bid on "The Worm in My Mind's Eye" chapbook, by the way? That's RARE, people. Anyhoo, thank you.
Oh, and despite the GOP's assurance that the climate isn't changing, the NE is plagued with tornados today. Whee. Oh, wait. Mitt says the climate is changing, and it may even be, partly, our fault. We just shouldn't should talk about it. Or God said it's good. Or...something like that.
Exit, Stage Left,
Aunt Beast
Back it up. Now. Don't be surprised and/or outraged when the end comes. It is the nature of the internet that all services have a limited "shelf life." LJ will go. Twitter and Facebook and Dreamwidth, they'll go one day, too. This is not printed media. It doesn't last. But I don't think that actually bothers younger folk.
---
Yesterday, I wrote 1,419 words on "Our Lady of the Tharsis Montes." I am trying, hard, to finish it by Monday or Tuesday, without breaking it, which means without rushing it. But. Fay Grimmer was originally due at the beginning of September. Um, not gonna happen, as I've only written three of ten chapters. So, now I hope to have it done by the end of September, but mid October is probably more realistic. I'm not a photocopier, and it was a mistake on my part to pretend that I could be.
You were right, Merrilee; you were right, Spooky; you were right, Dr. Cerullo. But fear of poverty makes writers do whacky shit, kittens. Whacky fucking shit. The book will be finished when the book is finished. As will "Our Lady of the Tharsis Montes."
I know most of my readers understand this, and I thank them for their patience and understanding. You kittens rock with bow ties on.
---
As for the remainder of yesterday, well. Email. Always email. Though, even that, I hear, is on the decline. The kiddies think it's old fashioned. So much clunkier and slower and burdened with meaningful communication than Twitter and Facebook and texting and what-the-hell-ever. I miss stamps and envelopes and stuff. Speaking of which, yesterday Spooky took the CEM for Blood Oranges to UPS and paid $20 to have them back in Manhattan on Tuesday. She could have gotten them there on Monday, but fuck paying $40 to get all those STETs to Manhattan one day sooner. Fuck that shit. Of course, we could have sent the pages back on this past Tuesday, but Spooky hurt her back and has been in too much pain to deal with it, and I don't drive. And...why am I telling you this?
After the writing and the email, Kid Night. Seeing as how it was the observed anniversary of the beginning of Star Trek, we watched J. J. Abrahms' 2009 reboot for the umpteenth time. Fuck, but we love that movie. Oh, and by the "observed anniversary" bit, I am referring to the fact that the original pilot for Star Trek, "The Cage," was completed in 1965 (© 1964), though, of course, NBC rejected it. Anyway, there was also the now traditional pizza from Fellini's, of course, then more GW2 (more and more impressed). I started a guild (on the Tarnished Shore server), Blood of the White Hart. For now, it's only a vanity guild, but I do hope it will eventually go RP. Inquiries welcome. The only caveat, players must have names defensibly (arguably) appropriate to their race and native culture. The game gives good guidelines to this end. Yes, I am a Game Name Nazi.
Before sleep, I read William Gibson's "Hinterlands," which remains one of my favorite sf stories ever. It's also one I point to whenever some idiot starts talking about fundamental differences between "horror" and sf. "Hinterlands" is both solid sf and about as horrific as a story can get (it appears, by the way, in Gibson's collection, Burning Chrome).
And that was yesterday. Now, please have a look at our "help pay the taxes" auction, Round One. Why has no one bid on "The Worm in My Mind's Eye" chapbook, by the way? That's RARE, people. Anyhoo, thank you.
Oh, and despite the GOP's assurance that the climate isn't changing, the NE is plagued with tornados today. Whee. Oh, wait. Mitt says the climate is changing, and it may even be, partly, our fault. We just shouldn't should talk about it. Or God said it's good. Or...something like that.
Exit, Stage Left,
Aunt Beast