"You're dumb. You'll die, and you'll leave a dumb corpse."

[greygirlbeast]

Yesterday, I wrote 1,278 words on Chapter Six (of Seven) of Fay Grimmer. (Yes, kittens, writing pulp fiction is a lot like working for Wal-Mart.)

Subscribers can expect the woefully delinquent Sirenia Digest #83 by Monday. Unless, I don't know, a merciful asteroid puts is all out of our misery

Comments

[ladyblue56]

I dislike deceptive weather, it can look nice and sunny from the window but go outside and it's cold and windy. Drear is a good word. 'In a Drear-nighted December' is the title of a poem by Keats, the poem itself not that memorable, or liked, other than the title.

The ebay listing for the ARC of 'Blood Oranges' quickly got out of my price range but I did win an ebay listing from Poppy Z. Brite, the book 'Wrong Things.' It's an early Christmas gift to myself and I am happy.

[greygirlbeast]

Drear is a good word.

One that's all too frequently forgotten for the less stylish "dreary."

[sovay]

Sunlight! Hold the presses, Mr. Poe. Whoops.

Days can be sunny and drear I've had those.

I dreamed of you last night. You were in some kind of theater production with a storytelling frame: I came to see you. I was woken abruptly and the rest drained out of my head, but I remember hanging out backstage. When you have time again, we should go to plays.

[greygirlbeast]

I dreamed of you last night. You were in some kind of theater production with a storytelling frame: I came to see you. I was woken abruptly and the rest drained out of my head, but I remember hanging out backstage. When you have time again, we should go to plays.

We should. And will. And you need to recall the rest of that dream.