Considering doing a little Blogathon today to finish up all the loose ends of what I’m working on. Funny how I call it a Blogathon even though I have no intention of blogging the results. The word just means a certain thing to me, since I never have trouble coming up with material during a Blogathon, using the word naturally means I’ll have no trouble now…right?
Anyway, I have a column to write, which means the usual “Jesus, what am I gonna write about?” angst, as I have been working in my bedroom with Genevra doing her lap dance extraordinaire for the last week and therefore don’t care about anything. Oh, except that I saw Brokeback Mountain. But I think everything that could possibly be said about that film has been said. My own thoughts would be a little too much information, I think. In short: I laughed, I cried, I embraced homosexuality. Little too short for a column.
Working on a Goblin Market review, too. And then I need to trim this list of short stories to be written to around zero. I need a lot of free time once this month is over for the fairy tales–which, christ on a fig newton, I still don’t have a title for. I swear, I have angered the title gods somehow, and nothing seems to want to emblazon the cover of this book. *stabs title gods*
So, I have to pick Sam up at work at about 2, so maybe I can start around 3 or 4. Hopefully. I post this here so that I will be shamed if I don’t actually do it.
Speaking of Sam’s work, the weather when I dropped him off yesterday was frigging biblical–it was pouring rain so thick it just slashed huge waves of water against the windshield–I couldn’t see at all. There were trees and branches in the road, and we saw a transformer (I think. It was clearly for the transfer of electricity) asplode. Seriously. Explosion, sparks all over the road, entire block goes black. And it was about 70 degrees outside. Fucking Virginia. No wonder this was the swamp-thing hellhole of the New World. Sure, it rained harder in Japan, but I never had to drive in it. When the terrace steps are waterfalls, that’s usually an inside day. I can’t wait to get back to Cleveland and a normal winter.
On second thought, I might see if Sam wants to go have tea at The Painted Lady, a bright pink and purple tearoom in Ghent which almost makes living here worthwhile, despite having disappointing sandwiches. The cucumber ought to be sliced more finely, and the bread is over two times the acceptable thickness, etc.
Oh! And I got a spiffing email this morning from a film student in Ann Arbor asking for permission to adapt The Oracle Alone for a short film. W00t! I’m such a film whore–is there anything I wouldn’t say yes to if it involved my stories on a screen?
Back to selkies, ghosts, St. Cuthbert, and Ophelia. Wish me monsters.