I’m drinking tea out of this beautiful green clay mug
bought me as an Orphan’s Tales birthday gift–it has a goose carved into it, and the neck emerges from the cup to make a little extra handle out of the goose’s head. Spiffy to the extreme.
Working on the art-on-the-wall challenge. The house is slowly taking shape. I completed a long-desired decor-project last night, though, and now there is a spinning wheel next to my desk all tangled up in red and white roses. In this house, we make fairy tales, make no mistake. And don’t fall asleep.
I realized that two of the neatest things to happen in my writing lately I completely forgot to mention. One: I sold my first translation! That’s right, Ma, I used my degree and translated the new–well, not that new now, but let’s keep it in perspective–Sappho fragments. Xelas Magazine took the result for their first issue, along with Notes From a Previous Tenant.
I should point out that neither of these poems are genre poems, nor is Xelas a genre publication. That’s not a first, but it’s a third or something else very low like that. Go me. I’ve never had a translation published. Makes me want to work on that Antigone translation I keep threatening to do. Unfortunately, I bestowed most of my Greek materials on a suffering freshman when I graduated, saving a Little Liddell and my own notes on the big A. Said freshman promptly quit classics like a punk, and I have none of my old materials. But! Threaten I can do. One day, the weird sexdeath Antigone (poilitcs schmolitics) floating around in me will be born.
(for god’s sake, why does LJ skip a line after usernames now? It’s not a typo, it just does it when I post. Grrr.) released her album Sirens at the same time as For the Girl in the Garden. And Track 1, The Drowning? I wrote those lyrics. So while I couldn’t write a song to save my life, I can help like a five year old who has a mean way with glue.
I’m working on the story for
‘s anthology, which I should probably finish in time to workshop at my first meeting of the Cajun Sushi Hamsters, the Cleveland SF group wherein I replaced Maureen McHugh after she moved to Austin. Oy. Urban fantasy, man. Doesn’t it have to have zepplins to be urban fantasy? And a sprawling, vaguely steampunk city of ill-repute where one is as likely to get snuffed as get rich, built on the wreckage of an Ancient and Wise culture?
Anyway. I bought pretty shoes yesterday and am on the morrow on my way to New York, which happens to be a sprawling, vaguely steampunk city of ill-repute where one was once as likely to get snuffed as get rich, and is built on the wreckage of its own history, but where one is now just likely to spend all one’s money on Disney kitsch and be punished for any unkind remarks towards the urban character, and get very few porn houses in the bargain. Coincidence? You be the judge. Certainly the NYC Mayoral character is a model for many fantasy kingpins.
One last time–KGB bar at 7 pm. Be there or be Euclidean.
That’s all the news that’s fit to type, I think. Oh, except for this guy. He wrote 60-80 pages a day, and produced somehting like 425 novels in his lifetime. Also slept with 10,000 women, by his own accounting, which means Wilt Chamberlain totally ownz him. It is, however, a suspiciously round number. Anyway, though it’s clear I’m not going to sleep with 10,000 women, the combination of him and Nanowrimo, which seems to be suffering a pretty sizeable backlash in the blogosphere this year, I was set to wondering. What could I produce in a month, maintaining whatever my personal standard of quality amounts to, if you took away my internet and kept me supplied with food and water? At the Simenon Rate, that’s 2400 pages. I don’t think I could do that, but I don’t really know. I haven’t tried. I don’t have any free months till June, which will probably not be free once it approaches, but February is mostly free, just one con mid-month and a short trip to Chicago…January is more or less free, too, with only Arisia to contend with.
It’s like a marathon. I kind of want to try just because I want to know what my body can do. And because some other guy did it a really long time ago.