Friday, December 06, 2002
Friday morning. I think that tonight I'll take a break from all this unpacking and go to see Wes Craven's They. I'm not a fan of Craven's work, but I feel like a good scary movie and the trailer looks good (oh, and you've said that before, haven't you, Caitlín?). Anyway, at least the sun is shining today. A bright December morning here in Atlanta. There are still a lot of leaves of the trees, red and gold and yellow in the sun.
Slowly, my life is becoming less about boxes and packing tape and more about writing again. Slowly, but surely. Yesterday was mostly unpacking, but I did look over the front cover design for the insert for Our thoughts make spirals in their world; beautiful work by aRvin. I think everyone's going to love the disc. I know I'm going to. It's nice to be working on something musical again, even if my involvement isn't on the musical end. Also, Bill Schafer sent me a pdf of the Embrace the Mutation chapbook to proof (it includes my rather long "short" story, "Andromeda Among the Stones") and it looks great, too, but still has to be proofed. Yesterday I also bowed out of an anthology, something I've only ever done once before, I think. It was a book called Taverns of the Dead, forthcoming from Cemetery Dance Publications, and, regrettably, I'm so far behind because of the move and the Crüx flu, I just didn't have time to meet the Dec. 31st deadline. No more notes on Murder of Angels yesterday, but I intend to get back to it this afternoon.
I did stop by Oxford Comics last night and pick up the new Gloomcookie and Nightmares and Fairy Tales, both by Serena Vanentino (Slave Labor Graphics).
The black almost-still-a-kitten I mentioned briefly back in my 12/4/04 entry may soon be coming to live with us. He seems to have been abandoned, an especially unforgivable sin as whoever had him before had him declawed. It's an horrific practice. I say that as a cat owner with antique, clawable furniture. Imagine having the third joint of each of your fingers removed. That's how a cat is declawed, as the actual bony core of the claw is the third phalange. And then to abandon the declawed, defenceless thing — well, anyway, if he checks out clean at the vet he may be coming in to keep Sophie company in her old age. I didn't really want a second cat, but he left us a dead chipmunk this morning and I'm easy to bribe with dead things.
Last night, I fell asleep on the sofa, watching Passport to Pimlico, and woke, about 4 a.m., to The Lion in Winter. I lay there a bit, eating jellybeans and trying to recall why I'd used the latter in "Salammbô." I finally gave up and crawled off to bed.
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