Saturday, September 20, 2003
Being out was good. It bought me a much needed twenty-four hours to think about where Murder of Angels is going, here at the very end. Spooky and I went to Underground Atlanta, because they have one of the few hat shops in town and I bought a new bowler. New hats are good for the soul. Then we had Orange Julius (well, I had strawberry) and I talked to a rather strange young black man from Vancouver who was suprised to see goths in Atlanta. We went to a gaming shop (I needed a particular die) and a bookstore. I found a review of the forthcoming Shadows Over Baker Street, wherein nice things were said about my story, "The Drowned Geologist." We had a huge dinner of Caribbean food. Then saw Underworld, which was fun, but somewhat disappointing, even though all I'd wanted from this film was eye candy and action.
So, yes, it was wise to sacrifice a day to nothing in particular.
As I was getting dressed yesterday morning, I thought, as I sometimes think these says, these last few years as time takes her inevitable toll, whether or not I'm getting too old to dress as I do. I thought it aloud to Spooky: "Am I getting too old to dress like this?" And she asked the ever salient question, "What's the alternative?" Well, I knew all the answers, of course, but, nontheless, vowed to spend the day watching people and how they dressed, trying to imagine myself dressed as contemporary "normals," instead of in my usual pseudo-neo-cyberVictorian postgoth steampunky couture. And I don't know what was worse, all the grown men in shorts and t-shirts and baseball caps, or the grown women in flip-flops (shudder). Well, the worst, the very worst, was the largish woman in a bright pink velour jogging suit. Most the adults on the street and at the malls look like they're either on their way to summer camp, little league, a rap video or a whore house (and, sometimes, all four at once). So, after a few hours, I felt much better about the way I dress and decided I'd give the issue more serious thought when high fashion doesn't include halter tops.
And now I am faced with beginning this, the last chapter. And, even though I think I know something important that I didn't know day before yesterday, still, it frightens me. Committing myself to an ending, choosing the one that is right. Every story has an infinite number of possible endings. And, in a sense, all those endings are legitimate, somewhere, sometime. But here and now there can be only one conclusion and it must be the one that follows from all that has come before. It must be the one that closes the circuit, so to speak, and throws the spark that brings the book to life. It's enough to make me want to go back to bed with a bottle of tequila and a lime.
P.S. - Click here and buy or bid on something. There's a Low Red Moon ARC up right now. I think this is the next to the last one I'll be able to auction. Act now, brown cow.
|
|
