Not About Lizards
April 6
Sorry I haven't written sooner. I generally write journal entries before bed, and lately I've been going to bed early, without coming up to my garret at all, which is why I haven't said hello.
Lots of exciting stuff going on! Thursday night the lovely Susan Marie came over for dinner. Heather made a kick-ass Moroccan stew, very yummy and vegetableful, with cous-cous. I like cous-cous. I drank gin & tonic, and wine, and sucked the last drops of gin from the bottle; that's because I'm a poet, you see. Dinner was very nice. Oh, and during the day on Thursday I wrote a thousand words on the Frog story, a very cool scene. That story should be done any time now...
Yesterday I did work, la. They're giving me more and more writing responsibilities (still not lots; but more and more), which is cool. I'm also cataloguing first editions my boss wants to sell, noting the condition, etc., which is quite fun. On a break I read a good story (in a limited edition hardcover) by Peter Crowther (of PS Publishing, the kick-ass novella publisher) called "Forest Plains"; good stuff. La la let's see. I came home, or rather, tried to come home, and found a police car parked sideways, blocking my street. So I had to sit at a long traffic light and go around the block and come toward home from the opposite direction. Even so, I had to park a couple of blocks from my house. Why? Because there were no less than five police cars parked at various angles in the middle of the street directly in front of my house. Their attention seemed focused on the other side of the street, though, so after a moment of panic I didn't worry overmuch. I asked an old hippie neighbor of mine what was going on. Turns out there was an armed robbery somewhere, and the perpetrators fled in their car, with the cops chasing them. They turned down the street where I live, and then tried to turn sharply onto a little one-way street right across from my house.
They missed the turn. They ran up on the curb, over a tree stump, and crashed into the white fence in front of the house where the nice lesbians live. Then they all (I don't know how many; more than one) jumped out of the car and ran like hell. When I got home, the police had apprehended all but one of the criminals. A helicopter was circling, looking for that guy. The cops were mostly standing around with their arms crossed, looking grim. The car's headlights were still on, all four doors wide open, its nose crunched into the fence.
I was walking up the other side of the street to my house, and the cops didn't say boo to me. Once I ascertained that there were no armed robbers hiding out in my house, all was well.
Then I went up to the gym, and worked out with Heather, and it was actually nice; I needed the exercise. Then I went to Au Coquelet while she did the steam room. I ate yummy food and read The Fox Woman and started a new short story! That's right! Another story to do whilst also doing the Frog story! This story will be quite short, I think no more than 4,000 words or so. Heather came over after she finished at the gym, and I went home with her. We hung out a bit, then both did some writing. I wrote a total of 2,000 words on the new story (call it the Lizard story, though that's not very accurate, really). It's about half done.
(An aside: Heather and I have both been having bad dreams lately. Wednesday and Thursday nights both, I had nightmares. On Thursday they were more surreal, and I took some of the imagery from one of the dreams to form the foundation of the Lizard story; nothing is sacred, if you're a writer. Anyway, last night, I had no bad dreams at all. I dreamed about cookies. Mmm. Cookies.)
Today I'm going to a café somewhere to read slush; I have lots. I'll also write, of course, because that's what weekends are for.
Two of my Bestiary poems, "Poor Bahamut" and "Laughing Blood", are going up at Strange Horizons soon, and in consecutive weeks. "Poor Bahamut" will be online April 15th, and "Laughing Blood" will go up April 22nd. Fear not; I'll remind you again...
Have a nice Saturday, y'all.
Words written since February 1, 2002: 48,650
Words written since last entry: 3,000
Send me gouda. Er. Precious gouda.
Tim Pratt Read about my current publications.
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