Buggy
April 13
10:10 a.m.
I had really cool dreams about bugs last night. Scott & Heather & I were all living in this old house, and bugs were trying to take over. Mostly ants. They were living in everything -- shoes, the refrigerator, the console television, even my old He-Man Snake Mountain playset.
Then we noticed that, in among the ants, there were little miniature dinosaurs, which crunched under our feet (except the ankylosauruses). The ants tried to expand their borders. We fought them with instant grits. Then the ants sued us in civil court for regicide, as their queen had eaten some instant grits and exploded. The judge was the judge from Twin Peaks. The prosecuting attorney was a human-sized ant in a suit, one of the more realistic and grotesque things I've dreamed. I can still see his head swiveling toward me. Shudder.
I woke before the judge rendered a verdict. My feet ache, as if I've spent the whole night long stomping small things that try to run away.
1:12 p.m.
A little while ago, I broke 100 pages on Rangergirl (in 12 pt. Times New Roman; I broke it a long time ago in Courier font, which is what it'll be in when I sent it 'round to agents and publishers, but I prefer to type in Times; it looks less hideous). Passing 100 pages on a novel is always something of a milestone for me; in this case, it means I'm about a third of the way done. Perhaps a quarter. Not sure how long this book will be yet. The characters are really talking to me, and writing their story is a joy again. They're a bit annoyed that I've left them alone for so long, but in the meantime they've remembered all sorts of interesting things they want to tell me, and they've got lots of interesting suggestions. The idea-engine is really humming away now. I'm happy to be in the midst of this book again.
(And yes, I *am* going to finish the Frog story. It's just occurred to me that it might be happier as a novel. That's something I really have to ponder. I know it'd be comfortable stretched out to 40,000 words or so, but can it sustain 90,000? That, I'm not sure of. So I'm thinking on it)
2:00 p.m.
Finally sent off a couple of poems to an anthology I've been invited to. The poems are strange. I'm not sure if the editor will want them or not.
Presently catching up on Star*Line slush. La. Heather is doing her taxes downstairs. Her curses and cries of frustration drift up the stairs to me from time to time...
Oh, I updated my Links page. Added journals by old friends Becca & Abbey, and Charles Stross's diary, and Wil Wheaton's blog. Also updated my "Places that have published me" section. La.
7:58 p.m.
Slush reading is done; Heather's taxes are done. We got sandwiches from the best sandwich shop in the world and took them to Lake Merritt, where we spread a blanket beneath a tree, and ate, and watched the ducks. An odd experience for me, as I read Scott Baker's story "The Lurking Duck" today; I kept expecting one of the ducks to unobtrusively chop the head off another with saw-bladed shears. We lay in the sun for a while, talking, then came home and began preparations for a party we're going to later on tonight. It's not exactly my usual crowd; I'm a bit nervous, but it might possibly be fun, so.
I'm reading Kushiel's Dart, which is as good as any other enormous other-world fantasy; that is to say, good enough to keep me reading it when there's nothing else in the house that I want to read more. Yesterday I took the opportunity to borrow an advance copy of Gaiman's new YA Coraline from a friend of mine -- a very short-term loan, only for the weekend. But that was more than enough time to read it. I got it yesterday evening and finished it before 9:00 last night, and it's absolutely lovely, and if I ever have children, I shall read it to them, and I shall recommend it to my grown-up friends (consider this a recommendation). A scary, charming, weird book, and I suspect other books will seem a bit lackluster in comparison, for a little while, at least.
I shan't have time to write again, so I'll post this now.
Words written since February 1, 2002: 51,850
Words written since last entry: 1,200
Send me a centipede in amber.
Tim Pratt Read about my current publications.
Join my notify list
Post on my newsgroup
Buy a chapbook, Living Together in Mythic Times. $2.75. Quantities limited, remaining copies feeling lonely. Buy with PayPal, if you distrust the mails.
P.O. Box 13222
Berkeley, CA 94712-4222