Of Nested Parentheses and Other Demons
June 20
I've been reading a lot about the subterranean lately; there's plenty of talk on the blogs about the people exploring Moscow Below (to borrow from Neil Gaiman's terminology a bit), and today I read a big article in the East Bay Express about "urban adventurers" who, among other things, explore steam tunnels, sewers, silos and mines (the article quotes, several times, an acquaintance of mine, Wes Modes (of The Spoon), who runs the writing group I sporadically attended for a couple of months in Santa Cruz. Wes is a cool guy, and earned my respect forever by dealing very gracefully with one of the few truly insane people I've ever encountered. But anyway. The world is small, and other trite sayings). And there's that fabulous Ray V. story about the people who make up their own holiday traditions, which takes place in a missile silo, and there's Kiernan's Threshold... anyway. The underworld is much on my mind. There's definitely an idea for a book in this whole notion of urban adventuring, but I'm not sure if I'll unearth it... I've got Rangergirl to finish (I just realized I've been working on this story, in its various incarnations, for coming up on two years; this is deeply startling. I have, therefore (since Rangergirl is a very California tale) lived in California for coming up on two years. That is even more startling. Just thought I'd share my startlement), and then the Frog novel is very much going to rock, and I have various other more-or-less developed ideas for future books... but we'll see what leaps up and grabs me, hmm? Maybe I'll have a fantastic urban adventure idea, or maybe the tickle will wisp away into nothing. It's okay either way. I've got no shortage of ideas for things to write.
I met Robert Sawyer (author of The Terminal Experiment, Calculating God, and lots of other things) today -- my boss was interviewing him. He seems like a nice guy. I should read some of his stuff -- I've long thought it looked interesting, but I've never actually read any of it...
I finished The Mount. Mmm, yum. Now reading Craig Nova's Wetware, which I think I'll review. It's good.
I've been listening to The Bends a lot lately -- it's good novel-writing music, for some reason.
I didn't write tonight, not at all. Went to the gym, then read a bit at Au Coquelet (an article in Reading the Vampire Slayer, a collection of critical essays about Buffy (and did you see the horrible thing over on Scifi Wire, that the network may do an eighth season of Buffy even if Sarah Michelle Gellar doesn't want to be in it? Horrors! And this comes from Marti Noxon, the executive producer! This is the sort of thing that happens when Joss works on other projects, though his new series Firefly might be good, I suppose... I just want Buffy to end gracefully, in good form, not be dragged-out until it dies without dignity)). Then came home with Heather, and I printed out a story to send off (because Ellen Datlow rejected it today, sigh -- one of my favorites, too), and watched Swimming with Sharks, which is really a very good movie, heavy-handed at times, but overall very powerful.
My Coraline review is going to be in Strange Horizons; they put it on the fast track, and it's supposed to be in the July 1st issue. Edits should be coming soon...
And that's it. That's the whole evening, gone, gone, and I don't feel like staying up late and working. Way it goes.
Words written since February 1, 2002: 93,680
Words written since last entry: Nothing.
I have this great little statue of Ganesha, but there's no little rat at his feet. Send me a small rat to place at his feet. And maybe some macaroons.
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