In Which We Thank God We Didn't Get Exploded

July 7

Ah, gah, it's early. Heather couldn't sleep, so she was spinning 'round and 'round like a rotisserie chicken last night. Around 6 a.m., I fled to the couch to get a couple of hours of decent sleep, or so I'd hoped. But Holly was up, too, and tromping endlessly back and forth from her bedroom to the kitchen, right past where I was sleeping, for -- it seemed to me -- the express purpose of ratting dishes around for a while until I was fully awake. So I gave up and got up and showered and here I am. Lucky for you. You get an entry.

First, as always, the writing-news -- I just got an acceptance from Strange Horizons for my story "Living with the Harpy"! Took about 5 weeks from the date I submitted, for those of you keeping track of such things. I'm bounce-off-the-walls happy about this. It's only my third fiction sale to them, you know, and I've sent them loads of submissions. Before this, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever sell them a piece of fiction again. "Harpy" is tentatively scheduled for mid-October (right around the time my book is coming out! October is Tim Pratt Month! Inform the media!). The story is one of Heather's favorites (one of my favorites, too, but my opinion is less trustworthy). I think it's very StrangeHorizonsish -- next waveish, slipstreamy, intersitialicious. What have you. It's about living with a harpy.

In more current online-fiction news, my story "The Sea a Deeper Black" is online at Abyss & Apex. Go read! After you read my entry, that is.

I have a guest-entry at Jay Lake's Story Words online microfiction project today, so go read that, too (it won't take long, being as it's microfiction). The not-so-secret word for today is "pastille."

In other workish news for the weekend, I proofed Star*Line, revised the first few chapters of Rangergirl, sent off some biographical info to Michaela to help her with her introduction to Little Gods and, um, that's about it.

We went to see Hulk Sunday. I won't waste many words on talking about it -- I don't remember the last time I've been so bored in a movie theater. The only parts I enjoyed were the battle scenes in the desert. The filmmakers clearly intended to make something deeper and more meaningful than a big dumb action film, but they lacked the skills to do so. There were some nice moments, but not enough, and they didn't add up to much. It was pretentious, and boring, and why the hell did Nick Nolte become Absorbing Man? The special effects were better than I'd expected. Still, though -- worst moviegoing experience since the Matthew Broderick remake of Godzilla. The tiny theater with the little screen didn't help that experience, and neither did the idiots in the audience who kept getting up and sitting down and wandering around and talking loudly and standing holding the theater door open, letting light in. Not to mention the twenty or so people who trickled in about a half an hour after the movie started. Feh. Meh. Geh.

Thursday Heather and I left for Santa Cruz to stay with our ever-gracious hosts Scott & Lynne. We got there a bit late, so we just hung out for a while, had some beers, then turned in. Friday morning we went to get some bagels, and at the bagelry saw a dog with one blue eye and one brown one, carrying a small metal lunchbox in his mouth. When his owners opened the lunchbox, it proved to contain kibble. Well, of course, right? It's a lunchbox! Then we walked a block to Pergolesi and had coffee. Scott & Lynne had a party to go to that afternoon, so Heather and I walked down to the boardwalk to entertain ourselves. She'd never been to the Santa Cruz boardwalk before, and she had a good time (I did, too, though it wasn't as novel). We rode the log flume ride, and the good bumper cars, and the slow gondola ride over the length of the boardwalk. We went to the arcade, played some air hockey, then spent ten dollars playing House of the Dead III, shooting at wonderfully realistic mutant zombies with plastic pump-action shotguns. Very fun (Heather enjoyed the realistic sci-fi violence, too!). After a few hours at the boardwalk, we were both pretty tired, so we wandered back to town, had a snack at the Saturn Café, and re-joined Scott & Lynne. We had a cook-out for dinner -- hot dogs, hamburgers, the works, though we accidentally got soy-cheese, which is a danger when you shop at an organic grocery store. Wasn't bad, though. Then we headed for Seabright Beach, for the 4th of July fireworks.

This requires some explanation. Santa Cruz doesn't have official municipal fireworks. Also, it is illegal to light fireworks in Santa Cruz County. This creates an inevitable pressure. We are Americans. We must launch decorative explosives on Independence Day. So the whole town (well, many hundreds of people, anyway) converges on Seabright Beach, armed with fireworks bought in neighboring counties where they're legal, and mayhem ensues. The cops tolerate this lawless display of patriotism. More, they expedite it, by closing the streets closest to the beach so that drunken foot traffic doesn't have to fear cars (though parking is, subsequently, something of a bitch). I'd never attended one of these beachside fireworks displays, though I'd heard of them. When we got to the beach -- it wasn't even dark yet! -- it was like the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. Constant explosions, huge clouds of smoke, people everywhere, spread all over the beach with tents, coolers, bonfires. It looked like a scene from some low-budget post-Apocalyptic SF movie -- I expected a young Don Johnson and his telepathic dog to walk by! Or at least a young Mel Gibson with shoulder pads and hair gel.

This is, as you might imagine, a rather dangerous situation. Drunk people with fireworks -- I don't have to paint you a picture. And these aren't just snap-pops and sparklers (though those were in evidence, too), these people have good fireworks, the kind you see at big displays. But all these people are setting off all these fireworks constantly, so it's like a non-stop grand finale happening on all sides. Heather was sure we'd get blown up, and finding a spot to build our own fire was like running under fire in the Nam. (You might be asking yourself why, if it was dangerous and scary, we were there at all; if so, I refer you back to the "grand finale happening on all sides" line above. We were there because it was amazing and loud and flashy and cool!) We found a spot near the water, where the ocean breeze kept the clouds of smoke away, and sat for a while, listening to the loud and watching the bright. Heather's head was in my lap. All was pleasant.

Then a whole lot of brightly-burning embers landed on Heather's face and chest, and things became unpleasant. She wasn't hurt, but it was scary. These weren't little drifting bits of glowing paper, this was a double-handful of fire, on her face. We left pretty quickly after that. I don't think we're going to be able to get her to go back again, quite understandably.

Then it was back to the house, to drink wine and play cards and eat ice cream and not have fire rained down upon us.

Saturday I rose, and worked on revising Rangergirl, and then Lynne made us super-yummy strawberry pancakes. We went shopping downtown (I got some books and CDs), then to Pergolesi for card-playing. We had dinner at Rosa's, where the fish tacos were excellent, as always. Heather and I came back home Saturday evening. Sunday we did a good bit of packing, and went up to Berkeley for a movie, then came home again. I have to sing the praises of craigslist -- we put up an ad to sell our three futon mattresses and one slightly-broken frame, and we had several responses within the hour. A guy came from San Francisco last night, gave us some money, and took the whole bunch away! In the pre-Internet days, the process would never have been so swift and painless.

Have a nice Monday, y'all.

Words written since February 1, 2003: 72,600

Words written since last entry:
500

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