Scribble, Scribble

Feeling better. I went out walking tonight, and wound up in Borders (bleah), because I wanted to see if they carry Weird Tales (they don't, but they carry some other magazines that Bookshop Santa Cruz doesn't). I tried to flirt with the girl at the information desk, which is a good sign that I'm feeling better.

I bought Nina Kiriki Hoffman's The Silent Strength of Stones. I love her short stories, and I'm happy about reading a novel. This book has the ultimate blurb, too: "Is Nina Hoffman a genius? Oh, yes. Yes indeed." From F&SF.

I will never, ever be praised that highly.

Also bought the most recent Realms of Fantasy and a collection of Billy Collins poems. Two things that invariably cheer me up: Eating ice cream and buying books. Ice cream is cheaper, but I'm trying not to enhance my Abs of Pudding any farther, so I turned to books.

I was incredibly depressed last night, but I'm assuming that was largely due to feeling physically ill. I was hating life. Now I'm enthusiastic again; I have tons of fun things to do, and it's exciting! So that's good.

Tonight I added a separate Fiction section to my site. There are six stories there, now-- "53rd Annual Mantis Homecoming Dance," "Fireflies," "Cassie," "Puppets of the Nano Master," "Angel of the Ordinary," and "Pearls, Frogs, Spiders." All previously published, of course. I'm pretty happy with the variety of stories... some action, some sweetness, some brutality, some whimsy... while these stories are mostly old, and while I don't consider any of them my best work (my best stories are still circulating), I do like them all, and I hope any of you who haven't read them will do so.

There are probably lots of typos; I'll read back through and check on that in a minute. I was more concerned with formatting than fine-tuning... I utilized my pathetic table-making skills... I'm really unhappy with the image at the top of that page; it looks far too staid and boring. I wanted to use this image, but I'm already using it on my Bibliography page, and I hate to be repetitive. So if anyone knows where I can find a good book/library/fiction sort of image, let me know.

I put a little "story notes" thing at the bottom of each story. I like writing stuff like this, and I like reading it, too-- I love when Stephen King and Joe Lansdale put such things in their collections. I kept it short, though; Ellison sometimes writes story notes that are longer than the stories themselves, and while it's entertaining when he does it, it would be stretching for me to do so.

A couple of night ago I did an exercise, one of my usual idea-generation things. I wrote a couple pages of openings, limiting myself to just a few sentences. When I do this exercise I really cut loose-- no internal editing at all, no laborious thought, and I write them fast. Most of the openings are crap-- but that's okay. Usually I do three or four pages of these, and two or three of them are provocative. Usually at least one of the openings leads to a story. I wrote "Haruspex" this way, and "Lachrymose and the Golden Egg" (which is still looking for a home), and some others.

Just for the dubious entertainment value, here are a few of the openings I did. Most are duds; one I'll probably do something with.

*******

Pterodactyls crouched on the roof of the Mannheim Trust Building, their wickedly pointed snouts swinging back and forth, as if scenting the smog and the traffic.

*******

Billy Cates found the glass casket in the empty lot next to the abandoned Safeway. He leaned over it, looking at the woman lying inside, until his breath fogged over the glass.

*******

Sarah could never sleep through a killing so loud. She got out of bed angrily, snatched on her robe, and flung open the door. "Trevor!" she shouted. "Could you for god's sake gag him or something?"

*******

The old man wore a butter-colored suit and held an ice cream cone in each hand. He smiled like a caricature and offered Tom a dripping pistachio cone. "Here you are, little boy," he wheezed. Tom, who'd turned twenty-five that year, took a step away, confused. Should he dodge around the man and try to make his bus, or take the cone to placate him, or what? "There are strange nectars here," the man said, his head bobbing rhythmically.

*******

"Spines are flexible," Dr. Winston said, bending a wire-strung backbone in his hands. "Up to a point." He brought the ends together, and the vertebrae in the middle cracked resoundingly. Dropping the spine to the concrete floor, he said "That's what I want you to do to Caroline, Mr. Zealand. Break her spine."

"Literally or figuratively?" I asked.

He blinked at me for a moment, and then laughed.

*******

There's a real stink of discontent here. Everyone in the city is on the edge of rebelling, throwing off their jobs, taking apart the walls and tearing apart the factories.

Tonight I will go out riding.

*******

Today I found a strange man sleeping in the hallway outside my door. He had parrot plumage woven into his dreadlocks, and he wore nothing but bright blue body paint. "I love you," he said, "I came all this way just to sleep in your aura--"

To his credit, he left when I asked. But he'll be hanging around outside, joining up with like-minded genial maniacs, bothering the neighbors.

It's hard being the Chosen One, especially when no one sane even believes in your god.

*******

Resume normal entry.

Except I don't have much more to say. I read a lot of short stories today, which put me in the mood to write some. I'm reading the '95 Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. I especially liked Le Guin's "Ether, OR," a really beautiful bit of magic-realism character-study. Not much plot, per se... but sometimes I like stories like that. One of the ones I have an idea for is kinda short on plot, big on atmosphere and personality, loneliness and loveliness...

Anyway. Two entries is enough for you tonight. Talk to you again soon.