A Chattering of Choughs

Hello, lovelies. My brain is frazzled to bits. I can tell, because I chose the name of this entry pretty much at random from Brewer's Phrase and Fable (choughs, by the way, are crow-like Old World birds. I'll do the chattering tonight).

So. I had a fabulous Thanksgiving with Karen and Pär, up in Berkeley. Absolutely miraculous mushroom soup, in addition to the rest of the sumptuous spread. I contributed mediocre deviled eggs and a chocolate-chip-pecan-pie that could've been better. They loaded me with leftovers before I left. I definitely got the best part of that deal.

Since then, I've been revising my novel Genius of Deceit. Final revisions, kiddies. This is it. That's why my brain is scarcely functioning. In three days I've gone through two-thirds of the book. Meticulously. I should finish it tomorrow, or perhaps the next day.

I had a craving for some writing-related nonfiction yesterday, so I went out and bought Gardner's The Art of Fiction and On Becoming a Novelist. His books are such a cut above the usual "beginning writer" stuff. The things Gardner considered fundamental are far more advanced than what you find in a typical book pitched at beginners. I bought some other books, too, but you'll hear about those when I get around to reading them. Revisionmania is going to continue unabated for a while yet, and interfere with recreational reading. This morning, right after brushing my teeth, I did final revisions on "Jen at the Crossroads." Then I camped out at Pergolesi again, plopped my huge stack of manuscript pages on the table, and revised my hands off. This week I want to finish that book, fix up "Meranhu's Gifts" (or else send it to somebody for crits/advice), and start working on the monumental task of revising "Rangergirl."

I get excited just thinking about it. :)

When I could bear to revise no more, I came home and caught up on answering email. I've been pretty productive today, actually. I don't feel bad about turning my brain off for the balance of the evening.

Last night I rented the 1945 pre-release version of The Big Sleep. Man. They don't make them like that anymore. Raymond Chandler by way of William Faulkner (quite literally; Chandler's novel, Faulkner's screenplay). At the end of the flick, they had a film historian talking about the scenes that got replaced, and showing all the scenes that were later included. Most of the replacements are good ones, but cutting that scene in the D.A.'s office... The movie's pretty close to incomprehensible in some ways anyway, but seeing it without that scene would've made it nigh-impossible for me to follow the plot at all.

Karen loaned me a book by Jody Scott called I, Vampire. I read it the day after Thanksgiving. This is a deeply strange book. I don't know if I liked it, don't know if I'd even say it's a good book-- but it sure as hell isn't ordinary, or simple. It pushes boundaries, and not just for the sake of being different. I loved Ted Sturgeon's foreword to the book, too. I wish he was still around, still writing. Does anyone know if there's a collection of his essays or non-fiction out there somewhere?

Okay. That's all. I'll spare you further nonsensicalities.