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Well, so much for steady blogging…

But I haven’t felt like it. Frankly, it’s easier to spent five minutes typing out a few smart-ass sentences for Facebook than to try to come up with a couple of pithy paragraphs for the blog. I just don’t seem to have that much smart-ass in me right now. Well, I do have lots of ass, just not so much smart… Anywhoo, here are some boring lists!

Things living in my apartment that still refuse to do my goddamn dishes:
1) Herbert the Centipede Overlord
2) Herbert’s fifty centipede whore-wives
3) Seventeen spiders
4) Four hundred million ants
5) Something under the bed, possibly a devil (must investigate)
6) A half package of gummy worms
7) Me

Projects (some in progress, some completed)
1) “Miskatonic Marriage”. Yeah, it’s a bad title, so that will probably change. It’s a play on Boston marriage. Short story, set in the Groot Begijnhof of 14th century Leuven, Belgium, where I stayed with my sister, Dr. Brenda. That is, we stayed there in September ’07, not in the 14th century. Or so I say… It’s a love story. And it has a happy ending. Well, it ends before the screaming begin – so, that’s happy, right?
2) “Eschaton”. Short erotic story set in 19th century Manhattan. A young woman starts cleaning out the Collyer Brothers-like mansion of a dead relative, but slowly loses her sanity as she burrows deeper into the trash toward its enigmatic, living center. Mmmm, erotic Lovecraftian center…
3) “Fabricland”. Novelette. Hmm. Father, daughter, dying mother. Generational secrets. Patterns and materials and terrible sewing machines. Scissors and stitches and tears and pus and blood. The most loyal dog in the world. Home ec classes! Just another tale of the dark Northwest.
4) “Marinette”. Another novelette. Near future Manhattan, categories of women (mothers or whores, natch), BMI laws, card-carrying Ana’s and sexually-active five year old’s. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg! Um, yeah, I don’t think this one’s going to find a home. Like, ever. I still work on it, though.
5) “The Aniline Red”. The novel, about halfway completed (aiming for end of January). Manhattan, again. The garment district, and all the steel canyons where the sun cannot touch the ground. Couture and fantastical garments and strange bolts of silk. Sadistic fashion designers and infected, addicted clients. Vast underground networks of vampires and the saurian creatures that made them. A young woman, searching for her best friend who disappeared into the city’s gritty glittering cracks, and who finds something wondrous instead.

Places I’ll be next year:
1) World Horror Con in Austin. I might attend some panels, but I think I’ll probably just be rubbing hush puppies all over myself at the Cajun restaurant of my choice.
2) Stoker Weekend on Long Island. I don’t really have a joke for this one, but I don’t need one. Long Island!!!
3) Readercon, where once again I’ll be hiding under the tables. People, this is a con for pros, not unknown wannabe dipshits with severe social anxiety – like, you know, me! I belong under that table. Just leave me there. Or join me: I’ll have whiskey!
4) Someplace yet unknown. Not a con, but a non-writing-related week somewhere else, that is Not Here. I’d say someplace that doesn’t have ants, but there is no place on this planet that does not have ants. We are all citizens of the megacolony. Shut up and pass the sugar.

.

Originally published at Livia Llewellyn.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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