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April 1st blows

Yesterday morning I was very much in a mood to be amused and charmed by various April Fool’s Days posts, pranks and website do-overs. By the end of the day, I was… not. Among other incidents, the bulk of the afternoon consisted of me waiting in a damp, junk and animal poop-filled basement for PSE&G to show up and replace my gas meter. Needless to say, they never appeared. Hey, April Motherfucking Fools to me! I’m just going to gloss over the rest of the day and say from here on out, I completely renounce April 1, and resolve to never get out of my bed on that day again, even if the bed is on fire. Ok, maybe if the bed is on fire, but I’ll just go curl up in the bathtub with Herbert, then.

Today, in addition to working on the novel, I’m starting work on a novella based on my 2007 stay with my sister, Dr. Brenda, in the wonderfully sprawling and ancient Grand Béguinage, aka Groot Begijnhof, in Leuven. Except, I’m moving the Begijnhof to the shores of my Lovecraftian industrial city-continent of Obsidia. And adding tentacles. I’ll work on the novella in the morning (evenings are for novels), and plan to have the first draft finished by the end of the month. Title is “The Low, Dark Edge of Life”. FYI, it’s a love story.

Also, Chizine has relaunched their website with their SuperGod Mega-Issue. I believe at some point in the next month or three, “Summer of Love” will be posted – it’s my fourth-week Clarion novelette that was, according to my fellow workshoppers, so horrifically written that it made everyone’s organs liquefy and burst out of their melting eye sockets – whilst outside the building, trees rotted, rivers boiled, and geese turned inside-out. If you are an employee of PSE&G, I highly recommend reading it.

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Originally published at Livia Llewellyn. You can comment here or there.

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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