New Words: 724
Total Words: 13,831
Deadline: August 1
Reason for stopping: really time for me to head to bed. also, end of scene and I have no idea what happened next
13,831 / 100,000
Exercise: gym, with ashacat. weight training, calisthenics, core, and then a long ramble around Elizabeth Park to see the tulips and the magnolias and the fruit trees in flower; also, walked back from the garage after dropping Eunice off.
Mail: Not really mail, but there's a few fragments of my Locus interview online. The Reader's Digest condensed version, as it were. Dude, my eyes are totally not that color. They're blue. Really blue. That's just bizarrrrreeee.
Justina Robson's filet-o'interview is here.
Today's words Word don't know: semiflexible
Words I'm surprised Word do know: besmirches
Mean Things: Just snapped Andre's head around pretty good.
Tyop du jour: n/a
Darling du jour: n/a
Books in progress: Wendy Moore, The Knife Man;
Interesting tidbit of the day: via supergee, redaxe offers up icon-sized Adam West Batman sound effect title cards. Anne Barton, on the NY Review of Books, is my new best friend as she sporks the old year's crop of Shakespeare biography. Word up!
Continuing the comic-book theme, odditycollector with The Best I Refute Thee evar regarding denials of sexism and objectification of women in comic book art.
I refute thee! I refute thee! I refute thee!
It's the anal floss on Hal that really makes it.
Other writing-related work: I updated my Amazon blog, but it's all terribly stodgy.
And to close, a little more Vincent Millay.
Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Mortal Endymion, darling of the Moon!
Her silver garments by the senseless wave
Shouldered and dropped and on the shingle strewn,
Her fluttering hand against her forehead pressed,
Her scattered looks that troubled all the sky,
Her rapid footsteps running down the west —
Of all her altered state, oblivious lie!
Whom earthen you, by deathless lips adored,
Wild-eyed and stammering to the grasses thrust,
And deep into her crystal body poured
The hot and sorrowful sweetness of the dust:
Whereof she wanders mad, being all unfit
For mortal love, that might not die of it.
Sonnet 52, Edna St. Vincent Millay
Pursuant to the recent discussion of whether Percy Shelley is overrated, I think Vincent is massively under-rated. But then, she was a girl, and queer, and poly. (Which of course is what's wrong with Ginsberg, too. Well, not the girl part.)
I mean, Seamus Heaney is nice and all, but he's not all that.