December 14th, 2011

One Person can Make a Difference

Calling all cars!

Two ways to make the world a better place today! Well, more than that. But I'm just posting about two.

1. eilonwy is still desperately seeking a home for two kitties, who can be placed together or individually. Time is running out for these guys. Currently in Phoenix, but can be brought to the PA/MD/NJ/NY area ~the 20th.

2. Short version: Furniture needed in or near Nashville for 12-year-old girl. Queen mattress, boxspring, bookcases. Long version: "I'm trying to accomplish a bit of a holiday miracle, and I know your social circle and readers have been nothing less than amazing about things like this in the past. I have a brother-figure whose ex-wife will soon be relinquishing custody of their 12-year-old daughter to him. The problem arises in the fact that said ex has already made known she will not relinquish the child's bedroom furniture. Yes, she deems this more important than the child. Anyway, the brother-figure and his new wife have procured a queen bedframe, but are in need of a mattress and box spring and a couple bookcases. They have no funds available themselves, and I've been posting to Freecycle with no results. We live in Nashville and would happily pick up the items if we can find a donor. If you know anyone that could help, it would make for an amazing gift for this girl and would be most deeply appreciated. If not, I thank you for trying anyway."

Please spread these far and wide! On the second one, e-mail me at shadesong AT and I'll pass the info on to the reader requesting assistance.
Shut Up and Start Writing

(no subject)

Nicola Griffith's Manifesto:
When I write, dear reader, I don't want to build a careful tale for you to discuss with a smile in a sunny place, I want to own you. I don't want to be The New TV Series, I want to be pornography: to thrill you so hard you're ashamed but can't help yourself crawling back for more.

I want to write a whole novel that invades you. I want to control what you think and feel, to put you right there, right then, killing and being killed, fucking and being fucked, cooking and starving, drinking and thinking, barely surviving and absolutely thriving. I want to give you a life you've never had, change the one you live.

How? I will take control of your mirror neurons. I will give you tastes and textures, torments and terrain you might never find in your real life. I will take you, sweep you off your feet, own you. For a while. For a while when you're lost in my book you will be somewhere else, somewhen else, someone else.

I control the horizontal, I control the vertical. Sit back, relax, enjoy. When you're done, take a breath, smoke a cigarette, figure out who you are now, and come back for more.

My Free Will Astrology this week: ""Were it not for the leaping and twinkling of the soul," said psychologist Carl Jung, "human beings would rot away in their greatest passion, idleness." To that edgy observation I would add this corollary: One of the greatest and most secret forms of idleness comes from being endlessly busy at unimportant tasks. If you are way too wrapped up in doing a thousand little things that have nothing to do with your life's primary mission, you are, in my opinion, profoundly idle. All the above is prelude for the climactic advice of this week's horoscope, which goes as follows: Give everything you have to stimulate the leaping and twinkling of your soul."
Cicatrix: Cottage

Why this is exhausting

So what I am writing is Cicatrix, and here's why it's exhausting: because I need full immersion in this, because the very cadence of it is so different from the way I usually think and I can't force it, I need to trance out into it. Because this story some stories come from the head or the heart, but this one comes from the gut, and that is more taxing to me even than the heart. I need to inhabit Ash, I need to be in Ash's body, and that is difficult, especially given how Ash feels about Ash's body much of the time.

You are ice, you are steel, you are a ball of blood-rusty thorns, you are a wild incoherent scream, you are eviscerated; you dig your fingernails into your palms and you don’t even tell him it’s none of his business, because you do not trust your voice. You don’t know if the door slams, you don’t know if you wake up half the neighborhood clattering down the stairs - all you know is this sharp awful flailing in your chest. This part of town is just barely familiar, just enough for you to find a train station, get on the train, clutch the stinking metal pole with both hands and close your eyes through the tunnels and just breathe, just breathe, horrible hitching pre-sobs into fluorescent light underground, just breathe.

Because I'm not doing "it felt like I'd been kicked in the chest", I'm doing what it actually feels like when you feel like you've been kicked in the chest, and to do that? I need to put myself through that feeling, so I can tell it to you like I should. Because you know what that feels like. And if I just say "like I'd been kicked in the chest", the reader will nod and move on and gloss it over; I need to bring you in there with me. I need you to feel it.

And now Elayna is home, so! Coffee and knitting and making sure she does her homework!