Low Red Moon journal

        Thursday, December 27, 2001

        In geology, we speak of unconformities and disconformities in the stratigraphic record. The former, an unconformity, is an erosional surface that separates younger strata from older rocks. The latter, a disconformity, is something similar, but different, and I don't feel like explaining the particulars just now, as it's so late it's getting early. But, my point is this - sometimes there are lapses.

        And though I very much appreciate the concern, the recent lapse in journal entries (the last being from 18 December) does not mean that I've already developed a case of the dread "wb" this early in the novel, and it doesn't mean that I've given up on the journal, and no, it also doesn't mean that I'm dead. But December is a lousy month for regularity. And I've spent at least nine hours watching Peter Jackson's beautiful adaptation of The Lord of the Rings, plus the DVD of Moulin Rouge was finally released.

        So stop sending the e-mails of confusion and concern.

        We must prioritize, people.

        As for Christmas, while I've nothing against it where other people are concerned, the less said the better.

        Mostly, I continue to be amazed at the way the world shuts down for the holidays. This whole "paid vacation" thing. Someone pays someone else not to work. Wow. I stand in awe. This is not something writers, at least not novelists, comic book scripters, and short story authors, are familiar with. No one has ever paid me specifically to sit on my butt and not work. But I'd dearly love the opportunity. Writers do not get holidays. Not in my experience. We get many days when we are too frustrated or lazy or furious to write anything, but those days are filled with guilt and dread and self-loathing. Every second I spend not typing is a second I don't get paid. Wouldn't it be lovely, though, if one of my publishers gave me an annual Christmas "bonus" sort of thing and for a whole week I got 8¢ an hour not to write? I think I would weep with joy. But no. Writers write. We don't get "paid vacations," and so, I'm not quite sure I believe in them. Doubt is often a balm for envy.

        Meanwhile, Chapter One, which is titled "The Big Dry," is coming along nicely.



        2:28 AM


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