I'm sure I will regret this 11:00pm coffee, but I need to push to get this chapter in the can.
It's true what they say, the last 10% of any project is always the hardest. No idea who “they” are, but I'm pretty sure it's a thing.
Journal
“Why are you so tired, daddy?”
Well, Mr. Moony, I was working all day today, and the work is still not finished, and I have so much more work to do still.
“Are you gonna work while I sleep?”
Probably.
“Why do old people die, daddy?”
Well... because they've been alive for so long, their body's been working so long, and after so many years of their body working, everything gets real tired; their heart gets tired, their chest gets tired, their tummies get tired, their legs get tired, and their eyes get tired, and their heads too. Everything gets so tired to the point where it's ready to say, All done, bye now.
Laughter, and then: “Are we gonna die soon?”, asked with a smile and a trail of laughter still.
Hopefully not you, Moony, because you're still very young.
“But you're gonna die soon.” The voice of conclusion, not a question.
Sooner than most, I think, but hopefully not too soon.
He then nodded in silence and after a beat or two changed the subject before drifting off to sleep.
Promised myself I wouldn't travel until the entire TSG is in the can, but this chapter has genuinely sapped the lifeforce out of me and I think a recharge is very much in order. Considering fucking off for a few days as soon as its wrapped. Either Mexico City or NYC, can't decide. Mexico City is closer, more my vibe, and kinder on the wallet. I do know more people in New York though, some of whom I haven't seen in a couple years.
Another day of surviving on a mere three hours sleep after awaking at 3:00am for no good reason. Orders dropped off at post office though, and a quick visit to the lab for bloodwork checked off (I'm rather particular about my health and try to get tested fairly regularly). These are now the very last remaining copies of THE SOLAR GRID #1 in existence:
Cover for the print edition of #9 underway today.
Ordered by accident and almost tempted to keep it just for the terrible mis-registration on this copy's print job. Snooping around online and I'm not seeing any publicly available evidence of anyone else having come across such a terribly misprinted copy.
Almost want to send a picture directly to Dan Clowes just to ruin his day/week/life. But no, what good would that do without getting to see the look on his face?
“Siphonophores are colonial marine organisms made up of specialised but genetically identical units, zooids, that undertake different functions, such as feeding or reproduction. The best-known species is the Portuguese man o'war, which resembles a large jellyfish but is actually seven different kinds of zooid that cooperate so that the colony acts like a single organism.”
From Paul McAuley's THE SECRET OF LIFE.
I note that he does the thing that I love when its done in fiction: including actual non-fiction knowledge. Chuck Palahniuk will almost always slide a little nugget of knowledge in his novels (i.e. how soap is made in FIGHT CLUB or how long it takes to choke in CHOKE, and I think there was something about airplanes or bodybuilding or both in SURVIVAL). This strikes me as an essential function of storytelling: using story to ever so slyly act as a vector for knowledge. It isn't the only function, but it seems to be one of several essential functions. It is after all a tradition as old as time itself. The oldest story known to humankind, THE EPIC OF GILGAMESH, lets it be known that wood obtained from Cedar trees is ideal for shipbuilding (and indeed, the oldest known surviving boat, excavated in Egypt, is built out of Cedar). The myth of Osiris contains mumification instructions. Story is carrier wave for philosophical pondering, parable, moral compass tuning, and factual knowledge. Drama is, for the most part, a really great delivery system.
At least that's how I like it.
STATUS:
Awoke at 2:30 am for no good reason. It is now noon and I am dead and delirious, but I know not how to sleep during the day so I will continue to be dead and delirious till sundown. This always happens whenever I'm close to finishing a big thing, any big thing.
Trying to wriggle away from TSG for just an hour or two to tend to a few other things, but the Grid has me firmly in its grip right now.
Thoroughly enjoying Paul McAuley's SECRET OF LIFE in the very short reading breaks I manage to steal every now and again.
Now that I have fully shaken off the incessant doom-scrolling of all social media by not being on it at all, I am now more active on RESTRICTED.ACADEMY again, catching up on some fantastic threads that go back a couple years (!) but also starting a few new ones. Some of my favorites are:
I am told that today is the last day for Barnes & Nobel members to preorder DEEP DREAM with a 25% discount.
Edited by Indrapramit Das and published by MIT Press, I have a short story in it along with numerous other science fiction luminaries from across the globe.
Confession: I had no idea that Barnes & Nobel had a membership thing. In fact, I didn't even realize Barnes & Nobel was still around at all.
On March 2, 1812, this anonymous verse appeared in the London Morning Chronicle, possibly penned by Lord Byron (opinions vary on this):
Those villains, the Weavers, are all grown refractory, Asking some succor for Charity's sake— So hang them in clusters round each Manufactory, That will at once put an end to mistake.
The rascals, perhaps, may betake them to robbing, The dogs to be sure have got nothing to eat— So if we can hang them for breaking a bobbin, 'Twill save all the Government's money and meat:
Men are more easily made than machinery— Stockings fetch better prices than lives— Gibbers on Sherwood will heighten the scenery, Showing how commerce, how Liberty thrives!
I love the sarcastic tone, very contemporary. Somewhat akin to The Fugs' KILL FOR PEACE in attitude.
On a completely different note, how on Earth can 36 degrees Celsius be “feels like 43”?
Spent the entire goddamn day speed re-reading this entire book just to locate one single passage I needed for a bit in THE SOLAR GRID.
Frustrating, but necessary. I am however reminded by what a fantastic and well-researched read it is. I doubt this is going to be the last time I utilize Luddite history in a story. It's such a fascinating episode in history. Remember this is just a few years before Mary Shelley started writing FRANKENSTEIN and young Percy was frequenting pothouses. Lord Byron was already a famed poet, having written verse in favor of the Luddites actually, and the Napoleonic Wars were still ongoing.