Sitting at my desk in Aptos right now. All the lowlands between here and the cliffs of Seascape are shrouded in fog and it looks all mystical and awesome, like Glastonbury. I'm drinking an Arizona on a coaster from 99 Bottles that has a pink elephant and advertises "Delirium tremens", which is a 9% beer. I've got books of Kerouac, Roethke, Gaiman, and Wolfe on my left and I'll write as soon as I finish this entry. In the book Valadi is employing his inscrutable tactic of alternating good humor and cryptic response, and Jahnu is trying as best he can to maintain some semblance of loyalty.
Thought I should update since the last entry was fresh off the broken-hip press. I'm doing a lot better psychologically - I'm starting to go out into the world again a little bit, and that tones down stir-craziness. Starting to look for an agent for the trilogy; I have to revise the first 3 chapters to accompany my query letters, but first I'm waiting on some Sanskrit translations. The hip is actually worse off than we thought; the whole socket is kind of punched into the pelvis, but not enough for surgery. It doesn't hurt too bad, though I'm not sure if that's me being stubborn or nerve damage from back surgery. Probably stubborn.
Mark came by Aptos last night - it's hardly further from his house than Los Altos - and shot the shit. That's always nostalgic. Navid came by the night before and Candy, who has never bitten at anyone in her 11 years of life, totally went for his face. It was awesome; she was silent and there was no warning. When I told Mark that Candy tried to bite someone he had a funny look on his face, and a second later he started bawling out laughter, saying, "How did I know this was gonna turn into a Navid story?"
- "And put down some newspaper for those DAMN CHICKENS!" *click*