Doing a search on Amazon for summer reading, I followed link after link until I reached Elizabeth Hand's official site, Winterlong. I had no idea that rozk had done an interview with her!

One part of the interview that made me giggle:

I tend to base my characters on real people; the source for Angelica in Waking the Moon was a woman in my past with whom I had lost touch--and when I contacted her later, she had become a Wiccan High Priestess and did have a son called Dylan.

That's really frikkin' funny.
Now, did she turn him into a bull and try to sacrifice him? :P


Another article mentions that Mortal Love, due out in late June, has some of the same characters as Waking the Moon (which I loved) and Black Light (which I found a tad half-baked). A Balthazar Warnick hat-trick, maybe?

And WHEE! Our library has not one, but FOUR critical studies by Carlo Ginsberg!! I remember reading Night Battles in about 9th grade, but I'd love to look at it with fresh eyes.

Last night, I attended a madrigals concert for the group I will be joining next year, and then went straight to a poetry slam afterwards because two of my poems were published in the campus literary magazine. The problem with this? I submitted three, and neither of the published poems was the one that was actually good. When I flipped through the pages, here was a poem about God, a poem about summer, five poems about fall. Alternate, rinse, repeat until the book is filled. Terrible. Awful, drippy stuff with such imaginative titles as "Laughter," "Music," and "Untitled..." (apparently the ellipsis is key). The poem that I wrote that was not accepted was Mary. I suspect that it was denied because it was intensely sexual, and omg, I used religious imagery to veil a sexual metaphor. I think their brains must have short-circuited from that one. The next poetry-slam? I'm totally going to read it.

So, instead of simply bitching, I've decided to take action. I've joined the team with the goal of actually introducing contrast into a literary compilation called Contrast. I swear by God that there will be poems about sex and depression and clarity and interesting side streets next year if I have to burn the rest of those tepid submissions. Step 1- hit up the poetry class from this year and next year for submissions so the damn thing doesn't read like a pamphlet from Christian Fellowship again. I have nothing against God poetry. I just want it to be good God poetry, interesting and layered. None of this "It's not about what I can see/ It's about what I can feel" crapola.

So. Tonight. Inservices, sex-toy party, Angel. Life is tough sometimes. :) As of now, I'm off to the third floor of the library to get my thoughts together on my Dickinson paper, and then I have to jump off a tower for rapelling. I wish spring would stay forever- these pregnant pink trees are strange and wonderful.


PS- You should check out Heather & I speculating at the Angel finale. No actual spoilers. I think my favorite is ANGLE GETS HIT BY A BUS THAT HAS SUPER-SUN POWER AND DIES!! What can I say? We make our own fun.