Finished reading Dan Simmons's The Terror. Not a bad yarn, but not a great novel. As simply a presentation of a situation (arctic exploration, two ships frozen into the ice for two years with supplies dwindling and an impossible monster killing off crewmembers and scratching its way slowly into the hulls) and subsequent progression and resolution of a story, it satisfied wholly. But as a Novel, in all the glory that the word implies, it falls somewhat short of other purported Simmons successes (Carrion Comfort, The Song of Kali, both of which are on my to-read list) with an unnecessarily bloated word-count (it's as if the author was determined to reveal every piece of information he gathered in his research inside the final text), poor characterization throughout, and - perhaps insurmountably - unbelievable, purely expositional and clumsily anachronistic dialogue.

I particularly liked the bits near the end, with the devolution of some of the lesser crewmembers into mutinous, murdering cannibals. I would, wouldn't I? I also like the monster, and the way Simmons isn't afraid to let it remain just that: a monster. I was afraid through the whole reading that the thing would turn out to be someone in a costume (awful idea, Shyamalan, just awful) or a large polar bear or a surviving dinosaur or something. Nope. It's intelligent, preying on the crew members not for food or for self-preservation but simply because it wishes them misery; it's a sort of Wendigo of the ice, a symbol of starvation and hardship for human beings in the wilderness manifested in a very real beast. Good stuff. Three out of five stars.

I enjoyed 4 on the Floor at the Deli last night. Local classic rock covers at their most carefree but proficiently performed. And as always most of the people there are just cool.

Applied for two summer jobs yesterday; need either of them desperately. Also, what are you hiring for out there? I'll do it.

I plan to continue my education at UAH in the fall. It'll have to be English, I'm afraid; I'm interested in something to do with publishing for a fallback career.

I have this idea that I need to be well-read before even attempting to publish my novel-in-progress; that I need to be well-read in the horror genre, at least. It's hard work, and quite daunting. I recently tried The Amityville Horror, and that damn thing is absolutely unreadable. I've never come across such odiously poor language or contemptuous disrespect for audience in a published work. I hope there aren't many more like it; I quite like the other writers I've read after a bit of research at the beginning of my trying to sweep the canon, like Ramsey Campbell, T.E.D. Klein, Thomas Ligotti, W. Peter Blatty. It's gonna be a fun project to complete.

Right. Bed, and church drummer hat in the morning.

"Everybody in the whole cell block..."

I spent last Monday night in jail for an outstanding traffic warrant, which becomes more strange and hilarious to me every time I think about it.

Driving home from a short stay at The Tavern in Scottsboro, I was pulled over for a busted headlight. The officer complimented my driving and took my license and valid insurance card. After an abnormally long time he discovered the warrant, and promptly cuffed me (in size M-100 cuffs, I discovered upon inquiry), had my car impounded, and began to seem suspicious of me. I can only assume that, because where before he had been very friendly and good-old-boyey, he now breathalyzed me, gave me a sobriety test, and asked if I had drugs in my car. I was still in a very good mood at this point, you see, because I didn't realize I'd have to spend the night yet.

We drove up (he drove; I sat in the back asking questions like a bright kid on a field trip) the Mountain to Northeast college where I was handed over to a Fort Paye city cop; my violation had been in DeKalb County. Upon arrival at the county jail they took my stuff and my shoes and my money and my coat, took my cheesing mug shot, and let me call somebody. I hoped to reach my mom at home right away so I could have a chance to say, "It's me again, Margaret," but no luck.

Anyway, they put me in the big holding cell where they usually keep all the drunks. It's just a big concrete room with a blanket. Suffice it to say nothing happened to me that's improved my opinion of either law enforcement or penal systems.

Enough, enough. I promise I'm going to be a good blogger now; I was discouraged after a lukewarm reception of "Gold in the Hills;" which, if you haven't read it, is a good story. I promise. And even if you don't like it, I wouldn't mind hearing what you think. But one way or the other, I miss blogging, and I know there are some people who like this, so I'll be back regularly. Scout's honour.

I've been reading my face off lately. Right now, it's Dan Simmons's 1000-PAGE MONSTROSITY The Terror, which is sprawling and anachronistic as all hell and perfectly lovely for a horror fetishist like me. I like the idea of fictionalizing an historical event; not only casting historical figures as fictional characters (which, let it be said, is the only way any of us know them anyway) and imagining what they think and feel, but actually inserting a terrifying supernatural totally made-up element into the proceedings. Simmons has put a monster out there on the ice with poor Franklin and Crozier and their ice-locked ships, and I think that's awesome.

I'm headed to the Mainstreet Deli in Fort Payne tonight for Open Mic Night, which I've been doing each Wednesday for several weeks now. It's a nice place, all about low-key boozing and music. I've never encountered a club so friendly and so loyal to its musicians. You should come out some night. I hope to see my new friends from Cracker Barrel there, who liked my "Meet Me On the Other Side of the Graveyard" last week. Are you guys reading? Top of the morning to you!

I have a few reviews of music and things to post, which I'll do separately in an adjoining blog to this one. I'll be starting that...NOW.