Airplanes are leaving from the airport
I am back from the ICFA in Orlando. On the whole, I had a very good time—the reading went well, I met some wonderful people, and I have copies of Guy Gavriel Kay's Beyond This Dark House (2003) and Peter S. Beagle's We Never Talk About My Brother (2009), among other books. I heard papers on the science fiction poetry of Phyllis Gotlieb, the Paris Morgue, present-day Elizabethan theater; I should have written papers on The Last Unicorn and A Tale of Time City. After dark one night, Eric and I played basketball on the hotel's court, lit up arc-white. I forgot to bring my bathing suit again.
I love flying in and out of Boston. The plane wheels in over the water, last night as dark as fishskin and pleated in swells beneath a pure red after-sunset, the whole bar of the horizon cinnabar under ink-spreads of cloud; the channel buoys held on and off like fireflies, green, red, flickering sea-paths back and forth between the islands, whitewater flecks out of the dusk. There were thunderheads building when we took off from Orlando. I think we confuse in-flight snacks and seatbelt signs with domestication of sky and sea, so that clouds become less relevant than however many channels you can watch from the screens on the back of each seat, the sun in the stratosphere is an interference. Nothing is really tame. We just like to think so; and are surprised when people drown.
I love flying in and out of Boston. The plane wheels in over the water, last night as dark as fishskin and pleated in swells beneath a pure red after-sunset, the whole bar of the horizon cinnabar under ink-spreads of cloud; the channel buoys held on and off like fireflies, green, red, flickering sea-paths back and forth between the islands, whitewater flecks out of the dusk. There were thunderheads building when we took off from Orlando. I think we confuse in-flight snacks and seatbelt signs with domestication of sky and sea, so that clouds become less relevant than however many channels you can watch from the screens on the back of each seat, the sun in the stratosphere is an interference. Nothing is really tame. We just like to think so; and are surprised when people drown.

no subject
Thanks!
Nergal is a little too closely associated with Mars, but the other two would be fine.
Nergal has not got much to do with Mars past the planet: he is war and pestilence, the destroying sun of high summer, a consort of Ereškigal and therefore president in some of his own right over the underworld; I wouldn't mind him as the father of my foundation myth, but I think the Romans would have been a little weirded out.
. . . or do you mean that since he is associated with the planet, he already missed out on eponymy because Phobos and Deimos were all the moons Mars got? In which case, never mind.
no subject
*laughs*
Now, the real naming issue will start if anyone finds something bigger than Eris. Does it have to be Greco-Roman deities again at that point? Should be fun...
You might also be interested in the conversation here on Solar System naming from a Southern Hemisphere perspective.
no subject
Because all the other dwarf planets are? The more mythologies, the better. (Assuming, obviously, someone knows what they're doing with more mythologies. Greco-Roman, even Etruscan is safe: if you botch the associations completely, the worst that happens is classicists laugh at you for years. Screw up Inuit or Vedic, people will care.)
no subject
*is happy*