Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, which is pretty cool. Yesterday was a pretty good day, really. I woke up several times during the night, sadly, but feel pretty rested and awake for this late in the week. I guess I am finally getting used to getting up early, after all these years. Then again, the fatigue issues were always related to the ulcerative colitis, so I definitely had the wrong impression about being in my sixties. AN enormous relief there, you know. After work I came straight home and turned myself into a cat bed for Sparky (who is not the lithe kitten he once was but still thinks he is) and we watched this week’s episode of Widow’s Bay and started season two of Running Point, whose first season we enjoyed before going to bed. I didn’t do any writing or reading yesterday, but hope to get back in that proverbial saddle again today. I also have to run some errands tonight on the way home–mail, pick up a prescription–and then, I am hoping I won’t have to leave the house very much over the weekend. Next weekend is a four day one, and then I am driving up to Alabama later this month to meet Dad for their anniversary. And then it’s July, and the dog days of summer have truly begun here.
And before you know it, it’s football season again.
I do need to set some goals for this summer, and all of them have to do with writing. I need to clean out the storage attic sooner rather than later, which is a good project for the summer. I also want to get some short stories out on sub, and I want to get this draft of the book finished, so I can get going on the next Scotty–Twelfth Night Knavery–by the end of this year and maybe get that done as well. I also want to get some essays for the newsletter finished this weekend; I am behind schedule but since I have set said schedule and the only person disappointed by my failure is me–and it really doesn’t bother me all that much. But I also don’t need to sit around all weekend wasting time, either.
I recently came across yet another catastrophic hurricane to hit New Orleans; the 1893 Cheniere Caminada hurricane of 1893, which destroyed the town it’s named after in Jefferson Parish when it came ashore. So many destructive hurricanes have come through here since the French built the first hut on the banks of the river way back in the eighteenth century–there has to be a book about the hurricane history of New Orleans, doesn’t there? As much as I would love to read one, I don’t want to write one! If I knew how to do research properly, once I was retired I could write some marvelous nonfiction because there are so many archives here in the city; New Orleans has always done its best to document itself, even if the original sources may be unreliable. (I think of the time wasted reading the old books about New Orleans history, which weren’t trustworthy; men like Robert Tallant and Harnett Kane and others, wrote horribly racist histories which were all mostly lore and legend rather than actual fact. They were entertaining, sure, but oh my GOD the racism is abhorrent.)
I’m thinking about writing a new series, honestly; set in a small town down in the bayou with supernatural creatures and murders. I know, it sounds like a ripoff of Charlaine–which is why this idea, which I’ve had since the 1990s (and more of a Dark Shadows riff rather than Charlaine’s books), and last night I did figure out how to bring the main character to this spooky parish down the bayou.
I also need to get the print-on-demand for Bourbon Street Blues done at some point, and then get the ebook of Jackson Square Jazz (and the pod) up, and I also want to get a short story collection up, too.
SO much to do, occasionally feel like I want to do it all, and of course I wind up taking more down time than I should and….yeah, whatever.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, and I thank you as always for stopping by. See you tomorrow!
Queer and Loathing in America 