Author: gregh121

I am a writer and editor who lives in New Orleans.

Whatcha Gonna Do

Friday, I think? It’s very weird to lose track of days and dates and things like that. Not that I am good with them regularly and never have to stop to think about it, but not having the structure provided by having to go into an office every day has kind of unmoored me. I don’t know that I can honestly blame it on the surgery anymore, since it’s been nine days, right? I don’t know. I slept for another ten hours last night, and feel so rested it’s marvelous. I did ask my surgeon to clear me for work earlier yesterday, and he said no. “I’m afraid you’ll overdo it and spoil all the great recovery you’ve already experienced.” Probably just as well. I’m worried (of course) about the unpaid leave and money, but I think I’ll most likely be okay because everything is going well so far. Things might be tight for a while, but that’s..well, it’s not like I’m not used to that already after the four years of car payments. (I shudder even thinking about that horrible period of juggling bills and running up credit card debt that I am still working down.)

I wrote yesterday and boy am I rusty. It was a serious struggle. I had dictated about thirteen hundred words the other day on my iPad, so yesterday I cleaned that up (I don’t speak clearly, and have always had a bit of a lisp; the dentures have exaggerated that, so voice-to-text isn’t the best method for me, but it’s an option I can use in a pinch; it’s something I could potentially even do in the car with the phone on long drives) and tried to finish the chapter. I didn’t finish it, sadly, and it took me hours to get the additional new 1200 words yesterday down on the page. I’m a little rusty– one of the primary reasons I do this blog is to write something every day so the muscles don’t need to be retrained or warmed up again–but that’s not a surprise. I’m trying not to freak out or stress about it, because that’s pointless and a waste of energy that I don’t have to spare right now. I have finally found a comfortable position to sit at my desk and rest the brace on the edge so my fingers are freed up for the keyboard, which is enormously helpful. I am hoping to get cleaned up this morning and run some errands a little later on–I have to pick up a prescription in Midcity, and thought about making a grocery run and stopping at Five Guys (yay!)–before coming home to curl up in my chair with Nurse Sparky and read. I’ve picked out Lisa Unger’s novella Christmas Presents as my next read; I’d like to kind of keep the Christmas theme going, too, which might mean reading the two latest Donna Andrews novels out of order (just typing that made my stomach clench; my brain wiring is so completely fucked up it’s not even funny), and then picking out Christmas-related titles from the TBR pile–which won’t be easy, the Unger and Andrews might even be the only ones, honestly; which is interesting. I myself have only written one Christmas season book (Royal Street Reveillon) and published one story (“The Snow Queen” from my Upon a Midnight Clear anthology from a million years ago), primarily because I was worried about the temptation to descend into cheap sentiment.

It’s gray and rainy outside today. It started raining last night and continued overnight; which was nerve-wracking. I haven’t mentioned this, or I don’t think so, but a few weeks before my surgery roofers were here working on the patio deck above my kitchen. I came home from work one day to find an enormous hole in the kitchen ceiling–I could look up and see the workers and blue sky–and ceiling debris all over the kitchen. There was rotten wood up there, potentially termite damaged as well, and it just caved in while they were working. They came into the apartment and boarded up the hole with a piece of plywood. Fine, I figured; but that’s a stopgap and not a fix. The next time it rained I could see that the plywood was wet, and then it started dripping. Not good, but not bad. Then after my surgery we had a huge New Orleans storm, and the kitchen ceiling was leaking–all around the board, and elsewhere. I got up that morning and noted there was water on the counter and the stove, and my rugs on the floor were wet. I got out a couple of buckets and went back into the living room to my easy chair to read or watch television. About an hour there was a crash from the kitchen–part of the ceiling had collapsed, and you could see soaked insulation hanging and dripping–and about another hour later more came down. They came out the other day to fix the leak–and there’s no water in my kitchen this morning, thank the Lord. They told me since we had rain forecast this weekend they weren’t going to fix my ceiling–because if the fix didn’t work, it would all just come down again anyway–so when I got up this morning Paul said, “It’s rained all night so be prepared when you go downstairs” which made my heart sink (without my hearing aids I can’t hear the rain) but I came down and checked and all good. So they’ll come back next week and fix the ceiling and that’s the end of that.

I am also very impressed with myself for not freaking out over the ceiling–but at this point, my primary and only real concern is my arm and recovery. I also made my first physical therapy appointment for next week, which is cool. It’s also taking some time for me to get used to having greater mobility and more use of my left arm, too. I tend to walk with it in the bent position it needed to be in for that first post-op week rather than just letting it hang or moving it in unison with the other when I am walking. I think I need to get up every day and go for a walk, really. (Not today–I am not walking in the rain, but if it stops later, it won’t kill me to walk down to the park.) I need to be taking walks and things anyway; at least be stretching periodically to keep my muscles active and not let them get even more flaccid and weak from inactivity. And of course, running errands will get me out of the house today and walking the aisles of the grocery store is good exercise. And I have my wagon to help bring them in from the street. (I am so pleased with myself for buying that wagon, Constant Reader, you have no idea. I need to Scotch-guard it so I can just leave it outside under the overhang so it’s not always getting wet when it rains, or maybe even get a waterproof tarp to put over it.)

I’m also thinking it’s time to get a new microwave. Ours is over ten years old, it doesn’t work as great as it used to, and the instruction manual is long gone. I am also going to get a taller ladder for the downstairs; the five foot one works fine for the fans upstairs, but I need something taller for downstairs, and again–it can be kept outside and brought in when I need to use it. It’s ridiculous that I’ve waited so long to get a ladder that I can use without paranoia and fear of falling as I fully extend to reach the blades of the downstairs fans; get a fucking taller ladder, dumbass. I think it was primarily because I worried I couldn’t fit the ladder into my car and bring it home; now I can have Lowe’s deliver it. Thanks, pandemic! At least it was good for something.

And on that note, I am bringing this to a close for today. Have a fabulous Friday and I’ll probably do some blatant self-promotion later.

One Toke Over the Line

One of the fun things for me about going to mystery conferences (literary conferences in general, but I much prefer the mystery ones) is discovering new-to-me writers. Sometimes I meet them through writers I already know, sometimes they are on panels with friends, and sometimes they’re on a panel with me.

I was asked, very late, if I would fill in on a panel about humor and mysteries as moderator because the original moderator had dropped out. This was pretty late; I don’t think the program even listed me as the moderator, even. I didn’t have time to read any of the books, which I felt absolutely horrible about, and my free time was very tight–I’m not sure I remember precisely why, or what was going on in July/August this year (and am not entirely sure I want to remember because it might have been something bad) but I reached out to all of them and asked them if there were any questions they wanted to be asked (whenever I moderate, I always ask this–there are questions I would love to answer but never get asked; and if you ask a writer a question they really want to answer–they’re going to be very animated and passionate in their response, which will engage the audience). It was also an incredibly hot and miserable summer here in New Orleans, and just surviving it in general was asking a lot of all of us. I knew I would have a lot of anxiety about the panel, but it was an afternoon panel and I knew I could do some good research that morning…which was when, to my absolute delight, I discovered that three of my panelists were debut authors…and I love nothing more than being on a panel with new writers.

Imagine my delight and surprise in doing my research that J. D. O’Brien’s debut novel, Zig Zag, was about a marijuana dispensary heist. I made sure to get a copy (I bought a book from each of my panelists–my God, what a dream panel they were! It was easily one of the best experiences I’ve ever had moderating.) and after finishing Lou Berney’s stoner noir Dark Ride, I thought Zig Zag would be an excellent pairing,

And I was correct.

When Harry checks in at Reduced Rent-A-Car, Ken from the desk escorts him to the lot anf unfurls a rinkydink red carpet leading to the driver’s side door of a Ford Fiesta. An added feature of the white-glove service package. The dingy carpet is matted flat and Harry sees the rest of his life laying there in front of him. Thirteen steps to the gallows.

He removes his Stetson Sundowner like it’s made out of lead and hunches in behind the wheel. “I think the last guy must have smoked in here,” he says.

Ken looks over the inventory sheet.

“Let’s see if we have something else for you.”

“Don’t bother,” Harry says. “I just don’t want to get bit for it.”

And so we meet Harry Robatore, a burned out Texan who now runs a bail bonds business, dresses like a cowboy, and drinks a lot of liquor and smokes a lot of weed. Harry is the primary antagonist of this tightly-plotted genre-bending novel–it’s about crime, and criminals, but it’s definitely not a mystery; if pressed to classify it, I’d call it a heist caper novel, like those of Westlake and Block. (It reminded me a lot of The Hot Rock, and this is not a bad thing.) On the other side of the equation of the book is our femme fatale (I could so totally picture Barbara Stanwyck in this role) Capri, a hard-luck girl who wants to pull herself out of poverty however she can doing whatever she needs to with the amorality of Phyllis from Double Indemnity–she is a schemer with dreams, and whatever she has to do to get those dreams is justified by the dream itself. She’s been a stripper and a shot girl and now is clerking at a weed dispensary in Van Nuys called Big Smoke–and Big Smoke isn’t exactly about following the law, either. A huge delivery of Acapulco Gold is coming into the dispensary, and she sees stealing the weed and selling it as her way out of the hole she is currently in. She convinces her boyfriend–a not-so-smart dude name Teddy, to help her, and that’s when everything starts going haywire. Teddy is the son of a friend of Harry’s, who owns a rundown tacky bar Harry frequents, and when Ted is caught–because he’s not very bright; he successfully steals the weed but leaves his bag with his wallet in it behind, goes back for it and then is caught–he bonds the bail. Ted and Capri decide to hit the road and try to sell the weed to dispensaries or weed edible manufacturers, and thus begins an epic road trip with mayhem and insanity at every turn–with any number of people chasing after them, and Harry coming along behind to try to get his money back from the court.

I really enjoyed this book. As someone (I don’t remember who) once said, in rebuttal to the claim that criminals generally aren’t very smart, “the smart ones don’t get caught.” No one in this book is particularly smart; and while I hesitate to call them losers per se–societal misfits is more accurate; they cannot function successfully in society the way others can–this entire book is about bad choices and bad timing and bad decisions. But it’s incredibly clever, ironically funny, and even though he’s really not the best person in the world, you can’t but root for Harry; his character and who he is really reminded me of James Crumley’s The Last Good Kiss–the style of the writing, the characters, the world-weary cynicism–which isn’t easy to do.

I really enjoyed this, and look forward for more from O’Brien.

destination unknown

Thursday, and I am so relieved that the recovery is going well, and that I can actually start fending for myself. The brace isn’t rigidly locked anymore, and I have a lot more freedom of movement–plus I no longer need that wretched sling, which I hated, and I am no longer attached to anything. Granted, I haven’t been since last Friday, when the pain ball1 was removed Later this morning I am calling to make my first PT appointment, and another referral to follow up on as well. I also slept in my bed last night for the first time since the surgery. I was sleeping super-well in my easy chair, and was a little worried about going back to the bed (I will worry about anything, thanks, anxiety!) because I usually sleep on my left side–which is the bad arm–but I fell asleep lying on my back and shifted to the right side and back a couple of times, but other than that, I was dead to the world. I also slept for another ten hours last night, and I am thinking that I need to get this rest. My body is demanding it, and it feels marvelous to sleep so deeply and restfully–this is what I am always longing for most of the time….but I’m not going to start going to bed at eight once I am back to work because yeah, that would be terrible.

I took it easy yesterday after getting home from my appointment and a couple of errands. The temperature has turned cold (for New Orleans, don’t @ me), which always makes the apartment feel a bit more snug. I did some straightening up, took a long hot shower (still not easy, but so much better than before), and then curled up in my chair with Sparky and J. D. O’Brien’s Zig Zag, which I enjoyed very much (more on that later). I’m still trying to figure out a way to comfortably type with the brace, which isn’t as easy as one might expect. because the brace raises the hand so it’s not flush with the keyboard. It just feels awkward and so I need to find a position to type that doesn’t feel awkward–or I need to get used to it. I don’t know that I’ll have the brace on long enough to worry about Carpal tunnel syndrome, but you know me–anxiety always on the starting line waiting for the starting gun. We also finished watching Bodies, which I also highly recommend. It’s extremely well done, and very clever. If you liked Dark, you’ll definitely enjoy Bodies. I haven’t picked out my next read yet, but I have some incredibly delightful options to choose from. Yay! I love having a massive TBR-pile filled with terrific books by great writers. I am leaning towards Christmas Presents by Lisa Unger; I do want to read some holiday themed novels this Christmas season.

Christ, it’s Christmas season already. I may have to have my annual viewing of A Charlie Brown Christmas soon. I feel more like being in the holiday spirit this year. We haven’t decorated in years (and what little decorating we did was kind of half-assed, anyway) because the one thing Scooter would–in his long, comfortable life as a lap cat–actually spring into action against was the tree. That first Scooter Christmas was the last time we decorated, and I feel pretty confident that Sparky would see the tree as an amusement park, since everything is a toy to him and all he wants to do is play. I didn’t notice until the other day–and maybe it’s a recent development–but Sparky has some orange in his coat. It’s more obvious when he’s lying on his back, but we did end up with another orange cat, even though we didn’t realize it! The string of orange babies continues!

I was also thinking some more yesterday about being a writer–and the many different ways there are to be one. What is the difference between an author and a writer? Are authors artists? What is literary art and what is not, and who decides? Can genre fiction be art (of fucking course)? This was triggered by one of those things on one of the social media platforms where you were supposed to “quote text” my favorite books by women, and right off the top of my head I rattled off five great ones…and then I started remembering more, and more, and still more. I’ve read hundreds, if not thousands, of marvelous novels and short stories and essays and columns written by women. Why were those the five that popped up into my brain at first, why are they so implanted on my brain that I would come forth with these titles; any such list from me will always include The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson and Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, and I will never apologize for that. Which left me with only four, and there were so many options. My mind immediately defaulted to four women writers I love, and then had to pick which of their canon was the best. Then I remembered a beautiful novel about friendship, love and loss that made me weep (Somewhere Off The Coast of Maine by Ann Hood) and thought, damn it, I loved that book and I want it on my list…and then started remembering all the others, the dozens if not hundreds, of other women writers whose works entertain, enlighten, and edify my life. There are so many great women writers, currently and in the past, who wrote so many amazing books that it would be hard to name them all, and I would certainly always forget scores of them. For some reason yesterday I was thinking about Taylor Caldwell–who used to write massive doorstopper books about rich people and industries, as well as interesting historical fiction. If remembered at all today, it would probably be for Captains and the Kings, but that wasn’t one of my favorites of hers–that would probably be Testimony of Two Men, which was about medicine in the late 1800’s and a courageous doctor who believed in modern breakthroughs rather than “we’ve always done it this way”–so of course the entire medical establishment was trying to ruin him as he bravely stuck to his principles and tried to modernize American medicine. I would probably hate it if I read it today for the first time–my politics, ethics, morals, and tastes have dramatically changed since I was a teenager, which was when I read Caldwell–but I do remember it fondly. And there’s Grace Metalious, who wrote Peyton Place; Jacqueline Susann and Valley of the Dolls; Jackie Collins and Hollywood Wives; any number of Agatha Christie novels–I mean, there have always been so many great women writers around. Does anyone remember Rona Jaffe? I’ve always wanted to reread The Best of Everything, and I think I have a copy of it somewhere. Then there’s the scifi/fantasy writers, too–Anne McCaffrey and The Dragonriders of Pern, Ursula LeGuin and A Wizard of Earthsea, the amazing Octavia Butler….as I said on whatever social media platform that was, I could sit here and name women writers who wrote books that I loved all day. Victoria Holt, Mary Stewart, Phyllis A. Whitney, Dorothy Eden, Susan Howatch…seriously. Maybe I should write a book of essays about women writers that aren’t remembered much today? ANYA SETON! How I loved Anya Seton back in the day–and all the crime women–Margaret Millar, Charlotte Armstrong, Dorothy L. Hughes, Mary Roberts Rhinehart, Helen MacInnes, Patricia Highsmith, and Mignon Eberhard, to start.

I bet no one else remembers Edna Ferber–and if they do, it’s for Giant and it’s because of the movie (many of her books became famous films: Cimarron, Saratoga Trunk, Show Boat, and So Big). Now that I think about it, I think she addressed race issues in both Saratoga Trunk and Show Boat….which may be worth revisiting. She was also a member of the Algonquin Round Table.

This entry sounds and feels more like me than the more recent ones have, doesn’t it? I am itching to dive back into the book this morning, after I pay some bills and do some other aggravating chores. I also have a prescription ready to pick up; so since I have to go to a Midcity pharmacy to get it, I may as well make a grocery run on Carrollton.

I didn’t realize what a difference sleeping in the bed would actually make, really.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a blessed Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again a little later, as I really need to do a lot more promo. OH! That reminds me, here is a lovely review of Mississippi River Mischief; check it out! That absolutely made my day–and reminded me that I need to do more self-promotion.

  1. I had a contraption attached to my left shoulder that dispensed a nerve-deadener to the arm, so I wouldn’t feel pain. It lasted for 72 hours, and by the time it was empty, I didn’t have any pain, which was great. I also had to carry it around in basically a fanny pack, so it was one more thing I had to drag around those stressful first 72 hours. However, if you are going to have surgery, ask for one. It was amazing. ↩︎

Hard to Hold On To

So, here I am at my desk in the Lost Apartment and it’s not even quite noon yet. I had my follow-up appointment, ran an errand, and then stopped by the office to make sure my leave had been approved–it had–and then I came home. Sparky is being his usual Big Kitten Energy nuisance self, but luckily he’s adorably forgivable and I love him. Besides, he’s not going to stop until he feels like it in the first place.

Do not fight, or stress about, things you cannot control.

The good news is the recovery is going well, and my surgeon is most pleased with how I am healing. I’ve been freed up to do a lot more, and the primary focus from now on is actually rehabilitation–getting back the range of motion and then the strength. The physical therapy for strength won’t be until February, and he thinks I’ll be done with the range of motion–based on what I already have–before Christmas, which is lovely. I can do everything–within reason–that I usually do other than lift, push or pull heavy things. He actually encouraged me to type–as that will help with finger dexterity, which will help the recovery of the range of motion, and so on. I literally floated out of the doctor’s office, I was so happy and relieved to have the anxiety and stress of the past week gone (at least for now). I don’t have to use the sling anymore (it wasn’t the fun kind of sling anyway), and I can put on shirts, get dressed, shower, basically everything that doesn’t involved the aforementioned things. This is really lovely. I can even sleep in my own bed again instead of the easy chair, which is going to be so fucking amazing. I have been sleeping well anyway–which isn’t always the case when it comes to these things–but it was my body realizing it needed more rest.

I am still going to take it easy, though. I am going to get back to work on my book, clean out my emails, and try to get stuff as caught up as I can. As I have mentioned numerous times, I’ve had to spend a lot of time thinking while sitting in my easy chair this past week, and one of the things I’ve realized–recognized? acknowledged?–is that I don’t need to do volunteer work anymore. I’m getting older and my energy supply doesn’t seem to replenish as quickly as it used to; some days I feel like I am running on accessory and my batteries aren’t recharging to full capacity the way they used to. I’ve been volunteering for one place or the other for decades now, it’s time for other people to pick up the baton or pass the torch or whatever the hell metaphor you want to use for this. I’ve had a bad year personally–not the only person who has, mind you, well aware, and always aware that things could be worse at any moment–and that’s worn me down quite a bit, and I never really recovered my equilibrium after the pandemic started, and especially not since I myself caught the nasty coronavirus. My memory still isn’t as sharp as I would like, and I find myself forgetting things I can’t believe I can’t remember, but some of that stuff was just brain clutter anyway. I know I am going to be less sentimental about the books and will be boxing up more to donate when I am able; I am going to try to resist the urge to bring in more until I have made more progress on the TBR pile.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close, repair to the chair and read for a while, and then spring into get-things-done action after showering…a good, long, hot shower.

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Africa

I was tired yesterday.

I’m about to head to my first follow-up appointment with the surgeon this morning–far earlier than I would prefer, but best to get it over and done with so I can get on with my day. Heavy sigh. I have a lot of questions…and am hoping to get some more information about wearing shirts and so forth. There’s a part of me that’s hoping I get a smaller brace today, but I am also aware that’s probably magical thinking on my part. The physical therapy is going to last for three months, and that’s going to wreak havoc on my daily schedule. I am hoping that I’ll be able to not miss a lot of work for it–or come up with ways to work around it–which may not be that easy. I am starting to get antsy with so little ability to be at the computer and type. Having a rambunctious high-energy kitten that I am having to try to fend off with the one good hand doesn’t help, either. He’s very sweet and I hate not giving him the attention he wants, but if he wants flea medicine and vet appointments and food, Daddy has to be able to work. And my typing time is limited as the left hand/arm tires quickly.

I haven’t worked on the book since starting it the other day, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot (and about a lot of other things I want to write/am writing/editing), which is part of the problem with having so much down time and a creative mind with a touch of attention-deficiency…I start getting ideas as my mind wanders as I sit there. I was able to focus on reading my current book for a couple of hours yesterday, but didn’t get as far as one would under ordinary circumstances. I do have trouble remembering the day of the week, and as far as the date is concerned–that ship has long since sailed. (I know the first is coming and am prepared to spend some time paying bills at some point soon.) I am enjoying the book very much; I just wish my brain had more bandwidth than is currently on hand. I am genuinely worn out by ten every night, and I’ve been sleeping remarkably well. It’s also cold here this morning, and I have to go out into it wearing sweat pants. Yay.

We’re still enjoying Bodies, and it’s very like Dark–very clever, high production values, terrific acting, the questions of morality and fate and free will; very deep and very interesting. I am also starting to get bored, to be honest, which is a novel concept for me. The lack of focus so I can read for long periods of time is seriously being felt here, believe me. I am going to try to read more of my book today, and then I might have to go back to another volume of Alfred Hitchcock Presents–short stories work better when you have no ability to stay focused for a long period of time. I rewatched The Terminator yesterday–what a remarkably well written and done film it was. It is also, with the recent rise of AI, unnerving; the future Kyle and the Terminator come back to the present from `was 2029. Eep! Funny how back then 2029 seemed so far away, but then it kind of was. When that movie was released, I would have never believed that I’d still be alive in 2029–I still might not be, of course, but my longevity is completely out of my control to some extent; who knows how much or how little we control our own destinies? One of the key concepts of Bodies is that we don’t really have free will, as much as we would like to believe we do, and there’s something to that, I think. Sure, we make our choices, but are the choices presented actually our choices?

Deep thoughts from a Netflix series!

I was also thinking–as I am wont to do when my mind is free to wander–about whether I am an artist or not. Literature is an art, after all; we may not work with paints or oils or clay or marble or ceramic, but we are making art when we write. I’ve always been reluctant to call myself an artist or writing “making art”–the only authors I ever see or hear calling themselves artists or their work art tend to be very well-educated literary writers. It always felt inorganic and pompous to consider myself an artist and my work art. I write genre fiction, for one thing, and for another I write about queer people mostly. (Oh, the disdain I used to get from the literary writers when I worked at Lambda Book Report and they discovered that my forthcoming novel was crime fiction! I think that kind of hardened me against literary fiction and literary writers–not entirely true; some are absolutely lovely, but it certainly left a bad taste in my mouth about being overly pompous about what I do; I kind of embraced being a genre hack. I’m not ashamed to write crime fiction and horror; nor am I am ashamed of my erotica past.) But thinking about myself as an artist–the more I thought about it, the more I was sure I fit the description and perhaps what I do is make art, after all; but at the same time worry that thinking of it in that way will increase the pressure on me to do good work, and the last thing I need is more stress in my life.

But I am excited to get back to work on the new book. I really enjoy writing–which was also something else I was thinking about over the past few days. Writing is work, but I love to do it (publishing, on the other hand…it’s the necessary evil that follows the work I enjoy), which is another reason I don’t think of myself in terms of art/artist. But writing requires just as much focus and dedication as any other kind of art–and we are painting pictures with words rather than oils or watercolors, aren’t we?

Some interesting thoughts on a Wednesday morning. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I may check in again later.

Be My Lady

Tuesday morning and it’s feeling a bit chilly in the Lost Apartment this morning. I am propping the brace on the edge of my desk so I can use both hands–and it doesn’t seem to bother the arm too much to use my fingers. I actually don’t feel any pain, but it feels a bit weird, if that makes any sense.

Yesterday was the first time I’ve felt like me again after coming home from the surgery. I cut up an old T-shirt (well, Paul did; one needs two hands to cut cloth) so I could fit it on over the brace without having to use the arm or move it; my left nipple peeks out every now and again, but that’s okay. Tomorrow morning is my first post-op visit to the surgeon, so I want to think about the things I need to ask about and write them down to take with me. It’s an early appointment–8 am–so I won’t be thinking as clearly as I would later in the day. I’m getting used to sleeping in the chair–I’ve been sleeping ten hours a night on average since that first sleepless night after the surgery, which is very-un-Greg-like, but I attribute that to my body recovering from the trauma of the surgery. I wish it would last forever, though, I really love sleeping.

Paul and I did go run those errands yesterday, and driving wasn’t an issue at all. I think the prohibition on driving in the instructions had more to do with the painkillers (which I don’t need) than any lingering after-effects of the surgery. It felt very nice to get out of the house, since I hadn’t even gone outside (I don’t think) since coming back home last Tuesday–hey, it was a week ago, wasn’t it? It seems like an eternity. I am very impatient to get through this, but of course you can’t rush recovery. I am trying not to get frustrated or impatient, but it isn’t easy for me–I haven’t gotten to the acceptance of things I cannot control yet, sadly–and my emotions are still all over the place. I had a couple of emotional moments yesterday which weren’t great–but those moments are also becoming fewer and farther between, which is a relief. I hate subjecting anyone to my particular brand of crazy, least of all Paul–who is usually the only person who ever sees it, and that is something I don’t like, either.

I didn’t write anything yesterday, the errands exhausted me, and so I spent the rest of the day in my chair. I watched a marvelous documentary series about film horror from Blumhouse–four episodes–which was a lot of fun but nothing really new that I hadn’t already known. It did give me an idea for a slasher thriller in two parts–the original occurrence than a revisitation ten years later; but the worry is, of course, that it’s been done already or I have nothing new to bring to the genre. It’s an interesting conundrum and puzzle I’d like to get figured out; one that will need to percolate for a while before actually getting to work on it. I always worry about how much preparatory work I do for my books, and I also worry I don’t do enough research for them, either. (I love research but also find it frustrating because I never know when I’ve done enough research, and as someone who is always spotting historical inaccuracies in all media…I don’t want anyone doing that to me or thinking that I’m a lazy researcher…although on second thought why the fuck do I care? There are always going to be those people, after all.) I was thinking about that very thing yesterday in terms of two other books-in-progress I’ve been working on for years; I’m not certain that I chose the proper career path given how my brain is actually wired–for someone who gets anxious to the point of shaking sometimes (it was really bad when I was a kid) why would you choose a career where you have to do things that trigger anxiety? I don’t ever get anxious about the day job, for example.

It’s weird but all this down time sitting in my chair unable to focus enough to read a novel (short stories are easier) has given my addled brain the opportunity to think and reflect. This whole past week has been an emotional rollercoaster–I think surgeries tend to make you emotionally raw to begin with–but I’ve also spent a lot of time grieving my mother since coming home last Tuesday. I was always able to engage my mind before and not think about it–even when I was too tired to do anything more than watch Youtube videos in the evening. But this forced inactivity is an entirely different thing, and I can’t seem to get control of my mind when it starts to wander. I’ve been thinking about my career and where it’s gone and where it may go in the future over this last week; my stubbornness at keeping going when maybe I should gave given up. I’m proud of all my work, and I’ve also come to accept that my old work maybe isn’t terrible the way I’ve always feared. I always approach rereads of my own work with my mind subtly shifting into editorial mode, and once I recognized that recently, I do go ahead and shut that off before I do read. I’m a different writer than I was twenty-two or more years ago, and I have always wanted to continue to improve, grow, and get better with each new story, book, or essay (I don’t care how bad these entries are, actually; it’s rare that I go back and revisit these); so of course I would write the older books etc. differently were I to write them today; that doesn’t mean the old ones aren’t good.

And honestly, how many award nominations do I need to get before I finally accept that I’m pretty good at this whole thing? That I have the respect of my peers?

I’m proud of all my work, but I also have preferences as far as that is concerned; some children I love more than the others. The ones I am not as fond of are the ones that I think I could have made better than they were; the ones I wish I had another pass at. That’s what I am thinking with finally re-editing and preparing Jackson Square Jazz for rerelease; here’s a chance to give it a bit more polish, make it come together better, and remove inconsistencies and continuity errors from the series as a whole. Reediting the manuscript is something I can do in my easy chair, and then I can slowly input the changes into the word document gradually until the entire thing is finished. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. I’m very happy, seriously, with my career as far as the work itself is concerned. I would like my writing to be a lot more profitable than it’s been thus far (what writer doesn’t dream of fame and fortune) but I couldn’t care less about the fame–I’ve always cared more about the fortune, actually; I’m pragmatic that way.

I’m hoping to write more today–after I finish this I have some emails to attend to–and I also have bills that simply must be paid so I can stop getting stressed about that, too. I don’t know how long I am good for in this chair sitting upright with the brace balanced against the edge, to be honest…but I need to give it a try. I am just not wired to be inactive, I guess,

Have a great Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will see you again later.

What About Me

Well, here we are on Monday morning after my surgery, and I’m not really sure what I’ll be doing today. I really need to pick up a prescription in Uptown, and we need to pick up the mail at some point, but I’m not really sure how I’m going to do that. I don’t know that I should risk driving yet, because New Orleans drivers are so horrible, but it has to be done and I need the prescription. I suppose I could take a ride service, but I hate spending the money as well. I guess I don’t have a choice though, so I’ll deal with that later. I also need to make groceries.

We had had an issue a few weeks ago with the apartment. They were doing some work on the patio deck above my kitchen, and unfortunately there was rotten wood up there. The ceiling kind of gave way; they ended up nailing up a piece of plywood over the hole in the ceiling. Unfortunately the next time it rained, of course, it leaked , but they finished the work up there and never came back to repair our ceiling. We had a massive thunderstorm Saturday night, and so i woke up Sunday morning to water on the floor in the kitchen, on the stove, and on the counter. The carpets in the kitchen were also  wet; so I got out towels and a bucket for the dripping and hoped that the ceiling wouldn’t cave in. About two hours later, yeah, some of the plaster came down with a loud, startling crash, and so now there’s another hole in the ceiling. The insulation up there is soaked, so I had to leave the bucket for the dripping to continue. Needless to say, this is a really shitty time for this to happen and it spiraled me into a really bad depressive state yesterday. I have noted already that my emotions have been all over the place since the surgery — so something like this really sent me into a spiral. The anxiety really ramps up, so yeah, yesterday was just not a good day for me.

So, I repaired my easy chair with a Gatorade and Nurse Sparky and put on one of my comfort movies, Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade. I’ve always loved Indiana Jones, but I haven’t seen the most recent movie yet. I’ve always wanted to write an Indiana  Jones type book; I love historical treasure  hunts and have always thought that it would be fun to write those kind of stories with Colin as the main character — away from Frank and Scotty, to kind of fill in the blanks when he’s away from New Orleans. I have an idea that’s tied into the 4th crusade and the sack of Constantinople; a treasure hidden away in the Hagia Sophia since the Nicaean Council that established the dogma of Catholic Christianity. The Orthodox patriarchy had been keeping this treasure secret from the Pope and the Vatican for centuries, at least since the schism of 1052. My idea is that the Venetians and the Crusaders knew that the Pope would be furious to learn they had sacked Constantinople, but the Doge, Enrico Dandalo, not only knew about the secret but also knew presenting it to the Pope would get them forgiven. The primary problem with this is that I have never figured out what precisely was hidden in the Hagia Sophia; but I wanted to tie it into the Assassins and the Old Man of the Mountain. I thought that would make for a fun adventure, particularly setting it in a fictional Middle Eastern country. However, with everything that’s going on in the world nowadays, writing about the Middle East is probably not a good idea at this point.

I also read a lot of short stories over the weekend. I read all the stories in one of my Alfred Hitchcock Presents anthologies, Stories That Scared Even Me, and that was a lot of fun. The book was published originally in the 1960s or early 1970s and it is amazing how much attitudes in society and cultural attitudes have changed since that time. The contributors were almost entirely male — all of these anthologies are underrepresented with women — and there are a lot of really racist and patriarchal  tropes in some of the stories. Several, for example, are set in Mexico; I’ll let your imagination do the rest rather than quote what they said so casually. I’m also writing a story set in Central America — I was writing it to submit to a horror anthology — and it was one that I had started writing back in the 1990s, I believe. I was kind of horrified by what I wrote — I feel like by the 1980s I should have known better about these kinds of tropes  — but the story is salvageable; with some strong changes and a fictional country. But you can still get into trouble, even with that, and the last thing I ever want to do is write something problematic that will offend people. (I have already mentioned the story that I submitted to a anthology that’s not going to happen now about the South, which I recently  reread and was horrified by.)  A lot of these stories have those twisty type of endings that I always loved; that little hint of irony that really made the story sing. I always try to give my stories those kinds of endings because that’s what I grew up reading as far as short stories are concerned, and I often have to struggle to not try that with every story, because it’s not right for every story and I have a bad tendency to try to force things to work the way I want them to, instead of the way that they should work organically.

Dictating is much slower than typing, as I’ve noted before; this is taking me a lot longer to dictate then I would like. Where I actually typing this entry, I would probably already be finished by now. But you do what you have to do. I also started dictating my next book, figuring it’s better to get started on it while I’m at home recovering from the surgery, rather than waiting until such time as my left hand can be used for the keyboard. I’m still not having any pain  — my primary issue is mobility, not being able to use my left hand for  much, occasional nausea from the antibiotic, and the mood swings and depression. I wish I had already started on my anti-anxiety medication protocol before the surgery, but what can you do? Yesterday morning, I was thinking that I made a lot of bad decisions about this surgery and that I didn’t do it knowing everything that would result from it; but I was worried about not ever being able to go to the gym and workout again unless  and until this was done, and pushing it back to next year wouldn’t have changed any of these issues, I don’t think, other than possibly better planning on my part. But that’s also part of the anxiety—I always question my decisions, and never really believe that I made the right choices afterward. I guess it is just a part of that hindsight being 20/20 thing that always drives me crazy. I never really am confident in the decisions I make, so I always try to not second-guess or doubt myself afterward; there’s no point in rehashing things that you can’t change. Why obsess over something I have no control over anymore? That’s the easiest way to drive yourself crazy, I think.

We’re also really enjoying the show Bodies on Netflix. It has everything that I like; a bit of science fiction, crime, surprise twists, and gay content. You can never go wrong with me when you have gay content. (That’s not entirely true; there are some really terrible shows in movies with gay content that are basically unwatchable) I also finished watching a Jane Seymour series on Acorn called Harry Wild, which wasn’t great but was entertaining enough. I don’t know what all I’ve been watching to be honest with you, Constant Reader, but I’ve been watching  an awful lot of television.

I did watch a terrible adaptation of Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d, and the less said about that the better.

I’m hoping today or tomorrow to be able to read a novel; I’m really enjoying the one that I was reading before the surgery and would like to finish it, but my mind is all over the place and has been since coming home from the surgery. I haven’t even been able to focus on the TV I’ve been watching as much as I would like. Part of it is the depression, part of it is the holiday without Mom, and of course, the surgery. You see how I am? I’m being hard on myself after a major surgery for not getting anything done or being productive. Heavy sigh. Welcome to the wonderful world of what goes on inside my head.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and see if I can figure out what I’m going to do for the rest of the day, and what I can do about these errands. I hope you have a lovely Monday and as always, thank you for checking in and thank you for reading.

Everybody Wants You

Here it is Sunday morning and I am coming back to you once again from the spice mines where I am recovering from my biceps tear repair surgery. I haven’t had a lot of pain; they had given me what’s called a “pain ball”—which is a nerve deadener that was attached to my shoulder so I wouldn’t feel any pain. I was skeptical, but it really did work. The most pain I ever felt was the equivalent of a Charlie horse, at least so far anyway! I do worry that I jinx myself a little bit by talking about not having any pain, but that’s just how it all shakes out. I try not to be superstitious, but it doesn’t always work. I was worried about the transition from the pain ball 2 not having anything other than painkillers on demand, but it hasn’t been that bad. The brace is bulky and uncomfortable, but i can live with that. It was the ice machine that was really bad, and I am off of that now unless I need it for swelling or pain or something in the meantime. It wrapped around the brace and blew cold air into the attachments that were around my arm to prevent swelling and to reduce pain and I took it off for the first time Friday to see if I could go without it. I managed to get through Friday night and last night without needing it, which i think is a good thing probably, right?

I have been a slug ever since the surgery. I haven’t really done much of anything except lay in my chair, let sparky sleep on me, and watch a whole lot of streaming. Some of it was really good, some of it was really bad, and some of it was just laughable. It is also really amazing to me that with all of these streaming options that I have on my Apple TV, that it is really hard for me sometimes to find something to watch. Is there too much choice? Are so many options that it’s difficult to make a choice? But there’s also the issue of getting into something that’s not very good. Paul and I do stick to our 15 minute rule with movies and our one episode and a half rule streaming series. And there’s so much to look for that I don’t even know what to look for anymore! I find myself forgetting shows that I wanted to watch because new shows are coming out all of the time and then we move on. It does remind me of the olden days of cable where you could have over 300 channels and nothing to watch all the fucking time. (Interestingly enough, I have discovered that dictation will turn curse words into asterisks instead and will not spell out the word so I have to do that manually! Who knew Microsoft was such a prude?)

Interestingly enough, I have also developed an enormous pimple on my nose. I am 62 years old and I am still getting pimples. I suppose this is payback for my adolescence when I didn’t have hardly any at all during high school and college! I don’t mind really, it’s just kind of funny to me and it’s also on the bridge of my nose, which is where my glasses rest. Of course! I am also hoping that I’ll be able to run some errands on Monday. I have a prescription to pick up and the mail, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to do a small grocery run to pick up a few things. Navigating all of this with one hand is not going to be easy of course, but it needs to be done and at least I’m not on pain medication so my mind is clear. I have the wagon to help me bring the groceries back, and I also think on Monday I’ll try to get back to normal around here answering e-mail, reading, paying bills (always a joy!), and maybe even trying to get some writing done through dictation which might be a little frustrating but—the more I do it the easier it will get I am sure.

This hasn’t been the easiest of years for me. Over the course of the last 12 months, I lost my cat and my mother, injured myself severely, had all of my bottom teeth removed and got new dentures, and had a major surgery. But the teeth removal was great because now I have dentures and can chew much better than I have in years; which is difficult to get used to again. But at least I no longer look like a hillbilly from the holler! It’s unfortunate that I didn’t have this done before mom died because I know my teeth really bothered her, even though she never said anything. WHEW! Just dictating that got me overwhelmed and sad, and a bit teary eyed.

I think that’s been the hardest thing about the surgery recovery; that anesthetic and the painkillers and just the recovery of from that trauma to my body has made my emotions all over the place. Also, just sitting around thinking about things and your mind starts to wander and you can’t help but miss your mom. Facebook also gut punched me the other day by bringing up a memory within adorable picture of scooter. But sparky wouldn’t be here if we still had scooter, and i am very glad we were able to rescue them both. I think I will always be sad about mom. I don’t think you ever get over losing your mother no matter how old you are. And of course, I always think about dad saying that your mother is always the first person to love you. I had thought about going to visit dad during this recovery time, and i still might—it just depends on how my arm feels and if I think I can handle 12 hours in the car in two directions. It’s probably a stupid idea but I really hate the thought of not seeing dad during any of the holiday season. However hard this has been on me, it’s been 1000 times if not a million times worse on my dad . Paul is also thinking about going to visit his mom during the Christmas season too—but I think by the time he’ll be able to go I should be functional on my own. At the very least, I’ll be going back to work before then. I’m still not sure exactly how I’m going to put shirts on; I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it I guess.

We’re also watching bodies and Netflix which is really good, LSU won yesterday which was very cool, and Auburn lost the iron bowl in the most Auburn way possible. Heavy sigh. But for all intents and purposes as far as I’m concerned anyway, college football season is effectively over anyway.

And on that note, I’ll bring this to a close have a great Sunday everyone!

On the Wings of Love

So, I have figured out how to use the “dictate” function in Microsoft Word, which I can then turn around and cut and paste into my blog. This is very cool; because now I don’t have to wait until I have both hands to make blog entries, write emails, or just write in general. I do have to remember the punctuation, though. Ah, technology is wonderful, isn’t it?

The surgery itself went very well. It was difficult that morning, because I had to get up at 5:00 to be there for the surgery in Metairie at 7:15, and had to fast after 10:00 PM the night before. I couldn’t have coffee that morning and I had trouble sleeping; so as you can imagine I was tired and groggy when I got to Lakeview Hospital. But I also was worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle the recovery period and I had a lot of anxiety about it; which is a big surprise, right? Anyway, it’s been a roller coaster since getting home Tuesday morning. My emotions were all over the place the last couple of days, and I think that had a lot to do with reaction to the anesthetic, the medications I’m taking, and basically, the trauma to my body; it would be a surprise if my emotions hadn’t been all over the place the last few days– which kind of sucks. I also couldn’t sleep Tuesday night for whatever reason, and so was exhausted all day Wednesday. I did sleep really well Wednesday night though and the last two nights as well. I don’t think I have ever been this inactive for this long for a very long time–if ever. It’s starting to get to me a little bit, and I think that has something to do with the mood swings and the emotions—being unable to get up easily from my chair and navigate the apartment whenever I need to (and having to plan every time I get up) hasn’t been easy for me to deal with emotionally. I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised, since I I’m such a control freak and have so much anxiety.

But voice to text may be a lifesaver for the next two weeks; unfortunately, I don’t speak as fast as I can type, which is very strange!

I am hoping that today I will be able to read a little bit; my mind has been kind of loopy due to the medications and things since getting home so it’s just been easier to watch television and not even try to engage my brain.

Paul has been very helpful during this whole thing, which has been really nice. I am also learning that I am a terrible patient because I don’t like to bother anyone to do things for me, which has always been a problem — it makes me feel like I’m a burden to people. But being loopy and on drugs has also sent my mind into bizarre directions and into weird memories these last few days. Since Mom died, I had to do a lot of rethinking about my life and my own history, remembering things that explain why I act the way I do or why I react the way I do to certain things. It helps to know I have anxiety just like she did, and once I’m on the road to recovery from the surgery I’ll be able to start treatment for the anxiety at last, and will finally be on the right medications. I cannot stress enough how important it is to advocate for yourself with your doctors. Do not be afraid to ask questions, do not be afraid to not take their word for everything, or their immediate answer, and keep asking questions because the only way you can get better is if you talk to your doctor and get the right kind of medication and the right kind of treatments so that you can live your best life and not be suffering all the time. I always believed that I was mentally normal anyway and that everyone’s brain worked the same way that mine did. I wish I had known sooner that mom had anxiety. Oh well. Hindsight is always 20/20.

It’s funny, too, because dictating engages my brain in a different way than writing with my hands does. My brain works a lot faster when I am typing, rather than when I am dictating, and having to think about what I am going to say, whereas I can just put my hands on the keyboard and things just start coming out of me without much thought really; it kind of is a subconscious thing for me, which kind of explains a lot.

We watched the new Spiderman animated movie, which i think was called Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse? Anyway, I really enjoyed it almost as much as I did the first, which I guess was Into the Multiverse? I wish I had known that it was a “to be continued”, though; that was very disappointing to not get to the end of this story to see how it all works out for Miles and Gwen Stacey! I also have been rewatching episodes of Moonlighting in addition to finishing Happy Valley, All The Light We Cannot See, and some football games. I feel more rested than I have in a very very very long time; which says something really terrible about my life really. I apparently never take time off of work to just rest up and relax. Usually when I do take time off it’s to go to a conference for self promotion for the books or to go visit my family which is a 12 hour drive in both directions—not optimal for rest and relaxation.

And of course whenever I travel I have trouble sleeping.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for this wonderful Saturday of the holiday weekend. How the lovely rest of the day, and hopefully I’ll be back at some point to let you know how things are going in the recovery process for me. Thank you for always reading!

A Penny for Your Thoughts

Black Friday.

I don’t know long this will be; typing one-handed is an exercise in frustration. But here i am, giving it the old college try. Things have been challenging since the surgery; i am attached to a cooling machine which keeps the arm iced, which I then have to unplug and carry around if I want to get up and out of my chair. (It’s complicated, but if I detach the easy way I can’t hook myself back up to it one-handed, so Paul has to do it for me.) The most difficult thing has been the anxiety and depression, which I think is normal, given the situation. I’m having my first cup of coffee since Monday, since I had to fast for the surgery itself. Yesterday was hard, because it was the first “family” holiday since Mom died; I thought having the surgery this week would make the holiday easier.

I was incorrect. It did not. Retrospectively, it would have been hard to go; but it wasn’t any easier here and I probably should have spent it with Dad. Ah, well, neither the first nor the last time I’ll be a disappointment to Dad.

This morning is the best I’ve felt since the surgery. I feel like me this morning, and mot as tired. The dressing can come off today and I can shower, which is going to be amazing. Paul has a meeting this afternoon, so I am going to wait until he gets home from that to shower. That will definitely make me feel better, I am sure. I think my head is also clear enough this morning/today to read rather than try to watch television. Thank God, because I’m running out of things to watch. Yesterday I watched a Netflix series based on an award-winning novel that was so fucking terrible all I could think was I hope the book was beautifully written because this is so fucking problematic I can’t believe it won awards. We also started watching Shining Vale, a Courtney Cox show from Starz that is wild and crazy and over-the-top; it’s oddly fascinating but I think it’s quite odd in a David Lynch/horror way that is kind of fun.

I’m not sure how much I will be here until such time as I can use both hands to type; this has already taken a ridiculous amount of time already and I haven’t written much, have I? (I just tried to use the other hand and clearly not ready for that yet.) But writing this is, in a very small way, progress and a return to normalcy–at least a step that way–is a good thing, right?

Hope your holiday was awesome!