Category: cats

Things We Do For Love

I love to write.

I do, I really do. I was thinking about this the other night; I was thinking about my trip this weekend to spend time with relatives I’ve not really talked to much over the last forty or so years. Rereading Jackson Square Jazz (I finished last night) has also been revelatory. It’s a pretty good book, and rather ambitious in its scope, but there are some things I’m going to need to revise out of it–primarily words and phrases that have since become problematic. (They were always problematic, but unfortunately we weren’t as aware of these things back then as we are now.) But the purpose of the book overall in the scheme of Scotty’s growth as a person and development of his character definitely played out here, and it definitely worked, so I was rather pleased with the reread.

But it was (is?) interesting to see how I’ve changed and grown as a writer in the ensuing twenty years. I was also a little impressed at how ambitious this book was, in its scope and its story-telling; I don’t remember being that ambitious when I was writing the book. I remember where the idea came from, and how long it gestated in my head before it became Scotty #2; ironically, this was the plot I was going to use to try to write a mainstream mystery with Paige as the main character…at least, that was how I first thought of it. I will have to go back through the manuscript and start making corrections and finding the errors–with the actual finished book on the table beside me to consult for corrections and so forth–and I am also going to need to have the iPad around, so I can do searches in the other Scotty books to verify things. There were also a couple of interesting things I noted in the book as I was rereading it–I did a really good job of setting up the big twist in Mississippi River Mischief that was twenty years in the making–but there were also some things in there that I’ve not followed up on or I’m pretty sure are incorrect; the way I described the apartment on the top floor of Scotty’s building is way off; I am going to have to reread Vieux Carre Voodoo again as well and see what other continuity errors I’ve made with that building over the years. I also kind of liked Scotty’s not-totally-an-adult yet voice; he was a bit of a Peter Pan throughout his twenties, and didn’t start settling down until he was well into his thirties, which was also kind of interesting to me. This book also contains my first car chase (and my first writing about a car accident, for those who keep track of how many accidents Scotty has been in–Chanse has been in a few, too) and some of its geography was wrong; so I am going to need to clean that scene up a bit as well. I guess the best thing to do is reread the version that came out in print next, and put sticky notes in the places where I think I made mistakes in the manuscript to see if it got cleaned up in the edits.

I mean, I really tried a lot of shit in this book, and it actually worked! Good for me!

I ran errands on the way home from work yesterday (mainly so I don’t have to again today) and was a bit tired by the time I got home. I did get started on the chores before Tug decided he needed my lap, and of course, once I was in the chair and he was in my lap it was all over. I did manage to put away the dishes and do another load, as well as get started on the laundry, which I will have to finish tonight. Tomorrow is a work-at-home day, which will be nice. I do need to take the car in for an oil change and tire rotation before I leave on Saturday; whether I do that tomorrow morning or Saturday will depend on a number of things–primarily whether I hear from the dentist that my temporary plates are ready; I really would like to have those before I leave for the weekend because I’d really rather not have to remain on the soft food diet and try to figure out what to stop and eat on the way there and back.

I also picked up two books yesterday, which will come in handy for Halloween Horror Month: Elizabeth Hand’s retelling of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, A Haunting on the Hill, and the Jonathan Maberry edited Weird Tales: 100 Years of Weirdness. I also got my three Anthony nominee certificates from this past Bouchercon in the mail, which was incredibly lovely and still doesn’t quite seem real to me yet. It still feels like it happened to someone else. I never got the certificates from the previous years–I didn’t know they actually made them for us–and the first time I actually picked one up was at Malice, when they gave out the ones for the Agathas (which was the first time I found out that they make these for the nominees. Just as well–I don’t have that much wall space and boy did that ever sound arrogant!) this past spring. It’s very nice to have these, too, but I am not sure where I can put them. Like I said, I don’t have much open space left on the walls of my kitchen/office. On the other hand, it may be time to mix that all up, anyway, and rehang things or replace things that have been up forever. Do I really need the glamour shots of Joan, Bette and Kate? Probably not.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.

Tension

Wednesday morning and another good night’s sleep down. I didn’t want to wake up this morning–rather, didn’t want to arise from the comfort of my warm soft bed and the pile of blankets that help me sleep better–but of course there’s Big Kitten Energy in the house now, and Tug wanted breakfast. So, at around a quarter to six Big Kitten Energy launched itself at me and started cuddling and purring and wanting petting as well as feeding. He’s currently galloping around downstairs and just having a marvelous time. Yesterday was his first day at home alone with both of us out at the office; so I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got home. What mischief had the bored little kitty gotten up to on his own–what had been knocked over, knocked off counters and/or tables, what had he found to turn into a kitten toy which probably shouldn’t be a kitten toy, and so on. He didn’t come galloping down the stairs either once I got home, either. But by the time the groceries were put away I heard him coming down the stairs, and then we repaired to my easy chair where we just cuddled and I started rereading Jackson Square Jazz instead of doing chores–which I will now have to do tonight when I get home…but who could resist Tug’s insistent little face that he needed a lap to sleep in?

Yes, in case you were wondering, Tug has indeed taken his place as head of the household.

As the salt intrusion continues to make its way up the river to New Orleans, the panic is getting more realistic. I stopped to make groceries on the way home yesterday, and there was plenty of bottled water. I bought another gallon to go with the case of smaller bottles I got last week–doing what was advised, merely getting water every time I shop–so the initial panic-buying of water has at least some to an end. There’s also a cold front on its way down here, supposedly arriving around Friday–but looking at the weather forecast, all it means is it will be colder at night, dipping down into the sixties while hovering in the high seventies/low eighties during the day. That’s livable, of course.

I was tired when I got home last night, so didn’t do much of anything other than cuddling with the kitty and watching Youtube documentaries about long-forgotten Byzantine emperors (it really is amazing how little history of eastern Europe we learn in school) and the new Matt Baume (probably not new) video about Some Like It Hot, which, while now widely regarded as one of the greatest screen comedies of all time, was highly controversial at the time and went through some serious battles with the censors. (If you aren’t watching Matt Baume’s Youtube channel, you really should; he does some amazingly researched videos about queer rep in film and television throughout the history of both media, and his book Hi Honey I’m Homo is essential reading material tracing queer rep in sitcoms.) Now I want to rewatch Some Like It Hot, which I’ve not seen in decades. I don’t think I’m going to run any errands on the way home today–there’s some things coming in the mail, but they can wait for tomorrow’s drive home (or perhaps even Friday, really; nothing important coming other than maybe some copies of books I’m in or have written); Claiborne heading uptown is a mess after you pass the I-10/Highway 90 spaghetti mess, as the far right lane is closed there where it meets Martin Luther King along with an off-ramp from the highway, so everyone is trying to get over to the left lane from the right ones and of course, the far left lane is also closed, so about five lanes are trying to compress into two or three right at the intersection, which makes for aggravating, patience-challenging snarls. I did find myself losing patience while I was driving uptown yesterday and I wasn’t as able to control the rising anxiety as well as I have been doing since learning that’s what’s wrong with the wiring in my brain. I think that was another reason I was so tired when I got home; the emotional rollercoaster triggered by the rise in anxiety on the drive wore me down…and there’s nothing better for peace and calm than a purring kitten sleeping in your lap.

I am so glad we got Tug.

It was also interesting rereading Jackson Square Jazz last night for the first time in years–I rarely reread my own work from start to finish; usually I just look for information inside an old Scotty that I need for the one I am currently working, and this experience of rereading (okay, I just started rereading it last night) this old book of mine–my third novel–has been revelatory. For one thing, I am a very different writer now than I was then, and wow, has Scotty changed both in voice and character over the last twenty years! Scotty has grown up quite a bit–kind of hard for that not to happen, given everything he’s been through since I first created him–and the book is actually kind of time capsule. I remember deciding not to update any of the Chanse books when it was time to put up the ebooks; it would have been a lot of work for not much return in terms of satisfaction; the books are of their time, and changes in technology and the world happen too regularly to waste time revising and updating old books. I did feel that urge a little bit as I read through the manuscript pages (I am reading the uncorrected and unedited final draft I turned in)–Scotty had just gotten his first computer at the beginning of the book, for example, and while he had a cell phone he hated it and called it his “hell phone,” which mirrored how I felt about cell phones at the time. On-line chats and chatrooms were still a thing when I wrote the book; how would one update or revise that? Have the messaging through Grindr, instead of instant messaging? It’s actually a lovely time capsule of a time long past–showing what it was like to be an unrepentant gay slut with a healthy sexual appetite who lived in or near the Quarter in the years before Katrina…which makes it all the more important that I not only make it available again, but I also have to make sure, as I go through it, that it’s consistent with the books that came later–so I am going to have to work on that long-overdue Scotty Bible, and it’s really past time that I get that done; I certainly have a stack of Scottys with post-it notes all over them that have been waiting for me to do something with them. I’ll keep rereading it when my brain is too tired to process something new, and I think I’ll slowly make my way through all of the Scottys, to make sure the consistency is there.

Maybe I should revisit my old work?

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

San Francisco

Tuesday!

I didn’t want to get up this morning–Tug the kitten also has the same superpower that Scooter had, which was lulling us both to sleep somehow; he fell asleep in my lap last night while we were watching television so I, too, fell asleep. There’s really nothing like a nice warm little kitten sleeping in your life for calming purposes. Scooter was also an anti-anxiety holistic medication for me, so it’s nice that Tug (still not sure about that name, but it may change to Tiger) works the same way with his little purring engine. He’s so cute! I’m glad we rescued him and I’m glad we got a kitten–because I’d forgotten how adorable kittens are. It’s so cute watching him practice being the Big Cat Hunter and pouncing on his toys after sneaking up on them. He also remains completely fearless, which is great. I’m glad he already feels so at home here in the Lost Apartment.

I also recognize that this is turning into a kitty stan blog, which is very understandable given that we have a new kitty.

Yesterday was a relatively relaxed one at the office. I’d forgotten that I’d been filling in for someone who was out on medical leave for the last two months, and that he was coming back to work yesterday. I was mentally prepared to spend the day working with clients and doing my other duties around the appointments, which is what I’d been doing for the last two months all four days in the office. I’d literally forgotten that Monday was my catch-up day in the office when I usually took care of all the things I started doing between appointments for the last few months because I no longer had Mondays free to catch up on everything. It’s going to take me a moment to get used to this again, but it was nice. I left the office and came home and just immediately collapsed into my chair. I’d intended to spend some more time with the Riley Sager book, but for some reason didn’t pick it up and instead spent the evening doom-scrolling through social media while Tug slept in my lap and I waited for Paul to come down. We started watching a new show on Apple, Inside Man, which had an exceptionally good cast led by David Tennant, and opens with Tennant, as the vicar, getting caught up in a very bad situation due to him not only being the vicar but having to think very quickly on his feet–a member of his flock, who has a horribly abusive and vile mother–pressed a flash drive onto him as his mother was coming for a visit and she “always” found his private stuff. When Tennant’s son’s maths teacher (see what I did there?) arrives and opens her laptop, the flash drive gets connected to her computer and the son claims it’s his, covering for his dad while not knowing what was actually on it–which was child pornography. This puts Tennant into a quandary of faith. It’s not his son’s kiddie porn, but ethically he cannot say where it came from; and the show ends with her locked in the basement and knowing that he’s going to have to kill her because he can’t let her go. It’s very interesting–there’s also a side story with a reporter the teacher encountered on the bus and two men on death row (one of them played by Stanley Tucci) who are also somehow connected to the same reporter. It’s very cleverly done, the interweaving of stories based on random encounters, much as they occur in real life.

I worked on a short story yesterday but of course it’s one I don’t have a market to send it on along to for submission, rather than either of the ones that are being specifically written and/or revised for actual calls–because of course that’s what I always do. I’m beginning to feel like I am falling behind on the publishing of short stories I’ve written, but the truth is it’s just my anxiety spurring my brain along. I’ve published two short stories this year, “The Ditch” in School of Hard Knox and “Solace in a Dying Hour” in This Fresh Hell, two stories of which I am really proud and also skate along the edge of supernatural horror. I don’t think I write actual horror, but more suspense with supernatural occurrences in them. I don’t do jump scares or anything like that, but rather mine are told with mood and setting more than anything else–and of course, voice. I’m also stuck on this story anyway–as always, in the second act–and so will move on to the stuff that, you know, actually has a market/call to send them into. I need to work on my story for the Bouchercon anthology, due by the end of the month, and I also have one for my Sisters chapter anthology that I’d like to get finished and turned in as well. (I love my Sisters chapter, by the way.)

Sigh. Being a writer can be quite a joy sometimes. It’s no wonder so many of us drink to excess.

Tomorrow I am getting a sonogram to see if I have the same heart defect my mom had. She had arterial tortuosity syndrome, which, if you follow the link to rarediseases.org, is described thus:

Arterial tortuosity syndrome (ATS) is an extremely rare genetic disorder characterized by lengthening (elongation) and twisting or distortion (tortuosity) of arteries throughout the body. Arteries are the blood vessels that carry oxygen-rich blood away from the heart.

I don’t remember which artery it was, but I think her femoral artery came out of her heart and inside the chest cavity, instead of being straight it was twisted into a candy-cane shape, which meant when it clogged, it was an extremely complicated procedure to put a stent into it; and when the stent clogged, it was too complicated to put another one in…and then she had the massive stroke and died in hospice. The key words in that paragraph from rarediseases.org are “extremely rare genetic disorder”, with an emphasis on genetic. My maternal grandfather died in his sleep in his forties, and we really don’t know why. Obviously, this is concerning for me, and the fact that my former primary care doctor’s attitude was “we’ll worry about that when we have to”–which, while making sense since nothing can be done about it, isn’t reassuring from a medical professional–and I’d frankly rather know if I have something wrong that could eventually kill me. Since bad cholesterol clogs your arteries, the fact that the cardiologist immediately put me on stronger medication than I had been using for the last fifteen years kind of told me that my primary care wasn’t paying much attention to that, either. It made sense, right? If my bad cholesterol is close to the amount that is concerning, and the medication I am taking isn’t doing more than keeping it from going into the danger zone, maybe give me something stronger after fifteen years? Malpractice doesn’t actually have to be malice; it can also be carelessness.

And yes, I am very aware of the irony of the fact that part of my job entails encouraging my clients to strongly be advocates for themselves with their health care–practice what you preach, right? But I’d been feeling dissatisfied with my primary care provider for quite some time now, and this stuff from this year was the last straw for me.

And on that cheery, uplifting note I am heading back into the spice mines. Y’all have a great Tuesday, all right?

Hold On To Now

Monday and back to the office with me today. Weekends are simply not long enough, ever, and should always be at least three days, methinks. Yesterday I witnessed the dreadful Saints performance, and it was not a good weekend for Louisiana football fans; the only glimmer of light locally was Tulane’s victory. I finished reading Shawn’s book, which was marvelous, and then picked out my first Halloween Horror read: Riley Sager’s Final Girls, and it’s long past time I’ve read this book. It’s rather embarrassing that I’ve not yet gotten to it. I also downloaded the audiobook of The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones for this weekend’s drive to the Redneck Riviera, and read another Alfred Hitchcock Presents short story, from Stories for Late at Night, “The Ash Tree” by M. R. James, which was delightfully creepy and reminded me of Daphne du Maurier’s “The Apple Tree”–and that in turn made me think about creepy trees as a trope in horror, and thought perhaps I should give the trope a whirl at some point. We watched the Scouts Honor: The Secret Files of the Boy Scouts documentary–which was just as creepy and awful and horrific as I thought it would be, as well as yet another pointed reminder of how straight people have failed to protect children since, oh like forever, and then cover it up as much as possible but then have the nerve to accuse queer people of pedophilia and grooming?

Sure, Jan.

We also watched the Jennifer Garner Apple Plus series The Last Thing He Said, which wasn’t great but wasn’t terrible, either; it just kind of evolved and wasn’t very thriller-ish or suspenseful. I also predicted one of the bigger plot twists in the first episode long before it played out in the show, but it was well done and an interesting story; but it wasn’t very thrilling or suspenseful; it never really seemed like there was any danger or stakes. It ws talked about a lot, but never part of the show’s reality? It was interesting enough to hold our interest–although I think I may have approached telling the story in a different manner than they did. It’s an interesting thought, at any rate.

It’s lovely having a kitten in the house, even if it means being more alert and having to get up more regularly because there was a crashing sound from somewhere else inside the apartment–usually followed by a galloping kitten moving at high speed away from the noise and mayhem he caused. He woke me up this morning by knocking my glasses off my nightstand table and then playfully batting them around on the floor, and once I took those away from him he went for the broom. He’s incredibly sweet, though, and I love that he’s so fearless and feels comfortable and at home enough to play. He slept on me for most of the Saints debacle yesterday, through the Boy Scout movie, and then moved back and forth between me and Paul during the Jennifer Garner show.

I also started writing the opening of a short story or a novel or something at any rate while watching the Boy Scouts documentary–part of it and the scandal was in New Orleans–and had an idea for the opening scene for something so I started writing it down; mainly about a college student away from home for the first time who’s obsessed with true crime and wants to be a true crime writer but isn’t sure how to get started chasing her dream other than majoring in Journalism at Liberty State in Liberty Center, Kansas–the town from #shedeservedit, why not reuse it? I don’t know why I started writing this when there are so many other things I should be working on. But that’s also life, you know, when you’re a writer–at least for me, there are always so many other ideas and thoughts and stories banging around in my head that it’s sometimes hard to focus on what I need to get done.

Heavy heaving sigh.

I never did make that to-do list for the week, so perhaps that should be the first thing on the list (I often do this so I can cross something off the list immediately; it’s satisfying and always seems to keep off working on getting the list completed). I also think that once I finish reading the Riley Sager I am going to reread a classic Stephen King that I’ve not revisited in a long time, The Dead Zone, which used to be one of my favorites and is still one that I think about a lot–especially during the rise of the former president, who eerily reminded me of the character of Greg Stillson, written thirty or forty years or so before the rise of the reality host/failed real estate mogul. (I’d considered rereading it in the wake of the 2016 election, but didn’t have the strength; I think now would be a good time.) I liked the opening of the Sager; which was encouraging. I hope to be able to get several books read this month…I think my reading is going to start picking up again, hallelujah. I think having a cat sleeping my lap while I read was what I was missing, and why it was hard for me to read since we lost Scooter. (I promise not to turn this into a Tug stan blog, seriously.) Today is going to be his first day left at home on his own for a while; we’ll see how he handles that.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader; I’m sure I’ll be around again later on.