Category: childhood

Adios Amigo

I’ve been toying with an idea for an essay for a while. It began as a blog post, but as I worked on it I realized it might be too long for a blog entry, were I to cover the entire scope of the issue even in abstract form. I moved it from here into a Word document yesterday, which may or may not mean something bigger in store for it than simply a blog entry. I don’t know. It will probably wind up here at some point as one of those long rambling things I do from time to time when I feel passionately about something. Consider that your warning. I’ve been thinking about masculinity a lot lately–it’s been an albatross hung around my neck since I was a child (“Boys don’t play with dolls! Boys don’t read Nancy Drew!”) and after reading so many bad takes about how “men are in crisis”–which basically boil down to an inability to adapt to cultural and societal change that is so intense that they resist such adaptation violently–I started thinking about masculinity and what it means to be a man; if it means anything, really. It’s probably too important an issue for me to take on in a personal essay, but personal essays are supposed to be revealing, and no one expects me to have an encyclopedic knowledge of everything ever written about American masculinity, and to discuss it; thinking I can’t write something for whatever reason is self-sabotage of the worst kind, and something I am guilty of, over and over, throughout my life and career.

And yes, self-sabotage is 100% a by-product of my anxiety.

I also have Justin Baldoni’s book about masculinity, Man Enough, which is also an exploration of masculinity. Baldoni played the incredibly hot and sexy father of Jane the Virgin’s baby, and so as a gorgeous male actor/sex symbol, he has some gravitas to speak on the subject. I’m looking forward to cycling around to his book, once I finish my reread of a Charlemagne biography I really enjoy. I also spent some more time with Shawn’s All the Sinners Bleed, which I am liking and savoring as I go–and can’t wait to spend some more time with it today. When I finish, Lou Berney’s Dark Ride has preempted everyone and been moved to the top of the TBR pile. It’s so lovely having so many great options of what to read next. I also think once October rolls around I am going to read only horror that month, in honor of the season–so I need to finish Shawn and Lou’s books before the month turns.

It also occurs to me that many of my books–unbeknownst to me–have explored the topic of masculinity in great detail already.

I slept really well last night, and only got up once. Ironically once I did wake up, I thought wow you really slept late and then saw it was quarter past seven on my alarm. I guess how it feels matters more than how long it actually was, and what truly matters is that I woke up feeling rested and relaxed and ready for my coffee this morning. I am debating right now whether I want to take the books to the library sale and the beads to the donor bins as well s make a slight grocery run–but am leaning towards not making the trip outside the house. I don’t really need anything from the store until Monday at the earliest, and the boxes of books and beads are out of the way and not bothering anyone, let alone my need for order and open space in the living room. I also want to work on some writing today before the games, so maybe leaving the house today isn’t in the cards–or am I just being lazy? It’s definitely possible that laziness and procrastination and my tendency to self-sabotage is what is really going on here. It’s possible. I do tend to put things off I consider unpleasant (and by unpleasant, I mean have to put some effort into it)…

LSU plays Arkansas tonight in Death Valley, and tonight we’ll find out two things: basically, how good either time is. It’s hard to say this early in the season how much quality your wins and losses have; the Florida State-Clemson game today will impact how good the LSU loss to the Seminoles was, and of course we aren’t sure how good Mississippi State is, so we don’t know if that was a quality win yet or not. Arkansas lost to BYU last weekend, so there’s also no telling how good they may or may not be, either. The whole conference seems to be down this year, but a tight win for Georgia can be shaken off as meaningless this early, and Alabama may bounce back; a Nick Saban coached Alabama team has never lost more than three games in a season since 2010 and only twice overall; sure, they looked unimpressive against USF and lost badly to Texas in Tuscaloosa, but does that mean Alabama isn’t going to rebound and is destined for a bad season? No, I don’t think so. Love them or hate them, Alabama consistently wins, and an early season loss means nothing to their program. Sure, LSU could run the table, win the West and potentially even the conference title game and make it to the play-offs; but they have to run the table on a schedule filled with landmines, including both Alabama and a rebuilding Auburn as well as the always hated Florida Gators. There are some great games today, which is why I want to spend some time reading Shawn’s book this morning before the games start, and I plan on rereading and revising Jackson Square Jazz during the games today.

And of course, there’s always filing and organizing to be done. I have seriously messed up my filing system so thoroughly and completely that it’s going to require a major overhaul to begin with, but I also have to think about putting together a new and workable system that will be easier to maintain than this haphazard way I’ve been doing things–and of course the computer files are an utter disaster as well. Heavy sigh.

I’ve been doing a lot more research (or rather, falling into research black holes on the web) about New Orleans during the decade of the 1910’s. I am definitely going to write a Sherlock pastiche for the Bouchercon anthology–which of course means I will most likely be rejected. Perhaps a Sherlockian-type character, and if they turn it down I can simply turn him into Sherlock and toss the story into my short story collection? I need to finish the revisions of “Whim of the Wind” and finish a draft of “Parlor Tricks,” which will probably go into that collection as well. What particularly interests me now is “Manila Village,” a settlement of Filipinos on Barataria Bay, settled by native Filipinos who were forced to serve in the Spanish navy and escaped to Louisiana. There’s still a strong Filipino-American community here (which I actually didn’t know before falling into this wormhole of research), and I do feel that Holmes, living in New Orleans in that decade, would probably embrace them and their culture. (I also need to research the Isleños; descendants of the Canary Islanders who settled here.) New Orleans was also dramatically different geographically back then; the New Basin Canal was still there, for one thing, and I am not entirely sure when the Carondelet Canal (also called the Old Basin Canal) was filled in, but it came right up next to Congo Square; the streets in the Quarter were either dirt or cobblestone, and the lower part of the neighborhood had been almost entirely taken over by Italian immigrants.

I’ve also got strong starts of first chapters for another Jem book (sequel to Death Drop) and another Valerie (sequel to A Streetcar Named Murder); so there’s plenty of writing to be done this weekend as well. I’m not feeling overwhelmed by any or all of this writing that must be worked on and done; this morning I literally feel like all I need to do is roll up my sleeves and dive into the word documents head first, which is a great way to feel.

And on that note, it’s spice mine time this morning. Have a great Saturday and I’ll probably check in with you again later.

I Don’t Want to Cry

But my God, fasting is the worst. The doctor visit went extremely well, and I am actually kind of excited about going forward with a primary care physician who, um, cares. Everything went well, we are getting ready to move ahead with my next surgery, we’re coming up with a plan to deal with the anxiety (bye bye, Xanax; but you didn’t really work for that anyway, only the symptoms), and I got my flu shot. I think I’ll probably swing by CVS to get a COVID booster and the RVS shot tomorrow. I have to go drop books off at the library sale anyway, I want to wash the car, and now that the excessive heat is over, maybe now I can properly air my tires and get the pressure in them to balance again. But I weighed only 200 pounds per their scale (with my wallet, belt, shoes and keys on me), which must be a result of the fasting? I can’t imagine how i dropped five pounds since yesterday.

I was also thinking that this soft food diet/tooth thing is really the perfect time for me to reset my eating habits and go forward with a more healthy eating plan. I need more vegetables in my life, and fresh foods. I don’t need the junk anymore except as a treat–I’ve rather broken the habit while not being able to snack these last couple of weeks, and let me tell you, last night I wanted a snack of something crunchy and salty so badly there’s no telling what I would have done to be able to have something like that. I’ve also come to realize that I actually like ramen. I generally have tried avoiding the foods that I consider “poverty indicators”–the stuff I could afford in college or during my leaner financial days–and those are things like ramen, box Mac’n’ Cheese, and tuna. But only being able to eat soft food and reverting to ramen reminded me that I do, in fact, actually like it–I always love any kind of noodles, really–and what is easier to take for lunch than that? I’ve been taking leftovers, and usually only cooking a big meal on the weekends to have something to take for lunch…,but ramen is easier, tasty, and filling (which is why it’s such a great poverty food). And you can always dress it up; one of my roommates in college had a Japanese mom and what she could do with a package of ramen, spices, and some vegetables was something I’ve tried duplicating any number of times without success. And once my arm is healed, I need to get back into working out again. Now that the weather is getting cooler I am probably going to start taking walks in the mornings on the weekends; the city is getting ready for Halloween and I have so many friends who are into Halloween that I love sharing pictures showing how overboard New Orleans goes for it.

I’ve never really done any Halloween writing about New Orleans, now that I think about it. Jackson Square Jazz was supposed to be the Halloween book, but I wound up setting it earlier in the month and only mentioned Halloween costumes in the epilogue. A Streetcar Named Murder was also set in October just before Halloween–hence the masked ball Valerie and Lorna attend–but I’ve never done Halloween itself. My story “The Snow Globe” actually began life as a Halloween story; I wrote it for a Halloween anthology and it wasn’t accepted. The original opening line was Satan had a great six-pack, and was inspired by me standing on the balcony at the Pub/Parade on Halloween and looking across the street just as someone come out of Oz dressed as sexy Satan–red body paint, red bikini, face done up, and red glitter everywhere–and I actually had that thought: “Satan has a great six-pack” and stored it away as an opening line. When I was looking through the files for a Christmas holiday story for the anthology benefiting my chapter of Sisters in Crime, I realized Santa is an anagram for Satan (which is interesting in and of itself) and I can switch the story from Halloween to Christmas, which makes more sense anyway for its outcome. Ironically, the story actually worked better as a Christmas story!

I definitely need to do a Scotty Halloween book. Halloween Season Hijinks? That actually could work….hmmm.

And on that note I am going to make myself some lunch (hello, Lipton’s double noodle soup and Ritz crackers!) and dive into the spice mines to get my work at home duties completed for the day. May the rest of your Friday be as awesome as you are, Constant Reader! I may be back later–one never knows–but if not, definitely on the morrow.

Sweet Music Man

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Yay, I think. I have to get up early and go see my new primary care physician tomorrow morning–I fired the last one for a multitude of reasons I will probably go deeper into in a future post–but I also have to fast for that because I am having blood work done, which means no coffee, no nothing other than maybe water tomorrow morning. I think as long as I sleep well, I’ll not leave a body count behind in my wake on the way to and from the appointment. I am also going to be making a go-cup of coffee that I will be taking with me and you can best bet I’ll be slugging it down once the blood has been drawn.

I slept well last night, which was lovely because I was definitely running down my batteries by the time I got home last night. By the time I’d done a load of laundry, emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it, I was more than ready to collapse into my easy chair. I did some minor writing last night–a few hundred words or so, nothing much other than to be able to say “I wrote some fiction last night”–but that’s okay. I’m getting back into the saddle again gradually, and soon I’ll be clocking three thousand word days again. We watched this week’s The Morning Show last night, and I have to say, it’s an exceptionally well done show. The ensemble itself is incredibly star-powered, beginning with Jennifer Aniston and Reese Witherspoon as the two primary leads, and the excellent job of the casting director manages to work its way down from the stars all the way down to the bit players–Shari Belafonte Harper is actually a member of the cast, but has very few lines and is rarely on camera, but it’s always nice to see her when she pops up on screen, to be honest. It’s very smart and very well-written, as are most shows on Apple Plus–let’s not forget we wouldn’t have Ted Lasso without Apple Plus.

Ironically, I was also watching shorter and longer videos on Youtube before Paul got home and went down a “Calvin and Hobbes” wormhole of videos about the greatest comic strip of all time. I always loved Calvin and Hobbes, and have all the collections, including the massive coffee-table sized one that contains every strip ever published. I was very sad when Bill Watterson ended the strip on a high note, and I’ve always loved his artistic integrity about not selling out to film or television or merchandising (I would have definitely bought a Hobbes plushy back in the day), as well as his decision to end the strip and take it out on top. (I was also a big fan of “Doonesbury”, “Bloom County”, and of course “The Far Side”.)

Anyway, watching a few documentaries on Youtube about “Calvin and Hobbes” mentioned how much emotional depth the strip had; how it could not only make you laugh but make you think as well as tear up sometimes…and I realized that Ted Lasso, like Schitt’s Creek, was also like that. Calvin and Hobbes were both so fully realized as characters in the strip–as well as his parents, and the other occasional characters that showed up, too–that you cared about them, just as you do the characters on Ted Lasso and Schitt’s Creek, which is why character is so important when it comes to story-telling. People will only care if the characters seem like actual real people to them, and once they care…well, you’ve got them, don’t you?

Maybe I should revisit my massive Calvin and Hobbes collection, too.

There are some good games this weekend in college football, but my primary concern is, as always, the LSU game; they’re hosting Arkansas in Death Valley and we’ll get yet another chance to see how good the Tigers are–but we also don’t know how good either Mississippi State (trounced last weekend) or Arkansas yet are this year; the test will always be how the Tigers do against Auburn, Alabama, and Florida–and there’s also no telling how good Mississippi is this year, either–they play Alabama this weekend, so we’ll get an idea of how the Tide is rebounding and how good the Rebels are. Everyone is writing Alabama off, and maybe it’s simply been burned into my brain throughout the course of a long lifetime of being a college football fan,…but you can never take the Tide for granted or ever completely count them out. They have that “brand” recognition that somehow manages to get them the win in close games; the luck always seems to magically appear every time they need it, only deserting them in the one game they may lose per year. They’re in the same position that LSU is in; already one loss early and therefore cannot lose again if they want to win the conference and the national title. College football is certainly more interesting this year than it has been since 2019, at any rate.

I want to be able to drop books at the library sale this weekend, wash the car and clean out the inside, and hopefully go to the SPCA and get a new cat. I also need to clean the house more–at least try to keep up with it the way I did when Paul was out of town earlier this summer–and get some writing done. I also need to do some reading. I want to finish Shawn’s book because I also just got my copy of the new Lou Berney, Dark Ride, which I am really looking forward to; I’ve been a big Lou Berney fan since we were on a panel together all those years ago at Bouchercon in Raleigh, and his work never disappoints. (That panel in Raleigh was definitely one of the highlights of my paneling career as a crime writer; Katrina Niidas Holm was the moderator; the other panelists were Lou, Lori Roy, and Liz Milliron. Nice, right?)

So, tonight when I get home from work I am going to do some more laundry, unload the dishwasher and clean the kitchen, and then I am going to either write or curl up with Shawn’s book.

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

Hell is for Children

Years ago, there were things you’d never write about in books for teens and pre-teens. Now, though, many more topics are fair game. BUT are there some things you’d never write about? Because of your own feelings, or because you don’t think your audience is ready for it?

On the panel I said I’d never write about cannibalism, but of course ever since then I can’t stop thinking about cannibalism–and that’s entirely on me. I can’t even imagine writing about that.

I’m not going to say there’s anything I won’t write about because I don’t want to limit myself. If I can think of some way to write about something that isn’t pandering or exploitative or offensive, I will. I was recently reading some of my short stories because I am pulling together another collection and one of the stories–I was like, oh yeah, you can’t publish this without a major revision.

I don’t think I would ever write from the perspective of a person of color or a trans-identified individual because while I know I have a very vivid imagination and am capable of empathy, I am also a sixty-two year white cisgender male. I think I could probably do it, with help from a sensitivity reader and my editor, sure; but we need more trans writers and writers of color, not another old white man writing from their perspective. I will include those characters in my work, but not as point of view characters, because we need to make room for those with the lived experience to write those stories. I may not live long enough to see it, but hopefully in about thirty years we’ll have reached the point where exclusion of non-white non-straight non-cisgender writers will no longer be an issue, and what a wonderful world tht will be.

No offense, but none of you is in your target demographic any longer. What challenges does that present and how do you overcome them? How do you ensure that the language your characters speak is reflective of how teens and pre-teens speak today?

How very dare you! I am still a sprightly young man of…um, sixty-two. Point taken. I try to avoid slang and current language because it becomes dated very quickly; akin to how, when I was a child, I saw books and movies and television shows that tried to appeal to the youth market by trying to use current slang and it never turned out well. I mean, once The Brady Bunch kids are saying “groovy” excitedly every other sentence…it kind of killed the word and I never heard it in real life ever again. The time between when a book is written and when it’s released is long enough for current kids’ language to change. My sister’s grandkids are always saying things I don’t understand…but the next year they are speaking a different language, so I don’t try. It’s hard enough keeping up with technology, which also gets dated very rapidly.

What percentage of your readers do you think are adults? Do you consider these crossover readers when writing?

I honestly don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if mine were primarily adults. I don’t set out to write books for kids, really; I write novels where the characters are teenagers. They get marketed as young adult books, which is something I have no control over. I’d like to think both adults and younger readers can enjoy my books that are so classified. If I think about the audience I am writing for when I am writing, it makes the writing more stressful and harder. I trust my editor to make sure I don’t write anything offensive or way off-base or too adult for a young adult audience–which is where my books would be shelved in the library. No one’s complained about mine yet.

Greg, your book tackles multiple contemporary societal problems. How do you balance writing about such tough topics with ensuring that your work is compelling and hits the right mystery/suspense notes?

The objective, for me, when writing about societal problems and issues is to put a human face on them, by making it personal. Societal problems are easily dismissed or ignored when they are simply abstract principles. If my characters are fully rounded, are relatable and seem real to the reader, then the reader will see, through the characters, what it is like to experience and go through these issues; and to develop a sense of empathy, so we aren’t so quick to judge and blame and not try to understand. #shedeservedit was very important to me, because with the Steubenville/St. Marysville rape cases, it made me look back over the course of my own life and remember situations I witnessed or heard about in a completely different light. For example, one of the cheerleaders at a nearby town had an experience similar to what the girls in Steubenville and St. Marysville went through…but in the 1970s, the blame solely went on the girl. When I heard the story she was a willing participant–the story was told to me in hushed whispers by another girl–and all the elements of the modern stories were there: pretty and popular cheerleader; a party with alcohol and football players; the town football team was successful and beloved in the town; and a bitter ex-boyfriend. As the story was told to me, she got drunk and “pulled a train” (a disgusting phrase, really) with five of the football players, including her ex. I was shocked at the time– to think she’d done this willingly, at a party where it was bound to get around (as it obviously did). But now, looking back–how willing was she, really? But that was how things were back then. I’d like to think things are changing, that we are valuing young girls and women as human beings more now…but are we?

Technology changes very rapidly, and teens—and younger children—are often at the forefront of these changes. How do you handle that in your writing?

Like slang, I try to use as little of it as possible. I do realize everyone is addicted to their phones now, and spend most of their lives texting and facetiming and everything else, but while I will use some basic technology–texting, emails, DM’s–I try not to get into the entire app/social media weeds too much because it may change before the book is published and I don’t want to publish a book that’s already dated. I think that if the reader really cares about your characters and the story…they won’t care so much about the slang and tech.

How has your writing evolved since you first got published? If a reader is new to your work, which book would you recommend starting with?

I’d like to think I am a better writer than I was back then. I know I’m a different writer than I was when I started; more life experience, with the concomitant increased empathy, understanding, and sympathy that comes with it. I try to push myself with every new work; it’s the challenge of doing something new and different I really enjoy.

If we’re talking my y/a, I’d started with the first, Sleeping Angel, and go from there. If we’re talking my career in general, I’d say Bourbon Street Blues or Murder in the Rue Dauphine. It’s always good to start at the beginning. If the length of both series is daunting, try either A Streetcar Named Murder or Death Drop (drops October 31!) and then move into the stand alones.

There are a small number of popular writers who spark controversy in their “real” lives. How do you reconcile a great writer with a bad person? Do you read that writer’s work?

Ah, the old “artist vs their work” question. There are writers with enormous talent whose books I’ve loved that social media has exposed as incredibly horrific people with “values” (I have a hard time using that word in reference to such abhorrent beliefs) and I have stopped reading them. I will never have time to read all the books I want to read, and if I’m able to prune my stack by removing racists and homophobes and misogynists and transphobes? Thank you for making my choices easier. I’ve always believed one should be widely read–I used to read nonfiction books about politics and social issues by conservatives because I thought it was important to listen to and evaluate their positions. After we were lied to as a government and a nation to drive popular support for a war we didn’t need to be fighting in order to drive more profits for military suppliers and oil corporations, I no longer needed those perspectives. I don’t need to read excuses and rationalizations for bigotry and prejudice and other indefensible positions for any human being to hold.

The vast majority of my one-star reviews on-line are from conservatives deeply offended by the “politics” of my books. Yes, because a book about gay men by a gay male author is where you should go to get your bigoted world-view validated. If you want that, read Andrew Sullivan. His nonfiction diatribes about social and political issues is some of the best fantasy being published currently.

Who are some of your biggest writing influences?

God, there are so many. I think my y/a is very strongly influenced by Lois Duncan, Christopher Pike, R. L. Stine, Caroline Cooney, and a long forgotten y/a crime writer named Jay Bennett. He won two Edgars for Juvenile, and was nominated a third time. His work is extraordinary; I’ve not read many other writers with that same extremely tight, terse, and taut style. Jay’s books put teenagers in terrible situations where they had to decide what is right and wrong and what to do. They read very quickly, too. I describe him as the y/a James Cain.

As for adults, everyone I read is an influence; even the books or writing styles I don’t care for, because they make me think how would I have done that differently? But definitely John D. Macdonald, James M. Cain, Charlotte Armstrong, Daphne du Maurier, Phyllis A. Whitney, and the old Alfred Hitchcock Presents anthologies, which I am revisiting. The old Three Investigators and Encyclopedia Brown series for kids, too.

Latest trends in Middle Grade and YA fiction?

Diversity, which is fantastic, and hot social issues!

The Anthony nominees panel for Best Children’s/ Young Adult panel at Bouchercon, with moderator Alan Orloff, Fleur Bradley, your humble author, and Lee Matthew Goldberg.

A Song in the Night

Sunday morning after a satisfactorily relaxing Saturday, in which I watched a lot of college football while doing chores and picking things up and so forth. For those of you keeping track of the soft food diet, last night I tried mashed potatoes as a meal and it was rather filling, yet not satisfying. I was fantasizing yesterday about corn dogs and fish tacos and cheeseburgers and almost every kind of solid food imaginable at some point during the day, only to sigh and get another yogurt or protein shake in a box.

LSU played very well yesterday, winning 41-14 over Mississippi State in Starkville, which meant listening to those fucking cowbells all through the game, but I don’t know what that win means, if anything. Yes, it means LSU is now tied for first place in the West, but what does it mean for how good they are? LSU has been very dominant in its last two games, but Grambling State was very much outmatched and no one really knows how good or bad Mississippi State is, either. They always manage to play better than expected when they play LSU, and there have been some insanely close games as well as the occasional MSU upset win–and by quite a lot. I’m cautiously optimistic about the rest of the season for LSU, but my expectations aren’t high; I’ll be glad for whatever we get that is good this season. It’s nice to beat the Bulldogs in Starkville decisively. Was Florida State just a really good team and LSU played sloppy so had no chance? It’s also possible. Georgia didn’t look invincible yesterday against South Carolina, and neither did Alabama at South Florida. The Florida blowout of Tennessee annihilated any hopes they may have had of winning the East this year–I can’t see how they’ll beat Georgia, and Alabama, which is the only way it’s possible for them now. Another Tennessee loss will be fatal to their hopes for a big season–and they also have to play at Alabama….who also is looking a little shaky this year. I think the SEC is wide open this year, and Georgia is still the favorite, but maybe not as resoundingly as I had thought. Interesting.

So, as I said, the rest of the day was anti-climactic. I continued on my soft food diet, while fantasizing about solid food, and my mouth waters at the thought of what I’ll be able to eat once my mouth has healed. This may also be the last time I’m ever on a liquid/soft food diet, and certainly not for the length of time this is taking for me. That helps me get through the day, believe me–and those are the straws I am grasping at this point. It’s not really been that bad, but I think a diet that is so heavy in protein and fat can’t be that good for me so I am going to force myself to eat more of the baby food, which is dreadful. There’s a weird chemical aftertaste to it that I can’t quite figure out, but it’s nasty. At least the servings are small. I did eat mashed potatoes for dinner last night, which was just weird. Today I think I am going to make chicken noodle soup for lunch; I think I can handle the noodles somewhat, and that will be a good benchmark to see what I can and can’t have in terms of more solid food. I mean, maybe mac-and-cheese could happen at some point, you never know. I do have some things to do that I’ve been (as usual) putting off until the last minute, so there’s no other option than to do them today. It’s fine; there’s no Saints game to distract me or sideline me (they play tomorrow night) and I am conflicted about them; they are my team, but this week I found out our new quarterback is a COVID-denier and anti-vaxxer–at least as far as the COVID vaccine is concerned. I had started following him on Twitter (I refuse to call it X, fuck off, Musk), and then I saw him retweeting something questioning the WHO and the vaccines, etc. and thought, yes, because you got your degree in epidemiology and infectious diseases at Fresno State? I unfollowed and blocked him. This is tough for me, really. I never really felt the same about Drew Brees after he partnered with the homophobic American Family Association to promote “bring your Bible to school day”–which sounds sweet and innocuous….unless you aren’t a Christian. The fact that he and his team failed to do any vetting on AFA before agreeing to work with them was incredibly troubling; his reaction (“I’m not a bully! I support everyone! How dare you criticize me!”) made it worse. There was no humility there, just anger at being doubted or questioned, which belied the “humble act” he’d been playing since signing with the Saints. To me, that failing lessened him in my eyes because I’d admired and liked him as a good person for so long. No doubt, he did a lot for New Orleans and he still has charities and programs here his foundation runs–but the Brees family moved back to Texas shortly after he retired as well.

So much for his lifelong commitment to New Orleans. That also stung a bit. So, yes, while the bloom was off that rose even before he retired, I suppose I could have eventually gotten around to getting past it and excusing the AFA connection–if not for them leaving New Orleans. This city literally gave them everything they have…and once the city had finished giving them everything, they left when there was nothing left to squeeze out of the orange.

I’m petty that way. I love New Orleans, and don’t even think about disrespecting the city unless you live here. Only residents of the city have the right to complain–the rest of you don’t have to come here, and please, feel free to keep your sorry asses at home if you aren’t going to love and appreciate New Orleans for all that she is.

I was also realizing, as I watched the games yesterday (won’t lie, I always pull for upsets except for LSU early in the season; my allegiances and loyalties shift as it progresses as LSU works through its schedule and who LSU needs to win and lose changes every weekend), that I should be taking advantage of this contract-free state in which I find myself to work on other things and maybe get them ready for either submission or publication? I’d like to get my short story collection finished by the end of the year–I think some of my stories that are published might not be available for it, like “The Ditch” and “The Snow Globe,” and if I finish revising “Whim of the Wind” and the anthology I am working on it for takes it, that will also take it out of consideration for the collection. I know “Death and the Handmaidens” will never be picked up for publication outside of one of my own collections, and that’s fine with me. It’s a bit flawed and needs cleaning up, of course, but it’s a good story with a strong foundation that just needs tweaking. I finally have let go of my ridiculous notion that “Whim of the Wind” was perfect as written and only had one small flaw that needed fixing; I am still proud of it as the first story I wrote that a college professor and a writing class thought was good and publishable of mine, so it will always be that landmark story in my writing career, but revising and rewriting and changing it isn’t some incredibly unpardonable sin for me, you know. I also want to revise and finish “The Blues Before Dawn,” “Parlor Tricks,” and “Temple of the Soothsayer.” That should be my goal for this week–as well as starting the revision/re-edit of Jackson Square Jazz–and emptying my email inbox.

And there are other things, too. So much, as always, that one Gregalicious always seems to have on his plate. I also started writing up interview posts, based on panel questions from Bouchercon in San Diego, which is always fun.

And on that note, I am getting another cup of coffee before heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may check in with you again later, if not tomorrow.

Judy in Disguise

Judy Bolton was never quite as popular as Nancy Drew, but she has some very loyal and very partisan fans. Unlike Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys (and perhaps some other Stratemeyer Syndicate series), there was only one writer for the entire length of the series, Margaret Sutton, and she wrote about her native Pennsylvania–the state is never mentioned in the series, but it’s close enough to New York for a short train ride to take you into the city, and it was pretty clear she had set the series in a fictional town in her native state. The series was also unique amongst kids’ series in that Judy aged–she was fifteen or sixteen in the first book, The Vanishing Shadow, eventually graduated from high school, and got married. The grandmother she is staying with at the farm in Dry Brook Hollow in that first book eventually passes away and leaves the farm to Judy, who moves into the old farmhouse with her husband and former high school boyfriend, Peter Dobbs.

I discovered Judy Bolton at Bargaintown USA, which eventually became Toys R Us. Their book wall, which was the back wall of the store, had every kids’ series in print at the time. I just stared at the wall in wonder, wondering how I would ever choose just one book out of the vast array of choices. I liked the title The Vanishing Shadow, and my parents–eager to get me to read about boys instead of girls–didn’t notice it was a “girls” book because the spine was green–Nancy Drew was a very bright yellow, and they’d trained themselves to watch out for those telltale yellow spines in time to negate the purchase. Like most kids’ series, the Judy Bolton books had never been revised or updated; they weren’t Stratemeyer Syndicate books and had a single author, for one (Sutton always felt Grosset & Dunlap “favored” Nancy Drew in marketing over Judy Bolton; and that her series would have been just as successful with the same marketing Nancy got), and so this initial book, originally published in 1932 (!!!) seemed a bit old-fashioned. I was also a bit surprised because Judy was kind of unpleasant and unlikable. She was especially mean and vicious to her younger brother Horace–who was timid, shy, and weak; dismissed as a coward by everyone including his sister–and she was incredibly bored, staying at her grandmother’s–which I could also related to as I often was bored when I spending the summer at my grandmother’s. Judy and her family actually lived nearby in the small city of Roulsville, which sat in the shadow of an enormous dam and reservoir. Judy overhears some suspicious characters talking about a weakness in the dam–and so she entertains herself trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s a very exciting climax where the dam itself does rupture, and Horace rides a horse into town to warn everyone to flee for safety, becoming in the process the hero of the Roulsville Flood. This surprising act of heroism for the formerly “cowardly” Horace has a strong effect on him, and he becomes a completely different person from then on–strong, confident, courageous. Judy also solves her mystery, involving shoddy construction of the dam and corruption, and all’s well that ends well–except the Boltons are now homeless.

My junior high school had a lot of the kids’ series in its library, and I checked out and read as many as I could–not just Judy Bolton, but other series like Biff Brewster and Ken Holt, that I also enjoyed (more on them later)–and in the second book of the series, The Haunted Attic, the Boltons move into an old but beautiful, reputedly haunted mansion in the nearby, much bigger than Roulsville city of Farringdon. Judy’s transition from her old high school to the new one in Farringdon brought its own set of challenges; her adventures in the first book also made Judy grow up some and become a little less self-centered and more concerned about helping other people, with a strong sense of right and wrong. The Judy Bolton series was kind of amazing and vastly different from the others in that Judy not only grew and evolved, but so did her friends. The books also tackled social issues, like class and snobbery and mean girls, while Judy also solved mysteries. She became friends with a group of kids, with both wealthy Arthur Farringdon-Pett and Peter Dobbs interested in her; Arthur’s sister Lois became Judy’s friend, but Lois’ other best friend Lorraine Lee was a bitch who was extremely jealous of Judy–but rather than dragging her for the filth she is, Judy feels more sorry for her than anything else, and is always kind to her.

One of the other things I really liked about this series–besides Judy aging and growing and changing from a teenager to an adult married woman over its run–was often Judy’s mysteries involved reuniting long lost children with their families. The Haunted Attic put her squarely in the sights of a criminal gang, who had a sad teenaged daughter Judy took pity on and befriended…eventually discovering she was actually Peter Dobbs’ sister, who everyone thought had died at birth. Judy and Peter eventually married, and they wound up living in her grandmother’s house in Dry Brook Hollow, which she inherited when her grandmother dies (off camera). Another thing I liked about the series was its careful attention to continuity–many of Judy’s later adventures were tied to the Roulsville Flood, or have long-running characters like Holly Potter who eventually have a mystery that needs clearing up by Judy; she and Peter also took in a little girl named Roberta who lived with them for several volumes before Judy finds out the truth about Roberta’s past and reunites her with her parents (The Clue of the Stone Lantern). Judy even deals with racism against Muslim-Americans in The Search for the Glowing Hand––which was pretty fucking far ahead of its time for the 1960s, don’t you think?

As you can see, advertising played up the fact that Sutton based her stories on real places and real events.

The last Bolton case written by Sutton herself was The Secret of the Sand Castle, which, of all things, takes Judy to FIRE ISLAND to solve a mystery. I know, right? When I finally got a copy of it (in very good condition, and far cheaper than I would have ever guessed it would be) I wasn’t surprised to read that Judy encountered no partying gay men, never wandered into the Pines at night by mistake, and so on. It was also set in the off-season, so there was no one else–or not many people, at any rate–out there on the barrier island with her.

I also liked that Peter, Judy’s husband, became an FBI agent after they were married, and sometimes Judy inadvertently got involved in one of his cases. Her cat Blackberry, originally gifted to her as a kitten in volume one, is “loaned” to Congress to catch mice in the basements of the Capital when she and Peter are living in Washington briefly because of his work–The Whispered Watchword involves a conspiracy against the US by a foreign enemy–before they return back to Dry Brook Hollow. Peter is also often away (gosh, sounds like Frank and Colin, doesn’t he?) so Judy is usually on her own when a mystery comes across her path. I also liked that Judy didn’t just become a wife when she married; she continued having adventures, even if she is a bit more deferential to Peter than I would have liked, but marriage neither changes her nor makes her settle down into domesticity, the way an actual baby would have; that was my biggest fear reading the series…that Sutton would eventually make her a mother. But that wouldn’t have flown with the audience or the publisher, I suppose (SEX! OMG JUDY AND PETER HAVE SEX!), so that’s why Roberta came along–to give Judy that “normal” look of having a child to look after now that she’s a wife.

Fans completed some of Sutton’s unfinished manuscripts after she died; while I am sure they are marvelous stories, maybe someday I’ll have an interest in reading either of them. But it’s hard for me to read someone else’s take on a long-running series; it just feels wrong to me, somehow and I know it’s irrational. I did like Ace Atkins’ take on Spenser, and I am going to read Alison Gaylin’s take on Parker’s Sunny Randall. (I also used to not like watching movies that were subtitled, either, so…change is possible.)

It would be very cool if someone could update this series, but I’m not sure if it can be done. The first book came out almost a hundred years ago (!), and times have changed dramatically since then. I always thought if I wrote a girl detective, she’d be a cross between Judy Bolton and Trixie Belden.

Two Dollars in the Jukebox

This marvelous interview with the amazing Margot Douaihy dropped while I was in the midst of Bouchercon or preparing for it, so I always intended to share it around on social media (what a thrill to be name-checked by such an amazing new star in the world of crime fiction). Her debut crime novel Scorched Grace was so phenomenal that I still think about it from time to time; her New Orleans was so exquisitely and artistically rendered that it gave me pause–and also made me wonder if I’ve been coasting and not working as hard as I should. (I always think that when I read a work that blows me away–I should try harder.)

Yesterday was spent in my chair watching college football and making notes in my journal on projects that are upcoming or are currently in progress. Despite all the sleep (I slept for eleven hours Friday night, and again last night) I still feel a bit out of it and drained and tired; but I am going to take a shower in a little bit and I am sure that will perk me right up. I did read some more of Shawn Cosby’s newest book but those opening few chapters hit me right in the soul and it’s going to take me a minute to process it. I also posted like three or four entries yesterday, too–I finished turning John Copenhaver’s questions for the Outwrite DC panel into a Greg interview (I plan on doing the same with the questions from the Bouchercon panels because I can, mwa-ha-ha!), also finished my entry announcing Death Drop, and another one about how The Children’s Bible was one of my first sources for images of hot muscular men (thanks again, Golden Press, for those sexy illustrations! I didn’t even mention Samson), so I am making progress on getting these drafted blogs finished and posted.

I feel a little pain in my mouth this morning, so I rinsed with salt water and took my pain pills. Pain is draining and exhausting, even if you take something for it, so that’s why I think I was so behind the eight ball with everything yesterday–it’s certainly why I am sleeping so much and so deeply, for which I am eternally grateful. There’s no more bleeding, which is great, and I am trying out hot coffee this morning (caffeine deficiency may have played a huge part in the tired thing yesterday). All I ate yesterday was protein shakes and ice cream (Haagen-Dasz strawberry; today is vanilla bean) which was weird and not very filling; I am going to have to go buy yogurt and more ice cream tomorrow, methinks, and explore some other soft food options, like oatmeal. I am going to have oatmeal for breakfast this morning–I actually like oatmeal and am not sure why I stopped having it in the mornings–and then see if I can figure out some other things. I bought some soups, so maybe I can soften crackers in the soup too. I remember moving back onto solid foods was an issue the first time around, so I have to keep that in mind as I slowly start reintroducing solids back. I know I will miss this unashamed and unabashed deep dive back into ice cream. My face also never swelled up, which is another indication of how good my dental surgeon was. Well done and bravo, sir!

The highlight of the day yesterday for me was watching Coco Gauff win the US Open. How absolutely delightful, and how delightful to have a young American star again to root for. I love tennis, but there really hasn’t been anyone on the women’s side with a larger than life personality like Serena Williams, or just flat out charismatic and likable (like Kim Clijsters) to watch and root for in a very long time. I think the guard is also gradually changing on the men’s side, with the Federer/Nadal/Djokovic triume slowly retiring as they get older, and it’s fun to see rising young stars like Carlos Alcazar play, too.

As for football, well…the Alabama-Texas game was exciting to watch, if strange; I’ve not seen Alabama play that sloppy or poorly very often in the seventeen years or so since Nick Saban came to Tuscaloosa. I also can’t remember the last time Alabama lost so early in the year–which means a second loss ends any play-off hopes they may have unless they go on to win the SEC. To see Alabama lose in Tuscaloosa by ten points to a non-SEC team early in the season? Unthinkable. The conference is not off to a great start this year; Miami roasted Jimbo and A&M yesterday; LSU’s horrific loss last weekend to Florida State; Mississippi got super-lucky to beat Tulane yesterday; and the rest of the conference isn’t exactly off to a great start either–even Georgia hasn’t looked invincible in their two wins, despite the margin of victory. The SEC is due for an off-year anyway; we’ve literally won four national championships in a row (2019 LSU, 2020 Alabama, 2021-22 Georgia) with three different teams, which is something no other conference can say this century, and also doesn’t include Florida, who won two in the aughts (as did LSU: LSU was the first team to win two titles since championship games were implemented). The only teams not from the south to win national titles this century are Oklahoma and Ohio State, and Oklahoma might as well be a Southern state as it’s not really in the Midwest either. In fact, the only two Big Twelve team to win national titles this century–Oklahoma and Texas–are joining the SEC next year. I’m still not sure how I feel about the realignments and conferences being killed off, but…the sport has changed dramatically since I was a child and ABC held the exclusive right to air games. LSU blew out Grambling State last night 72-10, and looked much better than they had the week before in that embarrassing loss to Florida State; but there’s also a big difference between FSU and GSU. I guess we’ll get a better idea of what LSU is like once we play at Mississippi State next week, and we’ll see how well Alabama bounces back from this disappointment for them. Auburn did manage to hold off California last night (I went to bed), but I also think Florida lost their opener to Utah? Yes, they did, or maybe it was Oregon? Regardless, they lost. Pity. (I despise Florida, and will only root for them when they play someone I hate even more, like Tennessee.)

So, today I am going to take it easy one more time without feeling guilty for not doing anything productive. I am going to do some chores–emptying the dishwasher, maybe some filing to clean up the mess that is currently my desk situation, and the refrigerator needs cleaning up too–and repair to the chair to read Shawn’s book for a bit. I also am going to make another cup of coffee and perhaps some oatmeal, washed down by a protein shake. I don’t know if my heart and blood pressure can take watching a Saints game, but Paul will want to watch and there’s also the men’s final for the US Open today. And maybe I will finish some other blog posts. One never knows, really.

Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader–and if I’m not back later, be sure I’ll be back in the morning.

The Old Rugged Cross

As an adult, it has always amused me that historically gay men (or men who were attracted to other men) inevitably became/were artists, and just as inevitably were commissioned to sculpt and paint and create religious art to adorn Catholic cathedrals and the palaces of the church hierarchy. I loved that they used their art and their patron’s money to create images of beautiful men in various stages of undress or nudity, but since it was within the context of a religious scene, it was okay. Even the crucifix inevitably shows Jesus in nothing more than a modesty loincloth, with his lean muscular frame carved lovingly to look beautiful and sexy. The eroticism of classic religious art, that competing duality of religious fervor and sexual ecstasy (look at depictions of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa sometime, if you want to see some straight up erotic imagery; I’ve always wanted to use “The Ecstasy of St. Teresa” as a title sometime), confused me as a child–it wasn’t until much later that I realized most classic and Renaissance religious art could be easily be categorized as “Revenge of the Homosexuals on a Repressive Institution”–but it also interested me. When I was a kid hungering for erotic masculine images, I could never go wrong with religious art.

I mean, this is on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel:

And don’t even get me started on depictions of St. Sebastian.

I love that they sculpted his pubic hair onto that last statue. Nice authenticity!

Someday I may write about St. Sebastian…or a boarding school named after him, which would be nice imagery for a queer crime/horror y/a set at such a place.

There was also a lot of homoerotic art in depictions of Greek and Roman mythology–the Laöcoön statue is one; and any depictions of Hercules/Heracles, Achilles, Apollo, etc.

And we’ll talk about Ganymede another time.

I was raised as a Christian, of the Church of Christ brand of Protestantism–and a hard, cruel, you’re-going-to-burn-in-hell-for-believing-anything-else faith it is indeed. I can’t speak to what that denomination is like outside of the South, or even Alabama for that matter–I did notice that the version in Kansas wasn’t nearly as hard or unforgiving; but still pretty unforgiving, in comparison to other sects–but I do know that where I am from, the Church of Christ is hard, rough, and sees a lot of stuff as sin. (Southern Churches of Christ are also very argumentative–which hardly seems Christian, does it? Members are always getting up in arms about something and wind up going to another congregation, sometimes having to move churches more than once.

And when I was about eight or nine, my grandmother bought me a copy of The Children’s Bible, which was filled with illustrations (amazing how all those Middle Eastern Israelites were white, and even some had blond hair and blue eyes)…and maybe (probably) it wasn’t the intent of the publisher, but there was some seriously homoerotic imagery in the book. About ten years ago I was thinking about The Children’s Bible and wondering whatever happened to my copy…and remembering some of the illustrations in it, I thought no, you can’t be remembering that correctly and so I went on eBay and bought a used copy.

And when it arrived, my memories were actually correct.

I mean, look at the muscles on Goliath. That image was burned indelibly into my brain, and it’s entirely possible my appreciation of muscles comes from….The Children’s Bible.

Perish the thought!

Grooming!

Indoctrination!

And of course, my favorite story in the book was David and Jonathan.

I mean, look at how they drew David!

I mean, it may not be Michelangelo, but damn.

(I also love that a Bronze Age Middle Eastern Jew somehow had pearly white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.)

Though David has awesome legs in both depictions, seriously.

When I was a kid, I’d always reread the David and Jonathan story (can’t imagine why it was my favorite…). I wanted a best friend like David–I always saw myself as Jonathan, the supporting player, the way I always did–gorgeous and charismatic and beautiful and beloved of God. I would think about the story and while I was too young and innocent to conceive of it as anything other than friendship–the same way I thought of the “friendship” between Achilles and Patroclus in tales of the Trojan War–when I got older, whenever I thought about the story I wondered about how deep that friendship between Prince Jonathan and David son of Jesse was. Why include the story at all? It really doesn’t add a whole lot to the tale of David’s life, and did it really matter for King Saul to have a son who was David’s friend and great love? Jonathan dies–not even the Bible was immune from bury your gays–and David mourned him with a great grief that seemed a bit more than “my best bro died.” I wanted to write the story myself, despite my lack of historical knowledge of the period or even when it was actually set, but I wanted to write about their love, their falling in love–and let’s face it, God didn’t really seem to have a lot of problems with their relationship, did he? He didn’t come to David and tell him to stop giving it to Jonathan; God didn’t curse the two of them or punish Israel for it; and yes, Jonathan is eventually killed…but even then God doesn’t come to David and say, did you not read Leviticus? I could hardly let you go on fucking him forever, you know.

So, I guess I am supposed to read it literally and just think they were best friends and loved each other as brothers. Yeah, no. There’s absolutely no reason for this story to be included in the David story in the Bible; none, unless of course there’s a kernal of truth in the story (don’t come for me, I’ve never bothered to find out if the Bible’s Old Testament kings of Israel were real people; I do know that real people turned up in the Old Testament that existed in history–Babylonians and Assyrians, for example, as well as Egyptians)but the mystery for me of why this story was included, why it was included if its merely legend or why was it included if they were real is the real question. There’s no moral lesson to be learned from the story of their friendship; their love and loyalty to each other was an issue for Jonathan because his friend’s greatest enemy was Jonathan’s own father, a king anointed by God–despite God capriciously turning His back on Saul for really such an insignificant reason that it really just boiled down to God just liked David better; I always felt sorry for Saul–how much would it suck to lose God’s favor for no good reason? Just because God found someone He liked better? (And considering the things God forgave David for, or just overlooked, really makes the hard turn away from Saul that much more petty and bitchy.)

God’s kind of an asshole in the Old Testament, frankly.

But yes, I’d love to write this story sometime. (Because I don’t have enough else to do, right?) I’d also want to write it from Jonathan’s perspective, although the death would be hard to do (Madeline Miller managed it with Song of Achilles quite beautifully) story-wise; but is the kind of challenge I love. Maybe someday, and maybe writing it will help me in my constant and never-ending life quest to come to terms with the religious grooming drilled into my brain as a child. I even have a great title for it, too.

I also have a novel in mind revolving around Michelangelo’s statue of David, too; maybe I could combine research and do them at the same time. THAT would be a challenge, would it not?

I’m Knee Deep In Loving You

And today I am having the oral surgery. Heavy heaving sigh. It will be horrible as these things inevitably are, but at least when I come out of it and start healing, I no longer will have to worry about mouth pain again, or for a while at any rate. Whew, so no big plans for my weekend other than soft and/or liquid foods and pain medication. It will be weird. It also makes a little sad, too, because the last time I had this procedure done I went to Kentucky to have it done so Mom could take care of me.

I always meant to go back up and have it done there…sigh. Oh, Mom.

But life is much better with the ability to hear. It’s really amazing, and I don’t think I ever heard this clearly in my life before, so clearly my hearing has always been a problem. And I have a new prescription for my glasses, so I’ll be ordering new pairs from Zenni relatively soon, which is great. So, soon enough I’ll be able to see clearly, I can already hear better, and the mouth pain will be finished. Yesterday was weird, because I knew I had this today, and so I am also taking off Monday and Tuesday, just in case. I also made a plan to make sure I get there and back; I am taking a Lyft there, then to the CVS for my pain prescription, and then another home. It makes more sense than trying to find someone who has the day free and is willing to give it up to cart me around.

There was a truly marvelous thunderstorm that erupted right as I was leaving the office yesterday–and I still managed to drive home without getting irritated, annoyed and aggravated at the hapless New Orleans drivers who’ve clearly never driven in the rain before because it’s so rare here. Bitch, please–everyone learns how to drive in snow because its unavoidable in places where it snows, so why are New Orleanians such shitty drivers in the rain? That is definitely an unsolved mystery.

I finished doing the page proof corrections and sent them in yesterday, and so the two books being released this fall in back-to-back months are finally, once and for all, finished and I can move on to writing other things without guilt. (I had already started writing other things, of course, but I did have that nagging guilt about these two books not being finished and in production yet.) I”m still not entirely certain what all I am going to be doing next–I have no contracts in place, but am not letting that bother me in the least (which is an improvement; being out of contract usually puts me into a panicked frenzy in which I start pitching things everywhere–which is not the best, you know; and always gets me in trouble) and I am relatively certain I won’t be lucid for most of the weekend (then again, you never know; I have a high pain threshold and I don’t think I stayed on the pain pills the first time longer than a day or two) and my terrible memory (which used to be so pinpoint sharp it was eerie) doesn’t help.

We also watched some of the US Open last night before I went to bed–I didn’t finish watching the Madison Keys match, which she should have won in the second set–which was kind of fun. I don’t feel as excited about sports as I used to; not sure what that is about, but it’s an unfortunate reality.

And on that note, I need to start getting ready. I am not wearing the hearing aids because I don’t need to hear the procedure clearly, frankly. Hopefully I’ll be able to check in tomorrow, or even later today. Have a great Friday, Constant Reader!

Out of My Head and Back in My Bed

Y’all, I can hear.

And man, is the world LOUD or what?

I have to say, it was kind of a weird thrill to walk out of Costco yesterday afternoon with the ability to hear things I couldn’t before. When I started the car, there was a weird noise I couldn’t identify before my phone started playing through the speakers. As I sat there in the car, wondering what it could be, I slowly began to realize it was the air blowing through the vents to cool the car down. I’d never heard it before. Walking through the grocery store, I could hear all the things I never heard–the crinkling of packaging in someone’s hand; the belt moving the groceries forward; and on and on it went. When I got home I could hear the squeaking of the ceiling fans, the air conditioning coming through the vents, every squeak of the floor and the stairs, and even when Paul came home–the rustle of his backpack as he slid it off, the crinkling of the packaging of his mail, the sound of him walking upstairs–all things I couldn’t hear before. I turned off the closed captioning on the television and turned the sound down. At one point I eventually grabbed my phone and turned the volume of the hearing aids down.

It’s a whole new world.

Bouchercon is beginning to look more and more like a super-spreader event, with people I was around and having hugged several times testing positive since the weekend. I tested negative again this morning, and hope I continue to do so since I am having a major dental procedure done on Friday morning. I paid all the bills yesterday, and did a lot of catching up on emails and so forth. After I left work early, I went by the post office to get the mail before getting the hearing aids, and then made groceries. I masked all day yesterday at the office and will probably do so again today and tomorrow, just to be safe. I’m not as concerned about getting it as I am about giving it to someone; to be clear. If I have to reschedule Friday I have to reschedule Friday, and there’s no sense in wasting time or energy worrying about it. I have some proofing I need to get done by tomorrow, so hopefully tonight I will be able to get home and just plant my ass in the easy chair and tear through it so I can get it turned in no later than tomorrow night. I have some other things to get done this week, too–so I am going to need to really update the to-do list so I can make sure things get done and nothing falls through the cracks; the trick is remembering everything when I make the list. I know I have some short stories that need to be finished, revised and polished; I’m still not sure the revision of my forty year old story works, to be honest. I also want to get this other one, “The Blues Before Dawn,” finished for another call. There are some other stories I need to follow up on that have been languishing in their files, and I need to start plotting out some more stories and books, too. I also want to start reading Shawn Cosby’s new book, All the Sinners Bleed, which is a great title and an even greater story, I am sure; Shawn is ridiculously talented and one of the most genuinely kind writers I know.

I am still digesting Laura Lippman’s Prom Mom, which is the mark of a great novel. I was thinking her work has slowly and slyly started critiquing gender roles, particularly the way men are shielded from consequences and inevitably fail upward. Rob Simpson, the main male in this book, from the outside appears to be a golden boy who has it all…but the truth is he’s a pretty face and an empty suit. His business success is all due to his uncle’s nepotism, and his wife actually makes more than he does. All the women in his life shield him from reality, when they are all smarter and stronger and more successful than he is, and he’s so privileged and entitled he never notices that he’d really be nothing without the women in his life–from his mother to Prom Mom herself to perfect wife Meredith.

I didn’t sleep great last night, despite being super-tired. I fell into bed around ten and then woke up at two, and never really fell back deeply into sleep, instead just dozing into a half-sleep before waking up again. Like yesterday, I got up at five (an hour earlier than usual) and figured might as well get a jump on the day and get up. I’ve had a cup of coffee and will undoubtedly have at least one more before leaving the house; I am tempted to make a cappuccino. Readjusting to reality has been a little harder this time than it usually is–the weird and wonky sleep patterns making the least amount of sense of anything–but I am slowly getting caught up, I think.

The weird thing about my hearing (circling back around to our original topic) is that I’ve always had trouble with it, even as a child. Mom and Dad always insisted I only hear what i want to hear, and there could be some truth in that. My hearing has always been erratic, and while I’ve always passed a hearing test (barely; I was always about this close to needing hearing aids before) there were things I couldn’t hear and if there was ambient noise, forget it: I heard nothing. This is why I stopped participating in dinner parties in restaurants of more than six people; anything bigger than that and there’s no point. I can’t hear anything in a bar, and so I smile and nodded a lot. I often joke on panels that I must agree to do things when I’m drunk in the bar at a Bouchercon, but the truth is I didn’t have to be drunk; it just had to be in a bar and I probably agreed without hearing because I would just smile and nod and say things like “sure” and “sounds great” and would never admit to being hard of hearing. This last hearing test confirmed everything: talking to someone in a one on one situation, I only hear about eighty percent of what is said. Add another person and the percentage drops, and keeps dropping with the addition of more noises and sounds. And if you need hearing aids do not get them from your doctor. Costco was about half the price I was quoted at the doctor’s office; Costco will also give you a hearing test as part of the purchase price; there’s a two year warrantee as well as a six year in total plan for servicing. It’s really nice to be able to hear again. It’s going to be strange being able to hear everything at work, too. I think part of the denial I was always in about my hearing–the not telling people–was because I didn’t have a confirmatory test result before and just not wanting to admit to a disability–which is incredibly stupid. Without my glasses I can’t see anything; how is hearing any different than seeing? The Shame Monster is a sly creature.

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