Category: chores

Holiday

Don’t I wish? Paul and I periodically talk about taking an actual vacation that is a vacation for both of us (he sometimes comes to crime conferences with me as a vacation for him), but the problem is always time. I have to use my vacation time from work to go to these conferences, not to mention visit my family since they live over seven hundred miles away, which makes saving some time for an actual, I don’t know, vacation at a beach resort or something hard for me to do. I think the last actual vacation-for-both-of-us that we took was Italy all those years ago. And after this weekend I am thinking that in the future I am going to have to take time off from work for Saints & Sinners the way I used to, so that I can enjoy it a lot more, the way I used to be able to do. We must have had someone feed Skittle for us back in the day? And Scooter? Or did we board them? I honestly don’t remember. Boarding Scooter would probably be the easiest because then I wouldn’t have to commute at all; the easiest of course would be to park the car at the hotel but I am NOT paying for Hotel Monteleone parking, which is INSANELY expensive. It would cost over a hundred dollars to park at the hotel, at least.

And yeah, I don’t want to pay that when I’d only use the car sporadically anyway.

Sigh. The trials and tribulations of living in New Orleans when there’s a literary event going on in the city.

I was very tired and dragging yesterday; I was definitely operating on Accessory and not recharging. I somehow made it through my work day (I was amazed, what can I say?) and got my work done, cleaned out my email inbox, etc. etc. etc. It’s always so humdrum and sad when you go back to your regular life after getting to be an AUTHOR for the entire weekend, you know? Paul was home, so we actually got to spend the evening together for the first time in I don’t know how long; we watched Ted Lasso and The Mandalorian, which was nice. I just love Ted Lasso, and who would have thought way back in season one that Jamie Tartt would become one of the more likable characters on the show? I hate that it’s the last season, but at the same time I love that they aren’t deviating from the original plan for the show’s story arc despite it’s success, and sometimes it’s best to walk away when you’re on top. There was a wonderful scene for Brett Goldstein in episode 2 that also kind of reflected that mentality; where he ponders whether his decision, when he realized that he was getting older and starting to slow down, to leave Chelsea before he just became an old geezer and was dropped; leaving on his own terms rather than being asked–which is kind of what Ted Lasso as a show is doing.

As I was so tired and dragging when I got home last night, I didn’t get any work on the book done. I intend to make up for that tonight. I slept great last night–I feel rested which is lovely–and feel like I can get back on track today after yesterday’s transitional day. There’s always a bit of decompression after a weekend of being an author, and this year was a bit interesting. I’ve become a bit more reflective, and since turning sixty, as you well know, I’ve started looking back over my life. Paul said last night that since it was the twentieth Saints and Sinners, he’d been doing it for a third of his life–which made me realize I’ve been an author for a third of mine. When you look at it in those kinds of terms its a bit more staggering, isn’t it? My first book came out twenty-one years ago; my first published fiction came out twenty-three years ago. I’ve been doing this for a very long time, haven’t I? I guess it’s about time that I stopped being self-deprecating and started appreciating what I’ve accomplished? (Author friends have been trying to get me to change that about myself for years now; it’s still very hard for me to do what I consider ‘bragging’, because as a child it was hammered into my head that you only praised other people and it was up to other people to praise you; but I am also beginning to realize that isn’t very emotionally healthy, and it’s incredibly self-defeating, which is the last thing I need more of in my life.)

It’s also raining again this morning; while it would have been a pain in the ass for it to have rained over the weekend I kind of wish it had–that would have taken care of the humidity, so I wouldn’t have been a disgusting sweat rag most of the time. The rain of course makes me want to curl back up under a blanket with a book and let Scooter sleep in my lap, but alas, I must go into the office and do my job so I can get paid so I can continue to be a functioning member of American society. Tonight on the way home from work I have to swing uptown to get the mail and make groceries–I didn’t get around the refrigerator last night, so I’ll have to do that tonight–and then I want to work on my book for a while and then do some more catch-up cleaning. I need to make a new to-do list, and I also need to work on the living room, which has been out of control for quite some time now, and the books are a complete and utter disaster. I also want to get started reading Scorched Grace tonight, too. I also have to sort of get used to the idea of having Paul home in the evenings again–it’s not like he won’t be upstairs working on his computer, but it’ll be nice having him around and maybe Scooter will stop feeling so forlorn and abandoned. (The amount of guilt a cat can make you feel is really amazing.)

And on that note, I am going to grab my umbrella and head out into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.

Burning Up

Back to life, and back to reality.

Sigh.

I am tired this morning and really wishing I had taken the day off so I can sleep in and get my act together today; the apartment is a mess and there are errands that I should run not to mention chores that built up while I was Festing this weekend. I am also a bit drained, like my batteries need recharging. I slept decently last night (Scooter kept waking me up throughout the night) but I easily felt like I could sleep more. Ah, well, no choice but to buckle up and dive headfirst into the week and just go to bed early every night so I can get somewhat recharged. I think the weekend went very well; I just wish I could divide myself up (or have clones) so I can see and hang out with everyone I want to; the problem is there is so little time to see and do everything and it kind of slips through my fingers. I also should have taken more time off from work–today, for example–to make it easier on me both physically and intellectually, so that I can commute from home to take care of Scooter while still seeing people and getting to do a lot more. I had to leave last night after dinner and walked home (it was rather hot and humid all weekend, which is unusual for March so I was sweating a lot, which is also unpleasant because even after it dries you feel sticky still), and of course was soaked and tired when I got home. (I walked home twice from the Quarter this weekend, which is more walking than I’ve done since probably Carnival, 2018.) Probably not the best thing to do, but no streetcar ever passed me on the walk home either night, but once I started walking I just kept walking and after I walk past Poydras I’m like kind of dumb to catch a cab or call a Lyft now so wind up walking on. It’s usually once I’ve walked under the highway that I think yeah walking wasn’t the best decision here.

The panel I moderated went well, I thought; my panelists (Marco Carocari, John Copenhaver, Kelly J. Ford) were spectacular, witty, smart and presented themselves extremely well and made me look intelligent and like a good moderator, so thanks, y’all. We had a nice turnout and some good questions from the audience. My reading went well on Saturday (I was also glad to get a chance to read “This Town”, which I’ve not had a chance to do before), and of course, I had some lovely meals with friends during the course of the weekend. Everyone seemed to be having a good time over the course of the weekend (one of the best things, for me, about Saints and Sinners is how it’s so incredibly upbeat; everyone is in a collegial mood, if not a good one. I generally come away from S&S inspired and ready to get back to the keyboard–and I do feel that way this morning, or would if I didn’t feel so tired. (I really should have taken a Lyft home last night; it was a bad decision to walk…but the exercise was something I needed and I need to do more of, and just because I’m out of shape and not used to walking distances anymore should serve as a wake-up call to start getting back in shape.) But my coffee is doing the trick this morning, and I am waking up mentally. Physically everything is tired–my toe is sore, another reason I shouldn’t have walked home twice–but mentally I’m okay, and I bet my shower will wake me up this morning. I probably should have taken one before I went to bed.

And now it’s reality time again, and back to the ritual of sleep, work, write, cuddle with the cat while watching television. The apartment somehow is a mess–I don’t know how that happened when neither one of us was home for most of the weekend, but it’s the case. I have laundry to do and dishes to put away and I need to go through the refrigerator and clean out stuff that spoiled over the weekend (always a joy!) and rearrange the rugs and the floors need cleaning and…sigh. It really never ends, does it? And I need to get back to work on the book. I was going to bring it with me to the Monteleone so I could work on it over the weekend, but as I was packing I said to myself you always do this and then you never even THINK about it and my interior voice was 100% correct. I am going to probably take the first half of the revision to my easy chair tonight at some point and start doing a line edit on it. I don’t think my brain is functioning well enough today for me to be able to work on revising tonight, but a line edit to check for sentence structure and rhythm and overuse of the same words? That I can do with a purring kitty asleep in my life…and I may just go to bed early, too.

Gosh, so many options! But I definitely need to get gas soon. I’d forgotten that I didn’t get gas Friday morning, which was on my errands-list before heading to the Quarter. But what a lovely weekend it was, from beginning to end. I had drinks with friends–lots and lots of drinks–and some lovely meals (Palace Cafe, Mr. B’s Bistro–one can never go wrong with a Brennan restaurant), and lots of laughter and hilarity and good times. I love being around writers.

And now I can look ahead to my trip to Bethesda for Malice Domestic, which will be the next time I will be around writers for an entire weekend, which is marvelous. (After that, it won’t be until Bouchercon in San Diego, which is far too long.)

And I think I am definitely reading Scorched Grace next. I heard Margot Douaihy read from it this weekend, and after listening to her on panels… yeah, I need to read about the lesbian amateur private eye nun with a gold tooth sooner rather than later.

And on that note, I am going to drag my butt to the office and get this week going. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader.

We Found Love

Friday and Saints and Sinners starts today! In fact, the box office is probably already open and people are picking up their badges and bags and programs as I type this. I’ll be heading down there later this afternoon–taking a Lyft to the Monteleone–because I do have some things to get done this morning and early afternoon. I’ve taken today off from work because I’ll be losing the weekend to Saints and Sinners, so all the things I usually do on the weekends, I have to do before I head down there today. I’ll be coming back tomorrow night to spend the night with Scooter and make sure he’s okay, and then of course after the closing on Sunday I have to get back home because I have to get up early for work on Monday morning. I will undoubtedly be drained and tired from all the talking and walking and socializing–things I’m generally not used to anymore–so I am glad that I took the time to get ahead of day job work this week so there won’t be a lot of pressure for me to get things done Monday; it’s nice to ease your way back into your reality after a weekend of talking about books and writing.

I didn’t get as much done as I might have hoped for last night, alas. I did get some good work on the book done, which is great, and I did do some things around here. I also spent some time watching this week’s Superman and Lois, which I am still enjoying but the recasting of Jonathan hasn’t really stuck with yet–which makes me feel bad for the replacement actor (I always thought of Al Corley as Stephen on Dynasty, even though his replacement Jack Coleman played the part far longer)–but I like the way the show portrays Superman and I also like the “cozy” aspects of the setting being Smallville. I meant to pick out a book to start reading last night but couldn’t decide which one; I’m thinking The Lost Americans by Christopher Bollen (his A Beautiful Crime is perhaps one of my favorite queer crime novels, for any number of reasons) or Margot Douaihy’s Scorched Grace, which sounds really fantastic. I also have any number of other crime novels on hand, and I’ve also been thinking that I should probably read in another genre for a while to cleanse the palate in a way; that’s kind of why Scorched Grace is appealing; it looks and sounds highly original and deeply clever. I won’t have time to read anything this weekend anyway, if I don’t have time to get started today on my reading. I am almost finished with The Power Broker, too; and I have a lot of thoughts about the book that coincide with other massive books I’ve read about political power and those who have and wield it which I will undoubtedly share with you, Constant Reader, once I’ve finally finished the book.

It’s a bit overcast outside this morning, and I also feel very well rested. I slept very well last night and I allowed myself to sleep later than usual. I woke up at three, five, and again at six, and decided that it was better to sleep in–although I probably should have gotten up early so I can sleep tonight at the hotel. Paul got the same massive suite he had last year, so it’s kind of fun to have that place as an escape from everything. I’ll take pictures and post them once I get down there. I do have to run get the mail, do some laundry and more cleaning as well as writing and editing this morning. I am also resisting the urge to take the manuscript with me down there this weekend; I doubt very seriously that I would ever have the time to actually sit down and work on it. I think I’ll just take the laptop and see if I can keep revising rather than copy-editing the first half just yet.

I stepped away from this for awhile and came back to it, after getting to work on the laundry and the dishes issues (unloading and putting away; washing and starting another load in the dishwasher). I am going to be able to run the errands in a little bit, and then I’m going to straighten up around here and try to get heading down to the Quarter a little earlier than I’d planned. I probably should pick up some things for the room–sodas and so forth–but maybe not. I don’t know. I always end up taking more stuff with me than I need, which I just then have to lug back home with me.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and do more work around the house so I can run the errands and get down to Saints and Sinners. Have a lovely Friday morning, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.

Rude Boy

And we’ve made it to Wednesday, Constant Reader! Isn’t it marvelous? Paul is moving into our suite at the Monteleone today; I will be moving (sort of) down there on Friday, but will be going back and forth between the Lost Apartment and the hotel over the weekend. Scooter is going to lonely and needy and definitely not happy, but who knows how their brains work and what their concept of time is? I am going to not head down to the Quarter until later in the afternoon on Friday anyway, and I’ll probably head back home after the reading/anthology launch on Saturday night before heading back on Sunday morning. I also have to do a reading on Saturday afternoon, so I probably should decide what I am going to read sometime before then and maybe practice a little bit?

I did get some work done on the book yesterday (huzzah!) which always feels good, and overall, outside of how cold it was at work (seriously, it felt like we were working in a refrigerator at the office yesterday; my knit cap was on most of the day), was a pretty good day. Yay for good days! I’m starting to feel more like myself than I have in a very long time, which is pleasant. I was beginning to think old Gregalicious was gone for good, another casualty of a pandemic, a crumbling society, and too much change too fast in too short a time. It’s nice to have the old Greg feeling again’; one where I am not stressed and have anxiety non-stop and can actually come home from the office, do some chores and some writing, and then relax in my easy chair with a purring kitty sleeping in my life and actually not feel guilty for not doing anything.

Because you know , sometimes you just have to do nothing. And enjoy it.

I went down another research rabbit hole the other day, too–I really want to write a book set in a foster-care home or an orphanage; crime or horror or some combination of both. One popped up on Facebook the other day on one of my old New Orleans pages; I think ain’t there no more is the page. Anyway, there was a Catholic boys’ orphanage in the area (actually, it was Marrero, so on the West Bank) called Hope Haven, where the boys were emotionally, physically, and sexually abused for years. (Thank God it’s closed now.) But it hits all my sweet spots, especially with the Archdiocese and the Catholic Church as the villains of the piece. And of course it was closed down after the scandals started hitting, about ten years ago.

I slept okay last night–not the greatest; I didn’t want to wake up this morning and I feel sleepy still, which means I’ll be dragging unless coffee comes to my rescue. I suppose I should be grateful that this is the first iffy night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. A lot of it, I think, has to do with Paul packing last night. I had already gone to bed by the time he got home, and he started packing once he was here. I woke up when he came home, and then had some issues falling back asleep but finally did. But here I am, forced out of bed at an ungodly hour, gradually and slowly waking up as I slurp my coffee and hope that time will slow down so I can put off going into the office. It’s really more the getting ready and driving over there that I dread more so than actually getting to the office, being there, and working. I just wish today were Thursday already, so the weekend would be closer. I am taking Friday off, so I don’t have to worry about any working-at-home duties, and can just spend the day at home doing things and getting packed and prepared to head down there before I actually do.

And of course, Paul won’t be coming home tonight or tomorrow, so Scooter is going to be needing lots of attention, so after I get home tonight and do some work–it’ll be over to my easy chair to be a cat bed for the rest of the evening.

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.

Hate That I Love You

Tuesday and we survived Monday, Constant Reader–that has to count for something, doesn’t it? Actually, it wasn’t that bad, to be honest. I slept decently and woke up without problem with the alarm, and didn’t feel tired for most of the day. I had a highly productive day at the office, and then I came home and worked some more on the manuscript, which I am really starting to feel good about, believe it or not. I like my characters and I like the story, and I like that it isn’t set in either Uptown or the French Quarter or–where I always go–the Lower Garden District is always the default for me. This time out I set the book in the 7th Ward, on what we used to say was the “wrong side” of St. Claude (this is also the neighborhood where my office building is now, on Elysian Fields); even now people say this neighborhood is “unsafe”; and yes, we’ve had some instances where there was gunfire outside and we went into a code and locked down the office. Maybe I just have a false sense of security–which won’t change until something bad happens to me, as usual–but I never feel all that unsafe either going to or from my car before and after work. (I also love that realtors are trying to rebrand the neighborhood as ‘the new Marigny.” Um, no, it’s not and there’s no such thing as the ‘new Marigny.’)

I also slept well last night, which is great. I feel rested and relaxed this morning, but I also have to see clients today. I’ll probably be a bit tired when I get home tonight; seeing clients can drain you a bit, which is why I don’t see clients four days a week instead of three. I got some more work on the book done yesterday, and hope to get further along today as well–no relaxing until I get my work done tonight. I had a ZOOM meeting last night so I wasn’t able to get as much work done as i would have liked–still behind, of course, as always–but I am pretty happy with the work I am doing and how the manuscript is coming together, which is always lovely. I’m not hating the manuscript as I work on it, which is kind of a nice change, overall. Maybe I have finally gotten less self-loathing about my own work, after twenty-odd years? Nah, that can’t be it! Maybe I just feel centered for the first time in a long time? That is more likely.

It’s been a time, there’s no question about that. Mom’s health had been declining for years, so that was always weighing on the back of my mind, no matter how hard I tried to not think about it or even consider the possibilities inherent in recognizing that her health was failing; there was a pandemic and a dramatic shift/change in my day job; and of course I was doing a lot of volunteering around writing and trying to keep my authorial career going at the same time. I’m surprised I didn’t have more mental breakdowns over the last few years, in all honesty. It’s no wonder I was low energy, depressed, and tired all the time. There were paradigm shifts happening everywhere in my life, and I was completely unprepared for any of them, either physically or emotionally or intellectually. I don’t remember writing the books I wrote since the shutdown three years ago; Bury Me in Shadows, A Streetcar Named Murder, #shedeservedit–I remember the young adults because I’ve been working on them for years before I sold them; but the revision process? The editing? I don’t remember a fucking thing. I do worry some about how my brain works now; one thing that has definitely happened over the last three years is a complete loss of remembering how to deal with the ADHD, so focusing is a lot harder than it used to be. I don’t know if that’s related to the ten-day COVID I had last summer, or if it’s because of all the changes and shifts, or maybe it’s even a combination of all those things. I don’t know, but I know I haven’t been functioning at full brain capacity for quite some time now, and I am starting to feel normal (or what passes for that around here) for the first time in a long time. More like myself, I should say, rather than normal; I’ve always taken great pride in not being normal–once I accepted it.

But I also don’t remember much of my life post-Katrina, either; there are years after Katrina that are foggy memories, if that. It shouldn’t come as a surprise (or a shock) that things that occur during times of trauma and stress don’t go into the permanent memory bank (which isn’t as big and powerful as it used to be). I should be used to it by now, right? But I don’t think you ever get used to traumatic events, and your brain just figures out the easiest way to get through it all without causing more trauma, and if that means not remembering things that happen, well, who am I to question how my twisted brain works and functions?

I’m just glad it’s still functioning, really, even if it is all over the place.

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.

Little Lies

Sunday morning rolling around like a marble in the Mousetrap game–do they still sell that? We never had that game when we were kids–I remember having Clue, Monopoly, Life, and Chinese checkers, but never Mousetrap. We were a game family, often playing cards–Rook, Hearts, Spades, and Pinochle were enormous favorites within the family–and much later adding Uno and Trivial Pursuit (although no one will pay Trivial Pursuit anymore because I always win; and have even won on my first turn). Yesterday was kind of a lovely day, overall; I slept deeply and late, got up and did some things around the apartment; soaked my toe and slathered topical gel over it all day; read Bobby Mathews’ quite marvelous Living the Gimmick for a while, and worked. (Bobby’s book is really good, y’all) The work wasn’t easy but it also wasn’t difficult; in fact, I was kind of enjoying myself, which for me is lovely and encouraging. I do have to run out to the grocery store at some point today, but I’m not going to get terribly worked up and/or upset about it. I slept decently last night; I feel rested this morning but managed to get up early and am hoping that today will be a good, productive one.

The Lefty Awards were given out last night in Tucson: I lost Best Humorous to Ellen Byron and her delightful Bayou Book Thief; Kellye Garrett won Best Novel for Like a Sister; Wanda Morris won Best Historical for Anywhere You Run; and Ramona Emerson won Best Debut for Shutter. Congratulations to everyone! It was both a thrill and a surprise to be nominated in the first place, completely unexpected, and just a bit sad that the “race” is over. I can’t imagine being nominated another time, to be honest, but am very grateful for everyone who included A Streetcar Named Murder.

I still get to enjoy being an Agatha nominee for another month, though.

Yesterday was pretty good, over all. I did get a lot done, and I was pleased with the work I got done. I’m feeling a lot better these days about everything, really; it’s hard for me to explain but it feels like I’ve been operating on autopilot since even before the pandemic started; like there was a dark cloud inside my head that I somehow managed to get things done, but it was harder than it used to be. I don’t feel like that dark cloud is there anymore, at least not since last weekend, and it’s delightful to be free of that whatever-it-was. Depression and anxiety, most likely; I know I’ve been worrying about Mom in the back of my mind for years now, and I still kind of tense up when I get a text message alert from my phone. I guess a lot of that worry has now transferred over to Dad, but he’s healthy–or at least has been so far. The grief comes and goes still–far less frequently than before–but it still happens from time to time that I’ll get a bit overwhelmed and have to go withdraw from the world for a while.

While I was waiting for Paul to get home and after I had finished working for the day, I decided to watch a movie instead of just endless scrolling through social media and looking for things on Youtube to watch. I couldn’t remember if I had seen Uncharted or not; I like Tom Holland and still kind of enjoy Mark Wahlberg (while admitting that he’s probably not a great person–it’s complicated), so I queued it up and started watching. As I watched, I began remembering things from it, so I had seen it before, just didn’t remember it. It didn’t take long for me to start punching holes in the plot/story, and I remembered that it became so far-fetched that I didn’t enjoy it. I was about forty-three minutes into it when I gave up; the entire premise that Magellan had a fortune in gold that somehow got lost (he didn’t; he didn’t stay anywhere long enough to amass such a treasure) was simply taken for granted without explanation; that’s the legend so we just don’t question it. Props for using an actual historical figure to give it more authenticity, but…it also lost me. We watched the SEC Gymnastics championships (LSU came in third, but it really was a matter of tenths of points), then finished watching Servant, which was interesting and different and strange and very well done before catching this week’s The Mandalorian, which wasn’t a particularly good one. I’m not feeling this season, to be honest; and of course the best part–Baby Yoda–hasn’t really had much to do except just kind of be there.

Such a shame about Uncharted, really. I love treasure hunts, but they are so rarely (outside of Indiana Jones and Romancing the Stone) featured in good movies that I’m always a little hesitant to watch one. I still want to do my Colin treasure hunt book sometime, but God only knows when. The Festivals are this week, so Paul will be moving into the Monteleone Hotel on Wednesday, most likely, and I’ll probably go down there on Friday. I’m going to have to commute, which isn’t going to be easy–the limping toe, for example–so we don’t have to board Scooter, and means I will probably be exhausted by the end of the weekend. So be it, seriously. I definitely need to make a to-do list today; I’ve been operating without one for quite some time and I think it’s necessary for me going forward to stay on track with everything,

And on that note, I am going to read some more Bobby Mathews while my coffee continues to warm me up. I have some chores to do around the house (as always) and I am going to run over to the Fresh Market at some point to get some things (not entirely sure what is needed, to be honest, with Paul going away on Wednesday), and so I must be busy and productive today. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Breakin’ Dishes

Well, it definitely is not gout, Constant Reader. The antibiotic cream prescribed by my doctor has made a remarkable difference with my toe since I started using it yesterday; this morning it isn’t even reddish anymore and bending it hardly is noticeably painful. AH, modern medicine, and sorry I doubted you, Doctor. I did get tired eventually last evening; shortly after finally finishing yesterday’s post I repaired to my easy chair where I watched a few more episodes of Netflix’ The Movies That Made Us, primarily the ones about Friday the 13th, Aliens, and Nightmare on Elm Street. It’s always somewhat lovely to revisit pop culture of the 1980’s, even though it was mostly a pretty shitty decade overall. The difference between 80’s movies and 70’s cinema was dramatic, as I learned during my Cynical 70’s Film Festival back during the early days of the pandemic when I was making hundreds of condom packs every day sitting in my living room during what I was never completely convinced weren’t the end times.

I do have some more cleaning and straightening up to do around here today around working on my book. Yes, I am definitely digging into the book today. I slept like the dead last night, and even stayed up later than usual (Paul came home before I went to bed) and slept an extra hour later this morning being a lag-a-bed until nine (the horror!). I’m feeling very well rested this morning on all three planes of existence–physical, emotional, intellectual–so it should be a great and highly productive day. It’s cold this morning–in the forties outside–and yesterday I had to turn the air on because it was stuffy in here and the clothes weren’t drying. Turn the air conditioning on and cool it down a couple of degrees and it made a significant difference. (I’m always interested in that weird range of temperature where it’s really not hot enough to need the air conditioning, but the air is thick enough so that clothes won’t dry unless it’s colder and the damp is taken out of the air; I also always sleep best on the night that I launder the bed linens) But I am going to have some coffee, do some straightening up here in the office, maybe read for an hour or so, and then get cleaned up and parked at my desk for however long I can stand it today. My coffee is tasting pretty marvelous this morning too; always a plus and always a good sign.

I also spent some time last night revisiting Vito Russo’s The Celluloid Closet in what was probably the first time in about thirty years, which is kind of terrifying when you think about it. I discovered Russo back in the day when I was discovering the rich culture and heritage of my community, when I was venturing into gay bookstores and had started reading the gay papers and magazines in search of my people and some sort of definition of what it meant to be a gay man in the United States at that time. The Russo book was the first seminal text in critiquing the entertainment industry and its participatory role in enforcing the homophobic standards of the times (if not helping to create those standards by the erasure of queer people and themes in entertainments). Russo set out to show how Hollywood’s erasure, or stereotypic rendering, of queer people served to enforce those social dynamics and mores that were suppressing our community and relegating those who identified as members of that community as outsiders, a lower caste, and separate from the dominant culture. I’d love to see a popular nonfiction version of Russo’s work that focuses on representation in crime fiction; I have neither the research skills nor the patience to write such a book myself. One of the things I enjoyed the most about the Russo book was finding out what films had queer content erased from their original source material; like the film Crossfire, about anti-Semitism in the military, was based on a book called The Brick Foxhole, which was about homophobia in the military; the murder victim wasn’t a Jewish soldier but a gay one. The alcoholic Ray Milland won an Oscar for playing in the film of The Lost Weekend drank because he had writer’s block; in the book he drank because he couldn’t handle his homosexuality in a homophobic society. The mini-series made from Dress Gray saved the reveal of the dead cadet’s sexuality for a plot twist at the end; in Lucien Truscott IV’s novel it was right there, revealed on page one and treated, really, throughout the entire book as not a particularly big deal (I’ve been meaning to reread Dress Gray; it was one of the few books I read as a teenager that didn’t treat homosexuality as a hideous moral failing, a massive sin, and/or something just revolting and disgusting, just as I’ve been meaning to reread Pat Conroy’s The Lords of Discipline–you just know there had to be a queer or two at Carolina Military Institute).

I also remember discovering queer mysteries for the first time at the gay bookstore in Tampa, and thinking you’ve always wanted to write mysteries, why don’t you write them with gay characters and themes? And thus the seed was planted–by Michael Nava, Richard Stevenson, and Steve Johnson–that grew into my becoming a gay mystery writer in every sense of the term: I’m gay, I’m a gay writer, and I write gay mysteries.

So, that’s where my mind was last night; thinking about the very limited queer rep I’d been exposed to as a reader growing up and how discovering gay fiction by gay writers about gay life and experiences–books–essentially changed my life and the trajectory of my writing. I think my writing began to improve when I started writing what I knew–the tired old trope of write what you know–because I was writing about my truths and experiences and feelings about being a gay man in a homophobic country; that was how I found authenticity and truth in my writing, and was able to extrapolate that outward into writing about other lives, other people, other experiences.

And of course, the Lefty Award banquet is tonight. I’m cheering on my friends and fellow nominees from afar. It’s a pleasure and a thrill to be nominated for Best Humorous Mystery; I never expected in a million years to ever be nominated for a Lefty and then it happened, so A Streetcar Named Murder continues on as my “first” of many things. I’m not sure which of the other four nominees will have their name called tonight, but it’s an honor to lose to any of my fellow nominees. (I also never thought I’d be nominated for an Agatha, and yet here we are; I’ve been having a hell of a twelve month period, am I not? Two Anthony nominations, a Lefty, and an Agatha; who’s a lucky Gregalicious?)

And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and go curl up for a bit with a book for a little reading pleasure this morning before I go to work. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Only Girl in the World

I saw that John Jakes died yesterday–or they announced he had passed yesterday–which was kind of jolting; primarily because he’d come across my radar again lately. I don’t remember who or how, but I was looking at something or looking up something and a quote from him about reviews and critics and his place in American literature, or he was asked about the literary stars of the day or something (these memory lapses are so aggravating) but I loved what his response was: I don’t remember exactly the comparison, but he compared books to wine: his were an inexpensive wine you could pick up at a grocery store, satisfying but nothing special, while others were the really rare and fine vintages you went down into the cellar to retrieve and had to blow dust off the bottle. (It may have been meats; I can’t remember exactly but the wine analogy seemed more correct and apt, frankly.) I appreciated that, because I spent a lot of my teens and early twenties reading Jakes’ American history novels. They were fun to read but not great, and I wound up reading the entire eight volume Kent Family Chronicles as well as the North and South trilogy (and I think in some weird way the train of thought that led me to the Jakes quote was remembering Kirstie Alley and Patrick Swayze in the mini-series of North and South, because I was also thinking about the Civil War because I was watching Civil War documentaries on Youtube, which led me to abolitionists and a meme I saw reading I don’t argue with people John Brown would have shot and you see how that all goes; the weird and twisted slipperiness of my mind. I hadn’t thought about Jakes in years; and now he’s popped up twice within a couple of weeks. (He was ninety, so had a long and full and vastly successful life. Those books were all bestsellers and the first three of the Kent books were filmed for television; I think the original plan was to film them all but that ended after the third made for television movie.)

I think there were eight books in the Kent Family series; the original plan was to follow the family through American history, but the book series ended in the 1880’s, I think; it ended before the twentieth century–which was smart. How would you cover the world wars and Vietnam? Civil rights? These were very pro-Americana books, too; they were all part of the big Bicentennial Celebration of 1976–which was a very big deal at the time, if you weren’t born yet, and the years leading up to 7/4/76 were a lot of patriotic overkill, frankly. Every business and company had some sort of Bicentennial celebration tie-in, starting in about 1974, I think, so by the time the actual Bicentennial rolled around many of us were already sick and tired of hearing about it. We had just moved to Kansas that summer, and we still only could get one channel–CBS out of Kansas City. (Hard to believe there was a time when you could live somewhere and only get one channel, but it used to be very commonplace, and there were only three networks anyway.) The primary problem, for me, with the Kent series was how plausible is it that every member of this family is a friend or acquaintance of every famous person in our history?

I slept well again last night, which is marvelous. I did laundry and put the dishes away after work, and made a grocery run, picked up a prescription, and got the mail. I was a busy Gregalicious yesterday, and I worked some more on the book as well. I feel a lot better about the book–it’s not nearly as terrible as I had feared; I really do need to work on not hating my work or at least going overboard as far as their condition, frankly. I am looking forward to making some more good progress this weekend as well; now that I am feeling more myself again (I feel good this morning, too) I think I am going to be able to get all of this finished and revised and reworked and handled and improved. This is the part of writing a book that I enjoy; the drudgery is the first draft, and the polishing and improving is the most satisfying, because you see and can feel it taking shape.

I did break down and watch the first episode of the new season of Ted Lasso without Paul last night; it was marvelous, as expected, and just such a delightful show and characters. I decided it was okay to go ahead and watch because I figured I wouldn’t mind a second watch when the Festivals are over. It just might well be my favorite comedy series of all time; definitely up there with Schitt’s Creek and Cheers for sure. Today I also am heading in to see the doctor this afternoon about my toe, which still hurts to bend and twinges when I walk, but I am not limping. Maybe it’s a waste of the doctor’s time, but you never know, and once you’re past sixty you kind of have to take any of these sorts of things that happen seriously. (I have a tendency to ignore it and hope it goes away on its own.) It’s been nearly a month since it all started; I think it was exactly four weeks ago today that it started hurting and initially swelled, but between Carnival and Mom, I didn’t really have a chance to get in, and as soon as I was able to know for sure I could make an appointment and keep it, I did–and this was the first one available. Fingers crossed it isn’t anything more serious than arthritis or (sigh) gout.

It’s amazing what a difference to my overall mood getting back on the writing horse makes, seriously. Now that I am working on the manuscript again, I’m sleeping better and feel more settled and like myself again, which is lovely–I was beginning to wonder. I wasn’t quite as tired yesterday when I left the office, and I have to say, it’s been marvelous feeling rested and being able to work again. Much as I whine and complain about writing–usually, it’s not the writing itself I complain about, but rather deadline stress more than anything else–I do love it, I do love doing it, and it really makes me happy. I recently realized that while my primary identity is author, another identity (and one I’ve held much longer than author) is reader. I have always been, first and foremost, a reader. I love to read, and wish I had more time to do so; hence the not worrying about ever being bored if and when I do get to the point of retirement–there will always be books to read, stories to write, and something to clean around the house. I am only bored if and when I choose to be; and there’s also always some movie I haven’t seen I can stream, too. I’m a homebody, and the older I get the more true that becomes. I am putting off a Costco run until after the Festivals, even though we’re getting low on things and out of others; there’s no point in doing much restocking of the kitchen since Paul will be moving down to the hotel on Wednesday and not coming home until either Sunday or Monday. I need to figure out what I am doing over the weekend myself. I think I have something Saturday morning, a reading that afternoon, and then a panel on Sunday? I don’t know, I’d have to check I suppose, and at some point I should get that all put into my phone calendar.

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

Where Have You Been

Wednesday and Pay the Bills Day has yet again rolled around. Huzzah?

Yesterday was a good day. I had a great day at work getting caught up on everything around the office and seeing clients; I came home in a good mood and not exhausted, so I worked and edited for a while before blowing the proverbial end of day whistle and repairing to my easy chair to relax for the evening. It was nice, really, having a lovely day again. It has been so long. I also slept pretty well last night, too–I woke up a few times throughout the night, so it wasn’t a straight sleep through, but I feel rested and good this morning; not groggy or like my body hasn’t woken up yet, either. But the coffee tastes great, I don’t want to go back to bed and sleep some more, and I am getting my shit together. Today feels like it might be a good day; I’ve learned that how I feel when I wake up isn’t always necessarily the best indicator of how the day will go because they’ve certainly gone south once they’ve gotten underway, LOL.

Ted Lasso is back, tonight I think? Won’t be watching until the festivals are over and Paul is home in the evenings (same with The Mandalorian, and the festivals are next weekend), and of course we also have Outer Banks on deck, too. I didn’t read when I finished working yesterday–I’d wanted to–but by the time I’d finished with my editing, I was burned out and tired and just mentally fatigued, so I went to the easy chair and watched some history documentaries to pass the evening until I got tired (documentaries on Claude of France; Anne of Brittany; and several other figures from French history) and went to bed. It was very cold yesterday (for New Orleans and compared to lately) and so I had to end up turning on the heat last night. I just turned it on downstairs, figuring some heat would rise and it’s better to sleep under a pile of blankets when it’s a bit on the chilly side in the bedroom. It was nice to come downstairs this morning and not start shivering, or hovering by the Keurig waiting for the coffee to brew so I could wrap my cold hands around the hot cup. I also have been paging through Stephen King’s Danse Macabre and Grady Hendrix’ Paperbacks from Hell, which is a marvelous reference guide (I was happy to read–I’d forgotten–that King agrees with my assessment of The Exorcist and William Peter Blatty’s writing; this is another instance where the movie is better than the book) and I am not entirely sure I’ve written a post about Paperbacks from Hell? I’ll have to look, but this is another example of my memory being shot; how do I not remember whether I’d written about something or not? Particularly when it’s something I’ve really enjoyed? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to do another post (if there was an original) about the book because it really is delightful and fun.

I also paid my latest camera ticket on-line last night. I fucking hate camera tickets. I got this one driving home from getting up super-early and having blood drawn; I just brushed my teeth and washed my face, threw on some clothes and headed down there without having coffee first–coffee can affect your blood sugar levels, and as mine are getting higher with every blood draw, my doctor is monitoring that–and so of course I wasn’t really terribly awake as I drove home sans three test tubes of blood.

I fucking hate the cameras. I get at least two tickets per year, and always–always–in a school zone. (No, that doesn’t mean I see kids milling about on both sides of the street and speed up, hoping…I am not fond of children, to be sure, but I don’t want to eliminate any of them) I guess when I get to the speed limit/school zone signs I need to just slam on the brakes rather than gradually slow, which is what I usually do.

Ah, well. I hope the traffic camera tickets help pay to fix the streets or fill in a pothole or two. There’s a lot of road repair going on at the moment–Elysian Fields, Claiborne, and Martin Luther King; all main streets and all ones that are part of my daily drives around the city–which is a good thing, even if it’s a massive pain in the ass right now for me.

And tonight I have to make groceries and probably should swing by the post office and I have a prescription ready, too, so hello, Uptown New Orleans! I need to edit tonight, too. I am hoping this centered, peaceful place I’ve found myself in these last couple of days is lasting….

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

Russian Roulette

Tuesday! Tuesday! We survived Monday and lived to tell another day!

You know, I’ll take accomplishment wherever I can find it these days.

Yesterday was a better day; I think making it into the office and spending the day doing my duties around the office helped banish things to the background rather than keeping them there in the front of my mind. I ran some errands when I left the office–mail, pick up a prescription–and then came home to have a nice quiet evening at home, alone. The festivals are next weekend, so hopefully at some point I’ll have my husband back. If I could only get him to work the same schedule as me…but that will never happen. I can’t say that I blame him, either; if it were up to me this getting up at six thing would long be in my rearview mirror. Adjustments. Life is all about the adjustments.

I was very tired when I got home last night, though, and didn’t get much of anything done as a result. I feel better this morning–not that I couldn’t have slept another few hours, of course, and it’s chilly this morning in the Lost Apartment; ah, it’s a frigid 47 degrees outside, that could explain the chill I am feeling this morning. I’m glad I slept well, though; it’s such a struggle when I didn’t. I feel rested this morning–we’ll see how long that lasts, won’t we?–and my coffee tastes good this morning and I think it’s going to be a good day. Of course, there are all kinds of variables that are out of my control–will there be horrible and inconsiderate drivers encountered on the way to the office (of course there will)? They are also working on repairing and repaving Elysian Fields by the office as well; this made leaving an issue yesterday and could make it even more of one tonight when I get off work. I ran errands on the way home last night, and I don’t think I really need to do anything after work other than come straight home tonight, which is lovely. Tomorrow is Pay-the-Bills Day (always a joy), and I am looking forward to doing some writing tonight as well as diving into my next book, which is probably going to be Bobby Mathews’ Living the Gimmick. I might need to switch things up with my reading once I finish Bobby’s book; and read something completely different from everything I’ve been reading lately. I’ve gotten some good books lately–The Velvet Rage, Wined and Died in New Orleans, Scorched Grace–which all look interesting, but maybe I should mix it up by reading horror or science fiction or something completely outside what I usually write and read.

I actually feel good this morning–I know I’ve already said it, but it’s true–and some of it is mental; I think today is going to be one of the good days; I don’t feel like there’s some kind of darkness in the back of my head, weighing me down the way it felt yesterday. I’m not sure if I’m making sense or not in trying to get what this feels like across to you, but I do feel this morning like I might be coming out of the numbness and the grief–or at least getting a day’s respite from it. It’s very strange. I don’t know if there’s a methodology for this or not–everyone grieves differently–but it becomes so incredibly tiresome not having any kind of instruction manual or rules for anything. I suppose I could read Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, but I’m a little Didion-ed out, to be honest. Brilliant wordsmith, of course, but I don’t know that I could handle her memoir of grief.

I also wonder if you are weary of hearing about this, and perhaps I should start keeping it all to myself and not oversharing in my usual oblivious manner? (My complete obliviousness is a character trait I’ve only recently–since the pandemic–become aware of, and explains a lot about my personal history; ironically, I made that very obliviousness a central part of my character Valerie in A Streetcar Named Murder, and people loved her; go figure, right? I guess it’s endearing? In fiction, at any rate.)

God, how I wish I could get back under my blankets in my warm bed. Cold mornings are so uninspiring, really; especially when you have a warm bed with a purring kitty and a mountain of blankets where you can stay comfortable and warm. That’s the best feeling, really; maybe it will be cold Saturday morning when I can stay in bed later. One can dream, at any rate, can’t one?

And on that dull note, I think I am going to go ahead and get ready to spend the day in the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back tomorrow.