Category: diversity

In the Navy

…you can sail the seven seas, in the navy...

I am sure the pathetic POS who cosplays the Village People now would say it’s a song about the joys of patriotic service to your country, when every gay of a certain age knows damned well the Navy a hotbed of, um, shall we say male camaraderie?1 I mean, the first two lines of the song are:

Where can you find pleasure?
Search the world for treasure?

Pleasure and treasure? Oh yes, totally about nothing but heterosexual manly man!

I don’t know why that shit pisses me off so much–oh, wait, yes I do; no matter what that piece of cosplaying trash says, there were gays in the Village People, they were named after Greenwich Village (a gayborhood in New York) and most of their songs were slyly told young gay men what joys awaited them if they knew the right places to be–and some of the song titles told them exactly where to go be free, gay and happy.

So, yeah, fuck off with your Trump worship, douchebag, and keep flogging forty year old songs for current relevance. Just remember everything he touches dies, okay?

Friday remote day for me, with a trip to Costco on the horizon after I complete my work chores this morning. I was a bit on the tired side when I got home from work yesterday, so I decided to take the evening off and relax, knowing the weekend was coming and I was feeling a lot better about writing and everything, so I know I am going to get back into that groove over the next three days. Huzzah! I do have some things that need to get done this weekend (including my taxes), and I am hoping that it’s going to be a very good weekend. I’d also like to try to make it to the gym a couple of times, but we’ll see how that goes. The weather should be a bit on the chilly side, but no rain or high winds or any of that apocalyptic kind of shit we’ve been having this year so far. What a trippy year down here–the terrorist attack, the blizzard, the Super Bowl, and then Carnival. We’ve barely had a chance to breathe, and I’ve been up to Alabama and back, and had jury duty, and was sick. Whew. It’s already been a year, hasn’t it? But once the Festivals have passed and my deadlines met, I can breathe a little easier. I don’t have to travel again until May, which is nice.

And I have some things to do around the house, as always. There’s a load of clothes in the dryer that need fluffing again and then folding, as well as a load of dishes in the dishwasher that need to be put away, and of course, there’s always things to pick up and put away and organize. It really never ends, does it? I used to always think if I didn’t keep my apartment the way my mother used to keep her house, I was slovenly and should be thoroughly ashamed of myself (my mom would totally judge people by their housekeeping skills). I also need to accept, when I am thinking about things like that, that the house was Mom’s job for the last fifty years or so of her life. The house was always tidy when she worked at Western Electric in the city, but after we moved to Kansas when she was 33, she never had to leave the house to go to a job again. Mom also was very driven to be the best at whatever she did, so she kept her house immaculate at all times and taught herself to cook…and no one could cook like Mom (I know everyone thinks that about their mother, but mine really was. Kids in high school in Kansas loved coming to my house for dinner because Mom went to town. Everyone in the immediate family always deferred to her as the best cook in the family, and neither my sister nor I are pretty good in the kitchen). She also always made everything from scratch, too–pancakes, waffles…anything worth making was worth making from scratch for her. But keeping house isn’t my job, and looking at my apartment and hearing Mom’s voice in my head criticizing how bad at it I am is very self-defeating. If and when I am able to retire, yeah, you’ll be able to eat off the floors once I don’t have to go to work every day. I also have to write and edit and promote my books around my day job and cleaning house.

Be kinder to yourself, Gregalicious.

We watched another episode of The Madness last night, and it’s really exceptional. Colman Domingo is phenomenal in the lead role (I’ve not seen either of his Oscar nominated performances, but I’m perfectly happy with him winning an Emmy for this), and the way it keeps twisting and turning is really something. I don’t have any idea of how this is going to end, or where it’s going to go from here, but…we’re down to the last two episodes this weekend, and so we’ll be finishing it tonight or tomorrow. I do highly recommend it, if you’re interested. The base point of the story, where it all starts, is with Domingo’s character, a CNN reporter about to be given his own show, rents a cabin in the Poconos for a couple of weeks to work on a book he’s writing (and how lovely does that sound? Two weeks in the peace and quiet of the woods to just write? Sigh), only when he goes to ask a neighbor for help, he stumbles over two masked men who’ve murdered his neighbor and dismembered him…and are now after him, and he’s being framed for the murder. And oh, the neighbor was a notorious white supremacist…and that’s just how it starts.

And on that note, I am going to head to the spice mines for the day and get my work done. Have a great and happy Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again later.

He’s the Greatest Dancer

Thursday and my second–and last–day in the office this week. It always feels like the entire city is hungover after Mardi Gras ends, and we’re all just kind of going through the motions the entire week until it’s the weekend again, and we go back to what passes for normal down here–which is not the same as it is anywhere else. Don’t be a hater, dear, it’s what makes New Orleans special and why we all love it here so much. It was so different yesterday, you know? Hardly any traffic on the way to work, no traffic on the way home, there was lots of parking so I could park in front of the house, the slalom course on St. Charles was taken down…and reality again is intruding on New Orleans. I had a good day at the office, overall; got caught up on a lot of things, and kind of seamlessly slid back into the day job and reality.

I was pretty tired when I got home from work, but…I finished the draft of my story yesterday! Huzzah! I wrote almost three thousand new words! It’s been a hot minute since I was able to do that in one sitting, let alone when I was physically and mentally fatigued, but I did it, I pushed through and did it. I am going to let it rest for a day or two before I go over it one more time, make corrections and necessary edits, so I can get it delivered this weekend and cross that off my to-do list. The words were painful, like extracting a wisdom tooth without gas or painkillers, but I got them done and what I said yesterday was correct: when I finish writing, no matter how long what I’ve done is, always makes me feel fantastic and like I can conquer the world and do anything. I do love that feeling, and I don’t know why I don’t remember that and push myself to get that high every day.

Because you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are, and you have a bad habit of self-sabotage. You do this to yourself ALL THE TIME.

And you never learn, do you?

I really don’t. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing something over and over while hoping for a different result each time? And yet…here we are. But I slept really well last night, and had no problem getting up this morning. I feel good, you know? Rested and emotionally even, not dreading the day or anything. I have some things I need to get done today–some bills to pay, some plans to make, pick up the mail uptown after I get off work–and then tonight I am hoping to get back to work on my book. I’ve also been asked to to some writing about Scotty and queer sex workers in crime fiction; I know there have been some (I’ve certainly written some over the years) but in all honesty, I’d never really thought of Scotty himself as being a sex worker (or a former one), but…go-go boys might not actually be having sex with people for money, but they are definitely displaying their bodies for erotic effect to make money, so…yes, he is a sex worker. After I finished working on my story last night, I was thinking about this new way of actually looking at Scotty and it didn’t bother me in the least. I’ve never really been good about recognizing my own work as anything other than my own work that I am proud of, but Scotty…there’s really no other character like him in crime fiction, is there? Are there any other male protagonists of a mystery series with that kind of history? I’m not even aware of any other crime novels whose main character is a sex worker of any kind. So, maybe my little Scotty humorous series actually is unique and groundbreaking after all. Something to ponder, at any rate.

And if you’d like a really good belly laugh, some cybertrucks rolled in the Orpheus parade Monday night. Needless to say, it did not go well for them in a city that gave 82% of its vote to Kamala Harris. But then MAGA asswipes are nothing if they are not completely delusional.

And on that note, it’s time for me to get going on my day. Have a lovely Thursday, all, and let’s remain focused on our own joy and how to resist fascism, shall we?

Let’s shall.

Nathan York Nebraska Men’s Gymnastics vs Penn State

Hold the Line

Ash Wednesday and the city is somber. We did have that horrible weather that was predicted, that messed with the parade schedule, but we stayed inside and rested and relaxed. I mean, that was a hell of a storm last night, and the wind was wild too. We even had a tornado warning! But we made it through it all, all that rain and wind made for a good night of sleep (and super-easy to fall asleep, too), and I feel pretty good this morning. I don’t feel like I am still sick, but I am also barely awake and my body hasn’t completely clocked in yet, either. Will there be a ticklish throat and a post-nasal drip this morning, or is that finally a thing of the past? Ah, there it is. I knew it was just a matter of time. Back to the DayQuil bottle. Sigh. Not feeling well over the past week or so certainly hasn’t helped matters much, has it? But we must endure and persevere, mustn’t we? And we can’t let the outside world burning to the ground interrupt our lives, no matter how pointless it all can seem from time to time. Staying positive isn’t easy when the forces of evil and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Trump, Musk, RFK Jr, and Putin) burn the world to the ground around us. But positivity in the face of evil is important. It is far too easy to give into despair in times like these.

It’s incredibly hard to get motivated to do anything, really, when reality becomes the latest uncertainty and you never know what you are going to wake up to. I’ve given into it a lot more than I should–the greatest trick about depression is it fools you into not realizing that’s what’s going on until it’s over. I fucking hate that, and it happens to me a lot more than I am even aware of, which is frightening. (My biggest self-delusion is that I am intensely self-aware; when the reality is I am intensely self-critical. They are NOT the same thing.) Depression always goes hand-in-glove with not writing for me; that’s why I never say I have writer’s block–because it’s actually depression. (I do not speak for all writers on this; this is how it works on/for me. But it’s also easier to say “writer’s block” than admit to “depression”–which turns it into a creative issue non-writers don’t understand or can experience, rather than a mental one everyone can relate to. Stigma about depression, I guess.) Not writing also makes me depressed, so it’s a very vicious cycle. It’s either “I can’t write so I get depressed so I get even more depressed” or “I’m too depressed to write which will make me more depressed” and I’m never aware of the cycle until it’s over or almost over–and why I always tell myself to write some fiction every day, even if it’s very little or even if it’s garbage; garbage can always be fixed, and even writing a few hundred words is an accomplishment, not matter how small it seems to my fevered, depressed mind.

I do sometimes wonder why people like me want to be writers, since we often create our own hells.

But I did work on my short story yesterday and it’s really taking shape. I started revising the words I already had written, so there was a lot of deletion, so I cannot even tell you how many words I actually did write yesterday, but the opening of the story is now shorter and also better, more involving, and works better. I am looking forward to working on it some more tonight. The mood and voice are coming together, and so is the setting–and my main character. I am excited, and want to get back to work on it again tonight when i get home from work. I also want to do some work on the book, which is falling behind again. I also have some emails to answer, bills to pay, finances to get under control, and numerous other things that I need to do–so yes, I am making a to-do list once I finish this and post it–and separate ones for personal and day job.

I also read some more of The Bell in the Fog, which I am loving, and we started watching The Madness on Netflix–more on both to come relatively soon.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Ash Wednesday, everyone, and I will talk to you relatively soon, I am sure.

Heaven Must Have Sent You

Orpheus Monday and we’re in that weird final gasp of parade season. Yesterday I had to think, several times, about what day it was. Carnival parade season is always a disruption to the time/space continuum, at least for me. I didn’t go to any parades yesterday, deciding not to really push my luck and energy reserves. I do miss being younger during Carnival, I have to admit. I took today off because I knew I’d need to run errands this morning, after being trapped at home all weekend since Friday afternoon. I have a lot of things to do this morning before I get on with the day–I’ve been pushing off unpleasant chores and tasks all weekend, and I really need to stop doing that. I hate when I get that way; avoidance never makes anything better, and thus the bandage needs to be torn off quickly and easily rather than pushing off another day. And it’s also very easy on Fat Tuesday to pull the celebratory feel out of the air and not do anything all day. I have to work on Wednesday and Thursday at the office, but then have my remote day and the weekend. March is going to be over before I know it and I have a lot I need to get done this month.

Politics and the state of the world aren’t helping much, to be honest with you. And the news that Homeland Security can now track queer people isn’t reassuring. It also hasn’t helped being sick most of last week–I still feel a little of it ongoing–and that hasn’t exactly had me leaping to get things done this past week, either. Yesterday I decided that it was better for me to rest rather than try to push to get things done, and this morning I do feel like that was a pretty wise decision, deadlines to the contrary. I definitely need to get into my email inbox today and trim that down, and I also have bills to pay and you know, all the usual horrible things that we all have to deal with on a daily basis in our lives, the little trivialities and minutiae that would be so lovely to pass off to an assistant if I had one, you know? That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about–and I’ve started doing so many things that I haven’t finished that it’s actually kind of embarrassing to admit. I have a load of dishes in the dishwasher that need to be put away, there’s a load of laundry in the dryer that needs to be folded and put away, I need to change the HVAC filter, etc etc etc. And that’s not even taking into consideration how messy and dirty my house is. Heavy heaving sigh.

And apparently the Carolinas are on fire? Were they not raking their forests? Or was it Jewish space lasers again? I am so sick (already) of living in the stupidest country on the planet. Wasn’t that disastrous White House “meeting” on Friday, in which our country abdicated its leadership of the world, enough to make everyone see what this insanity, this voting to punish people, leading with hatred and contempt for anyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male? And this administration is clearly showing why these people are so vested in white supremacy: they are proving once again how mediocre so many cishet white men are. JD Vance is a couch-fucking piece of shit who should not be a heart beat away from the presidency, and Mike Johnson is an apostate blasphemer who sees religion as a means of control–after all, all churches teach are obedience, not love and kindness and morality. If you need to go to church because you’re a shitty person the other six days of the week–well, maybe stop going to church and stop being a shitty person the rest of the week, since going to church isn’t working? I always love, too, how the “faithful” always demand obedience rather than morality, and how they are very quick to wonder how atheists can be moral without religion. Well, I wonder how you can be religious without being moral. See how that works? If you go to church twice on Sunday and once during the week for Bible study, and are still immoral…well, your religion isn’t working and you don’t really believe. Religion is about power and control to you.

How… Christ-like.

I do feel good this morning, and am not entirely sure how long that is going to last for me. It seems every morning feels like a good morning lately, and yet I still run out of steam at some point in the late morning/early afternoon. I guess it’s better than waking up feeling like something the cat dragged in before getting acclimated to my day and still being alive. But I definitely need to get back to work on cleaning out my email inbox, and I definitely need to be writing more than I currently am. I know how to finish my short story, but I need to get back to revising/editing/writing it again. My goal for today is to finish the first draft so I can work on it cleaning it all up by the end of the week.

I hate being behind.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Lundi Gras, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again later or tomorrow.

I Want Your Love

Iris Saturday! And it looks like a beautiful day out there outside my windows. I also don’t feel sick this morning, which is also wonderful. After working yesterday I felt very sick and very tired, so I just decided to shut my brain off and just mindlessly drift through news clips on Youtube, as well as whatever my brain decided for me to look for (the temple destruction scene at the end of Samson and Delilah, for one example) as I finished laundering the sheets and went to bed. I slept great last night, too, and feel pretty good this morning. That’s awesome because it is, after all, IRIS SATURDAY! I probably won’t stay out for Tucks after Iris, but I am not missing my ladies! I also feel like I can get some things done around here today, too. I’ve been slacking on the house (and on, well, everything) for a while now–being sick didn’t help matters much–and so I should be getting it all under control today. I want to get some reading done, catch some beads, do some cleaning and some writing, while I’m at it.

I also watched a couple of 1970s movies last night while Paul worked (I got tired of the news; I can only watch American elected officials embarrass the country in front of the world so many times. What a fucking disgrace) and watched a Gene Hackman hard-boiled private eye movie (Night Moves) and a classic I’ve never seen (that no one ever talks about anymore either–The China Syndrome) and I enjoyed both. There’s really something different about the movies of the late 1960s and 1970s, a kind of gritty realism that showed the world as it was–dirty, graffitied, muted colors–that went away with movies in the 1980s, where everything was prettied up for the movies and departed from realism. It put me in mind of my Cynical 70s Film Festival that I did during the shutdown, and how so many movies were about paranoia and not trusting the government; which, after Vietnam, civil rights, and Watergate was very much a leftist thing. (Weird how that’s shifted–it’s the right that doesn’t trust the government anymore; that would be an interesting study, wouldn’t it? How that changed and shifted over the years? Another thing I hate about the right is that they’ve made the left defend the government rather than critiquing it.) Night Moves was okay–the mystery itself wasn’t terribly interesting but the thing that was interesting was Gene Hackman’s performance. The film was an excellent character study, even though we never really learned much about him. My primary takeaway from the film was that Gene Hackman would have made a great Travis McGee. Talk about missed opportunities. (Although it would also be a great role for Alan Ritchson…)

The China Syndrome was born out of the 1970’s paranoia about using nuclear reactors to create energy. After all the lies before, during and after Vietnam–not to mention Watergate–people weren’t really into trusting government reassurances, and weird things were happening with the nuclear power plants anyway (Karen Silkwood’s story would also be filmed, Silkwood, which was another one of those “paranoia/can’t trust the government or corporations” movies); they were building one fairly close to where we lived in Kansas–Wolf Creek, I think was the name–and there were protests about it (Kansas folks just saw as it as a place to work and no more thought into it than that) and I also remember in the classifieds in the Emporia Gazette some group always ran a little ad that said “NEVER FORGET KAREN SILKWOOD” so I already knew that story before the movie was made. Michael Douglas produced the movie, and of course Jane Fonda was in it–they were both very anti-nuclear energy; so of course it was seen as a “Hollywood liberals trying to scare people” film. But shortly after it was released, Three Mile Island (our almost Chernobyl) happened–and the movie became a huge hit. The movie ended positively–the news about the accidents at the plant in question gets out finally at the end1–which goes to show how hopeful these kinds of movies sometimes ended; when we all know the reporter and her cameraman, as well as the nuclear engineer played by Jack Lemmon, would have all either disappeared or been found dead under mysterious circumstances.

I really should watch an old movie when I’m too tired to write or read, rather than doomscrolling news clips on Youtube.

I’ve also been terribly remiss on my newsletter; I’ve started several that are in progress that I really should finish and share with the world–and should send out one before it’s time to do my review of The Bell in the Fog (Lev AC Rosen). I am trying not to overdo it–I mean, I pretty much write this every day so I don’t need to be sending out newsletters more than once a week; there’s only so much Greg people can take, after all. And I also expect you all to read my books and short stories, too. What can I say? I really enjoy writing.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and get to work around here. Have a lovely Iris Saturday, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later.

  1. Sorry-not sorry for not putting up a spoiler warning for a forty-six year old movie. ↩︎

Sultans of Swing

No jury duty today! And I think I am finished with it all this time around. Trials, according to what the judge told us on Monday, rarely start this close to the weekend of the last push of Carnival, so if I don’t have to report today I shouldn’t have to report anymore. I was only there for an hour or so yesterday before we were released, which was great. I came to work–my testing in the clinic shifts were covered–and got some odds and ends and other things taken care of. I wasn’t feeling too hot by the end of the day–and getting home from work was a nightmare–but by the time I went to bed I was feeling terrible. I woke up to a fever this morning, a sore throat and some major coughing. I decided that it was wiser to use sick time rather than risk getting everyone at the office sick–which would thus spread exponentially, call me Typhoid Greg–and so called out. I can’t remember the last time I missed work because I was sick; probably when I had COVID? I should probably take a test today myself, shouldn’t I? Heavy heaving sigh. I’ll do that before I go lie down with my book.

As far as jury duty goes, this wasn’t too terrible, really. And I don’t mind doing it, either. I always serve whenever I am called; the only time I’ve tried getting out of it was when I was supposed to serve the week after the shoulder/arm surgery, which wasn’t possible. I find it interesting and a solemn responsibility; it’s part of our civic duty as citizens after all, and weighing the evidence and deciding someone’s fate is kind of a big deal. Plus I like seeing how the courts actually work in real life, as opposed to books and movies. (The judge also said on Monday that court isn’t like Law and Order, there’s a lot more they don’t show. It’s really funny the cultural impact those shows have had on the country; someone should do a study on that. I have some thoughts myself about it and other “copaganda” shows, as well as the books about cops/lawyers.)

The not feeling well definitely sucks, though. All of my joints ache, and my legs feel exhausted. I did have to park fairly far from the house, on Race between Camp and Magazine. I’ll try to get the car moved today, so it’s closer to the house. I am hoping this doesn’t last another day–I don’t want to take another sick day and if I do, I still need to go by the office and get my computer so I can work at home on Friday–and the COVID test is negative. If the COVID test isn’t negative, it won’t matter because I won’t be allowed back into the building until next week anyway. I don’t want to use all my sick time, but if I have COVID, there’s no choice.

Good news! The COVID test was negative. I am feeling a bit better, but still running a fever. I also have a tickle in my throat and it’s sore. It also looks like a beautiful day outside, and the weather should be lovely for the parades this weekend, if I am feeling up to it. I definitely want to do Iris and Muses, if I can, and maybe some Thoth on Sunday. Bacchus is too much of a madhouse, but I love Orpheus on Monday because the crowd starts clearing out early because people need to go home and get ready for Fat Tuesday. I just hope I’m feeling better by tomorrow so I can go in to work. I do not like being sick.

The good news is that I signed a short story contract yesterday. It’s been a hot minute, so I am very well pleased. (This is for a submission to an anthology call; the other one I signed was one I was asked to write, so it’s a bit different.) I’m not sure if I can talk about this anthology or talk about my story–which I am dying to tell you about–but I’ll have to be annoying and not say anything for now. One I can talk about is called “The Rhinestone,” since the contract is already signed and the book has been announced. I have to revise and edit the story with notes, but it’s kind of a done deal. “The Rhinestone” is a book excerpt, and what’s really funny about this particular book excerpt (besides the fact that the book itself isn’t finished; this is from Never Kiss a Stranger) is that it was the actual kernel the entire book idea grew from, too. Funny how that works sometimes, isn’t it? I’ve often had ideas that I thought were interesting, but didn’t know if it was a short story or a novel until I tried writing it one way or the other. I used to always be expanding short stories into novels (because I overwrite and always have more to say); it was around 2012 that I began thinking in terms of maybe your novel ideas can actually be written as short stories instead), but shortly after we moved here, Paul and I had lunch at a place called the Quarter Scene, which was either queer-owned or just extremely queer friendly. It was our first time eating there, and I don’t remember why we did in the first place or why we were in the Quarter. Regardless, the table we were seated at–in the big picture window–had a little plaque on the wall reading TENNESSEE’S TABLE with the note that whenever he was in town, Tennessee Williams always sat at that table for lunch. We both thought that was kind of cool, and I thought “Tennessee’s Table” was a great title for a short story. The original story in and of itself wasn’t anything–just two gay friends meeting for lunch and sharing stories. It was a melancholy little story, really, not much to it. But when I started working on Never Kiss a Stranger–I originally wrote it as a long novella, about 30k words–I decided to reuse that setting and write a scene between two of the main characters. When I was asked to write for this anthology–the theme was the story had to be inspired by a queer icon–Tennessee Williams, who has had an enormous impact on both Paul’s and my life, was a no brainer. And then I thought, hey, that scene is set at Tennessee’s Table, why not adapt that back into a short story? So I pulled the chapter and reworked it a bit. I also have notes to make it stronger as a short story, so looking forward to revising that.

As for the country and the world, well, it kind of speaks for itself with no need for comment from me, does it?

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

Ain’t No Stoppin Us Now

Monday morning and have to head to the parish courthouse for jury duty at criminal court. I am one of the few people who don’t mind doing jury duty, and don’t try to get out of it when I am called. I was originally called to serve a week after my surgery in 2023, but got excused as I couldn’t drive, let alone serve on a jury. I slept well last night, too.

It rained all day yesterday and the parades were all cancelled, postponed until tomorrow night. I am sitting here getting ready to go report for jury duty, and trying not to worry about dealing with a week I can’t plan in the least. Before the anxiety medications I would have been a bundle of knots and nerves and on edge the entire day; probably wouldn’t have eaten anything or gotten much of anything done. I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked, perhaps, but I was a bit out of sorts yesterday. I’ve not been feeling super-great over the weekend–kind of nasally and sore throat-ish, which was annoying, and enough of a distraction to keep me from getting a lot done and being able to focus. I did get some things done–the boring kind of things I generally hate to do and put off. I did struggle a bit trying to work on both the book and a short story I need to finish, but it wasn’t flowing or coming and it just wasn’t working so I gave up and gave rein to my creativity in other ways.

I did realize, thank goodness, that I hadn’t revised as much as I had thought, and so have a lot “more room” to work with than I had thought, which was a relief. What I mean here by “more room” is the word count; I have about 900 words in the word count that are going to be excised or slashed down dramatically, so I have approximately a thousand more words of room before I hit the outside word count. I always write short stories this way, which I know makes no sense to anyone other than me. I have to have a title that works for me and puts me into the right mindset/mood to produce the story I want in the voice and tone that I want–being in a very cheery mood when you’re writing about someone who’s planning to kill his mother and sell her farm to a corporation doesn’t really lend the right tone, if you know what I mean (which is why my story “The Sound of Snow Falling” remains unpublished in my files; I need to make it darker in tone than the cheery voice it’s currently in)–and then I start writing it, knowing how many words I have to tell the story. Sometimes I know the entire story, sometimes I know the beginning, sometimes I know the end, sometimes I have a title and an opening sentence. It’s wild and chaotic and freestyle, really; the only thing for sure is I have to know how much room I have. I also figured out the story last night as I brainstormed and cleaned and did other things, so now I have to write it in the room that I have. I also need to go ahead and read those 900 words to see if any of it is even worth trying to save or just delete it all…since I know now what the story is, and I like it.

And now you know why it’s so hard for me to write short stories.

But I think I will get this one done soon, and then I’m going to be free again to dive back into the book. Yay!

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s The Bell in the Fog, which I am really loving. Reading it reminds of Chlorine–which will be very different even though set in the same time period. Los Angeles and Hollywood are a different mood–sunshine noir as opposed to foggy noir. (I always see Lev’s story in my head in the style of The Maltese Falcon film, whereas Chlorine I see as more of an American Gigolo style but in the 1950s–Palm Springs, Hollywood, Malibu.) I am still excited to be writing again, can you tell? Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, whatever I think, my mind steers itself back into thinking about something I am working on. That’s a good sign, I think. I like when my thoughts are mostly filled with creative thoughts and inspirations and breakthroughs. It always puts me into a much better mood–certainly better than watching the news and rolling my eyes and wondering what the fuck is going to happen next and knowing this is not going to end well under even the best, most hopeful outcome will include death and violence.

And yeah, I’d rather focus on my own writing and creating and art, you know? Create my own joy and try to brighten the darkness a little bit?

And on that cheery note, I am going to get ready to head to the courthouse. Have a lovely Monday, wherever you are, and I’ll be back, most likely tomorrow morning.

I Love the Nightlife

I also love to boogie–especially in the disco round, oh yeah, baby.

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment after kind of a nice, slow and easy day around here. Paul stayed up late working so pretty much slept the entire day away again, and I myself got up late yesterday, too. I didn’t mind, even though I was a little perturbed that I got up so late. But I had a nice morning. I did some things I needed to do and cleaned and organized some more, and I got up pretty early this morning, too. I don’t know how motivated I feel today, but I am hopefully going to get some good writing work done this morning so I can spend the afternoon reading. Sounds like a winner to me. We did finish catching up with Reacher, Abbott Elementary, and Prime Target last night, too. Tomorrow I get to report to Criminal Court for jury duty in Mid-city, so I will be finding out what’s going on with that. I’m hoping to be dismissed before parade days start; I’d rather go to the office and leave early than try to get home at five from Criminal Court in Midcity, which would probably require taking I-10/90, getting off at Tchoupitoulas, and doubling back from there with no place to park. Ah, well, this too shall pass, and as a crime writer, it’s always interesting to see how criminal court–or courts in general–operate up close and personal.

It’s gray outside, and rain is expected, which should put a damper on any and all parades today. There are no night parades, so technically I could make a grocery run after King Arthur ends, but I doubt I’ll want to be out and about at that time anyway. I do have all kinds of things to do today–I want to spend the morning writing and the afternoon reading, if at all possible. It’s always so nice to curl up in my chair with a blanket and read while it’s raining, you know? I like feeling snug and cozy; which is why I am so particular about sleep arrangements. Want to know something weird about me? I sleep with four blankets, because that’s enough weight to make me feel snug and comfortable. I have a soft wool one on the bottom and one really velvety soft one on the top. I need two pillows, always, and also need the ceiling fan on and a little personal fan on my nightstand going. Weird? Just a little bit. But I think we all have things that we do, little rituals, that bring us comfort and joy. Just me? Probably. I always default to me not being normal, I suppose; the product of my youth. Thanks, bully trash!

I did work on an essay yesterday a bit, one called “Try That in a Small Town.” I started writing it when the Jason Aldean nonsense happened last summer, because that “real America” bullshit has always, always pissed me off; and essentially has always been used to demonize cities–you know, the economic engines that fucking drive the country–and reassure provincial types who stay in rural areas that they are more important than the city dwellers. This of course goes back to the lies that were always told to encourage immigration when white people felt the need to “fill the continent” with white people while exterminating the natives. You can be free, you can own land and property, you can prosper because the government will leave you alone to do as you please and not restrict your freedoms. No, the rich people needed more consumers, and they also needed population in the “empty” territories to produce and buy. The United States has always been expansionist; even the Founding Fathers assumed more states would be formed out of native land, after they were pushed out. Anyway, I actually lived in a very small town in a very rural county in an underpopulated state for five horrible years–and I will dispute to my dying breath this notion that small towns are the “real America” (fuck you again and again with razor wire, Sarah Palin)…because everyone acts like they’re like Mayberry when they are really Peyton Place–horribly judgmental with lots of cruel gossip and backstabbing, and the sexual perversions of these “good meat-and-potatoes Americans” not even Grace Metalious could have dreamed up–and Peyton Place was nothing more than a novelization of things she witnessed and experienced in a small town. It always infuriates me, you know, to hear this “real America” shit. Try to make it without Chicago, New York, LA, Boston, and San Francisco. The fucking economy would crater in about two seconds. But…cities are usually Democratic strongholds, so they must be demonized, always.

And there’s the rain! I knew it was coming. It’s just a drizzle but it’s enough for the gutter to drip water on the cat enclosure just outside my laundry room–and it’s only raining on that side of the house. This happens here a lot–it can be raining on one block but not the next; one part of the city can be getting a flooding rain while it’s sunny and bright in another–but I don’t remember the last time it only rained on the other side of the house. New Orleans, always so bizarre.

It also seems that the American people are getting fed up with what’s going on in Washington, and they are starting to push back. I’ve progressed beyond FAFO, to be honest1; the danger to the country’s future is that strong that the mocking and pointing fingers and laughing and atonement can come after the threat has been overcome. I think this is the kind of lesson we needed to learn; we’ve always taken our system for granted and always assumed the government was stable and would hold–forever smug about governments toppling and falling in other countries while we remained stable. The problem is that stability was only achieved through horrific compromises…and human rights should never, ever, under any circumstance, be left to public or government whim. The seeds of self-destruction were planted in the Constitution with the compromise on enslavement. Senators used to be appointed by state legislatures, not the people. BUT it was also designed to be a living document, changed and amended over time to clear up inconsistencies and always, always, intended to protect the people from government overreach. I also agree with something I saw on social media yesterday–every elected official should be required to have regular town halls to meet with their constituents, and they also need to remember they were voted in to work for their district, not the president. Separate but equal branches of government means nothing when elected officials in Congress abdicate their roles for whatever reason.

And really, what is MAGA but the modern Confederacy? Yes, they are also Nazis…but remember–the Germans learned about how to deal with undesirable sub-populations by studying enslavement and Jim Crow. There’s your heritage, rednecks. You were Hitler’s blueprint. And weren’t plantations simply concentration/work camps with a nicer name?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning (or night).

  1. I’ve not, and never will, forgive MAGA voters, to be sure–just like I’ll never stop mentally dancing and pissing on Ronald and Nancy Reagan’s graves. But I can put that aside for now to overcome this threat. But there needs to be a reckoning–unlike after the Civil War and 1/6/20. ↩︎

(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away

A cold Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. My doctor’s appointment went well–all my vitals were at appropriate levels, my lungs are clear, and all medications appear to be working properly, which is lovely. I came home from that appointment to do chores and make the house orderly before we headed out to Metairie for Paul’s appointment, after which we went to Costco. You know, for the first Friday of parade season, it wasn’t that terrible. It was crowded, yes, and there were times I had to wait for inconsiderate assholes who were blocking aisles thoughtlessly (a regular occurrence at the grocery store, a rarity for Costco) and the check out lines ferociously long, but it didn’t take us long to spend a shit load of money (Paul also ordered a new pair of glasses and our membership was also due for renewal). I was a bit concerned about parking when we got back, as it was closer to parade rolling time that I was comfortable with. I had noticed there were a lot of cars parking in the neighborhood–unusual–when I left for my appointment, and there was also a lot more traffic on the roads I usually traverse. Understandably, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to park within a mile of the house, but once we departed for Metairie/Costco I realized why everything was the way it was–they’ve turned the side of St. Charles people can drive down1 while parades are rolling into an obstacle course2. This is, I imagine, for crowd safety precautions after New Year’s, but damn…it’s going to make negotiating St. Charles and the neighborhood about ten times harder than it is usually is.

Thanks, asshole terrorist. I hope you’re roasting in hell like you deserve.

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, the second book in his Andy Mills detective series set in early 1950’s San Francisco. It’s an interesting period to read about: after the war but before Stonewall, when sodomy was still an enforceable crime and the hatred of queer people was so intense they were targeted mercilessly and no one fucking cared.3 Lev is a terrific writer–I loved Lavender House–and this one starts out really well. It’s very reminiscent of the old masters of crime/noir/hardboiled–Hammett, Chandler, Cain–which is why he gets nominated for awards so regularly.

I also have apparently sold another short story. I had sent something to an anthology at some point last year and completely forgot about it, to be honest; yesterday I got an apologetic email from (I guess? It has been a while) the editor saying they want it if it’s still available. That was a lovely bit of news, to go along with the terrific feedback from the other anthology that asked me for one. I am going to finish writing another one this weekend (if it kills me) so I can focus on finishing my book. I’d forgotten–as it has been a hot minute–how nice it is to get positive feedback from peers. And rather than questioning or explaining it away in my head (just being nice, etc etc), I decided to accept it and feel good about it, which is a lovely new approach to my career. In the moments when I allow myself to go down the natural path of current events (my publisher will get shut down, my books removed from the bookseller websites–it galls me that they’re on Target’s website, although they probably make very little me off me–and my career shut down completely in the de-queering of the country), I find it ironic that my stress, anxiety and depression didn’t allow me to ever enjoy my career very often, and that now I am finally beginning to enjoy myself and the nicer side of publishing/writing, it could all be stripped away from me. (For the record, straight people, losing our writing careers because of our sexual identity is something we have to think about all the time. Do you? So, fuck off with your I’m-an-ally-as-long-as-it’s-just-words-online bullshit. DO SOMETHING.)

But yes, I am feeling like I definitely need to get back to producing work, and that feels good for a change, you know?

Sparky also let me sleep late this morning, the little darling, and even curled up in the bed with me rather than trying to get me up. I think he waits for my alarm like Pavlov’s dog; I’ve trained him to react to the sound as well as his stomach. We watched LSU Gymnastics win at Kentucky last night, but they didn’t have a great meet–a bit of a letdown after defeating Oklahoma last week in Baton Rouge and a packed house–but it was fine; they hadn’t won in Lexington since 2016, and this year they did despite a bad meet. We then watched the premiere episode of Season Three of Reacher, which is based on one of my favorite Reacher novels, and am loving it. (I also like that his portrayer, Alan Ritchson–whom I’ve liked since I first noticed him on Smallville–is a devout Christian and not a cosplay one; he calls out the evangelicals and their false prophet regularly. He recently gave an interview to GQ in which he talked about Matt Gaetz, whom he went to high school with, and just ripped him to fucking shreds. You see? I don’t object to Christianity when people actually are real Christians.) We also watched some Arrested Development, too, before going to bed much later than we should have.

Overall, Friday was a pretty good day. I am going to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today–I need to unload the dishwasher and refill it at some point; and there’s always organizing and cleaning to get done. I also need to answer emails–I no longer have to stick to my old rule of “no emails on the weekend”–and I need to get some more newsletters written and finished to send. I’m trying hard to not deluge people with my newsletter; I am very prolific, as has been pointed out in the past repeatedly, and who wants to read my thoughts, views, and opinions on a daily basis? Even though I didn’t publish anything–not even a short story last year–I still produce a prodigious amount of writing all the time.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines–more accurately, I am going to repair to my easy chair with my book for a while before I actually start getting things done around here–and I may be back later. I am trying not to do more than one post here per day…but anyway, have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be right back here tomorrow.

Screenshot
  1. I’ve always marveled that one side of the neutral ground is for the parades and the other side is open to traffic heading uptown. St. Charles is a major artery of the city, and they usually have to keep that side open because everything inside the parade is blocked off–and people do need to get uptown. Not really sure how this obstacle course drivers need to negotiate will work, or if they are going to take them down every night and put them back up again before the parades start–which means shutting St. Charles down for however long it takes to set up. Sigh. ↩︎
  2. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. ↩︎
  3. Straight people have always been awful, and the white ones the worst of all. ↩︎

What You Won’t Do For Love

Monday and back to the office with one Gregalicious. It’s very cold this morning, and I may need to go turn on the heat. It’s 39 (!!) currently in New Orleans, so layers are clearly in order for the day. Yikes. At least I didn’t wake up to snow this morning.

I was tired yesterday still from the trip, but managed to run errands and pick up my prescriptions before repairing to the easy chair and pretty much wasting yesterday. I slept well again last night, so am hopeful that I won’t be tired until later today. (Errands after work tonight, too.) I have to get back into the swing of my life again, you know? I’m behind on everything, need to get to work again, and have jury duty next week (sigh). Parades start this weekend but I think it’s going to be horribly cold. I might layer up and go to King Arthur (the unofficial gay parade) next Sunday afternoon, but I don’t want to risk getting sick either by spending a lot of time outside in the cold. Beads also hurt to catch when it’s cold. Not sure why that is, but there we are. I did turn the heat on this morning, so at least it will be nice and warm when I get home this evening.

I started writing my newsletter about Nick Cutter’s The Troop, which I greatly enjoyed, but there was too much brain fatigue for me to start my next read, which I hope to start reading this week. But I didn’t finish writing the newsletter, didn’t do a lot other than chores (and not many of those got done, either) and spent the day kind of zoning out and watching history documentaries on Youtube (mostly about the Hapsburgs and the Holy Roman Empire and the unification of Germany in the 1800’s), and also watched some 1970s nostalgia videos for research. Despite how awful everything seems today–what a horrible world and society we lived in during that decade. The rigid gender roles! The rampant sexism! The fear of being left by your husband for not being a good housekeeper or cook! The absolute lack of Black or Latinos on television! The horrible sitcoms! The cutesie euphemisms for fucking! (Making whoopie has always made my stomach turn.) The game shows! The Bicentennial! The great irony is all this research will most likely not wind up in the book, but knowing all this will help ground the voice in the time period. Researching the 1970s has been terrific fun, and has gone hand in hand with me spending time with Dad and talking about my childhood. It’s so weird to hear what your parents actually thought about you when you were a child. Dad told me this past weekend that I was one of the most beautiful babies he’d ever seen (no bias, of course; but my sister WAS a gorgeous baby; lots of pictures of her as a little girl, but by the time I came around Dad was starting college and they were poor as fuck), and such a sweet, handsome little boy that all the adults liked and petted and made much of; I don’t remember any of that, really, but it does make sense to me in the sense that moving out to the suburbs was such a shock, and the cruelty of the kids I encountered out there was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was unsettling, and left the ground shaky under my feet for the rest of my life…I think before then I just childishly assumed everyone was nice and everyone was kind and so unwarranted and unnecessary cruelty shook me to my core. I think my sister must have told him I was bullied; he asked about that once and I just kind of brushed it off; he of course thinks everything was his fault now and I was bullied because I was so much younger than everyone else and how he shouldn’t have let me skip a grade. I think I said something like “they were assholes”; when he asked me if I would ever go back to Kansas, I replied, “why? I didn’t care about any of those kids and none of them ever spoke to me again after we graduated so why would I waste my money and time going back there? If I want to see anything there I can use Google Earth.” There’s absolutely nothing to compel my return to Kansas other than nostalgia and curiosity and I don’t care for nostalgia…and I’m not that curious. I write fiction, so I can just make up places if I want to, right?

I am also looking forward to getting back to work on writing again. I do feel like it’s been a hot minute since I left–it seems like Thursday was another life time ago–and I need to get oriented and check my to-do list and update it. I am so behind on everything, and there’s some stuff that is extremely urgent–like all the stuff sitting in my email inbox. Heavy heaving sigh. But there’s aught to do but do it, you know? But now that I am sliding back into my life again–odd how basically forty-eight hours away can seem like a complete reset–I am feeling like I can conquer the world again, which is a lovely feeling.

And on that note, I am diving into the spice mines. Y’all have a great day, okay?

You have to love Olympic swimmers!