Category: editing

Nowhere to Run

Friday morning after the holiday, and were you able to get through it safely without killing a MAGA relative, Constant Reader? I have to admit it was kind of nice spending the day by myself. Sparky and I had a very nice time hanging out, and he spent a lot of time in a kitty puddle in my lap, with only the occasional change into Apex Predator Pounce and Attack mode. I wound up watching some research videos on Youtube, going down wormholes and putting me in mind of yet another project in the files, heaving heaving sigh. I also spent more time with Lavender House, which continues to be marvelous–another one I am reading so I can savor everything about it. It was actually kind of lovely, to tell you the truth; Sparky certainly was enjoying himself. The cold spell we were warned about for Thanksgiving arrived over night, actually; it’s only 49 degrees outside right now and I could tell when I get downstairs this morning. Brrr. It also explains how well I slept last night, and why I am up so early this morning, too. Not even seven, and I am already here slurping coffee and typing away. I feel very rested, too, and good, even. I want to get things done today, and I am going to make A List. I am going to spend some time this morning reading more of the book, and I have some other reading/editing to do, and maybe, if I am lucky I can even get some writing done, too. There’s some more cleaning that needs to be done, and the bed linens need to be laundered as it is Friday. I survived the holiday alone, and it was actually kind of nice. It was always Mom’s holiday, the one I would usually go to Kentucky for, and that’s part of the reason last year I had my surgery two days before the holiday–I figured being drugged up and recovering from a major surgery was the best way to get through missing her last year, and this year, I did get sad a couple of times but overall, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I think I managed to cope with Thanksgiving very well these last two years.

There are some football games on today, but no one I really care too much about. I may put on the Egg Bowl this afternoon (Mississippi-Mississippi State) because it’s usually a wild game, but who knows? It depends on where I am at with everything I want to do today. I’ll probably not get everything done that I want to get done–that is the Way–but at least I get to be at home on this cold November morning. In fact, curling up with my book and my blanket in my easy chair sounds 100% like the best option for this morning.

I did manage to think through the revisions of another couple of stories last night, which was rather cool. My productive mind is still working, I am just not turning that work into actual writing production, which has always been an issue (I’ve never been able to keep up with my mental creativity) for me, but I am enjoying writing in my journal and thinking about my writing. I do love writing, and I hope I’ll be able to get back on the horse completely. I can’t remember the last time I did three thousand words in a day–but then I barely remember yesterday, so it could be as recent as a few weeks ago. I’ve also been avoiding the news a lot these last couple of days, which has also been lovely. I have become very cynical and jaded about a lot of things since the election, to be honest. I’m still a bit concerned about what exactly is going to happen now that Incompetent Evil has taken over the country, and what that means for my future–but I only have space to worry about mine and Paul’s. The rest of my life means my emotional work will focus entirely on Paul and I; and my writing is about to become a lot more important and get a lot more of my focus and energy going forward. It’s astonishing to me that I always let other people put their needs and wants and desires ahead of my own career. How stupid was that? I always say I don’t want to have regrets, but I do resent and regret that.

I did manage to get caught up on my two Housewives shows–Beverly Hills and Salt Lake City–which was incredibly fun. I try to figure out the appeal of these shows, and why I find them so compelling, almost constantly. I don’t consider them guilty pleasures–as my friend Laura says, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about anything that gives you pleasure”, which is pretty fucking true–so much as I wonder why I get so addicted to them, in much the same way as I would get addicted to daytime and prime time soaps when I was younger. There’s a parallel there somewhere, but I just haven’t managed to get my brain to figure that out so I can write about it. I might watch something tonight–movie or television series–but haven’t really decided yet.

And on that note, I am going to my chair with my book to get under a blanket and read for a while. Have a lovely Black Friday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. No one is ever really for sure about anything, are they?

Thanksgiving Prayer

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Or, if you prefer (I do), Happy Native Genocide Eve!

I am spending this one alone, here in the Lost Apartment by myself, and that’s fine. Yesterday was nice. I didn’t feel as bad when I woke, after a good night’s sleep, and by early afternoon my stomach stopped aching even a little bit. It embarrasses me to admit this, but I think I was actually malnourished! I’ve not eaten dinner once this week, and I didn’t really eat much on Sunday, either–so I went into calorie deficit, and whatever I ate wasn’t enough calories to keep my body functioning properly.1My blood sugar drops, I get all post-nasal drippy, the drip makes me feverish and cough, and I feel, overall, like crap. I caught up on my eating yesterday morning and lunch finally made the ache go away. Seriously, not very smart. But it’s fine this morning and I feel like myself again, thank the Lord. So, with my unexpected extra day off, I wound up having a very nice and relaxing day around the house by myself. I’m rarely ever home alone for an entire day, let alone a week, so the novelty is still kind of nice and fun and oh, yes, I can do whatever I want whenever I want, can’t I? I did listen to Orville Peck yesterday while I did some cleaning. The downstairs is pretty much done; I just need to do the floors and move some furniture. I also worked on an essay2 and did some reading yesterday, which was nice. I am taking today off from anything and everything–it is a holiday, after all–and the days when I used to feel guilty for doing nothing all day are in the past. I’d also completely forgotten it was Rivalry Weekend in college football, when anything can happen in a football season that has already been wild and wacky and full of crazy upsets. LSU plays Oklahoma for the first time in the regular season this Saturday night in Baton Rouge, so that should be interesting; Oklahoma just trounced Alabama, who trounced LSU a few weeks ago. Obviously, you can’t tell anything by common opponents (LSU beat Vanderbilt, who beat Alabama. Go figure).

So, Thanksgiving. I’ll have a fancy turkey sandwich later–probably open-faced, with turkey gravy poured over it–and when I finish this, I’ll probably go read some more of Lavender House, which is phenomenal and I am loving. I’m seeing the influence of the masters–Chandler and Hammett–in this, and it is absolutely amazing. I am not going to pressure myself to do anything today or feel guilty about not doing things. Besides, I am not capable of doing nothing all day–I’ll do something, at any rate; whether it’s cleaning or pruning the books or organizing a cabinet; I’m like Mom that way. I still have to edit a manuscript this weekend, and I’d also like to reread what I have done on Scotty, maybe even get back into writing that manuscript. I puzzled out how to finish and revise a novella and another one of my short stories–both need to be harder, colder, more hard-boiled and sly and mean-spirited, frankly. I’ve enjoyed this novella because it’s about a dysfunctional relationship that has a truly sad ending. The problem with both, I realized, is that they are from the point of view of someone who ends up committing a crime, and it’s really about how everything leads up to that moment, so I had the voice completely wrong in both, which is the missing piece I’ve been looking for now for quite some time. So, while I am not actually writing anything fictional at the moment, I am doing some brain work on my fiction, and sorry not sorry, THAT COUNTS.

But the whole point of this day–the “wholesome” America rah-rah-rah version, at any rate–is to remember and be thankful for your blessings in this life, and not focus on the hardships you’ve faced. There’s definitely a bit of Christianity and white supremacy baked into that particular American mythology, which is why some (me) half-jokingly call it Native Genocide Eve, because it was the last time European colonizers were grateful for indigenous help, and before they started slaughtering them–whether it was through out-and-out gunfire or disease. The truth left out of the US creation myth is that it was all about conquest and colonizing. I don’t think learning about that is nearly as disillusioning as being taught one thing as a child and then learning as you get older that it’s all justification and lies. Europeans had no right to the Americas, and they took the two continents with violence, prejudice, and genocide. The foundation of our country was built upon white Christian supremacy.

Why is that so hard for people to accept or admit? The truth is, we have been dealing with “alternative facts” most of our lives. Talk about miseducation!

But back to my thankfulness. Obviously, first and foremost, is that I am grateful every day for Paul. What a remarkable person he is, and how lucky was I, with all the people in the world, that somehow I wound up finding the perfect person for me, like I’d ordered from a menu? I miss him when he’s not here–I’ve kind of been thinking about Dad, living alone after losing Mom, up there in the house they shared together for the last twenty-five years of their lives together, and can really understand and relate. I usually can handle the first few days whenever he goes on a trip anywhere, luxuriating in the novelty of living alone (which I’ve never done). Usually by the third day alone (technically tomorrow) I start feeling the loneliness and realize ah, this is what it’ll be like if he goes first 3, which is “I can do this when I’ll have to (again, no choice).”

I am very thankful to be living in New Orleans, the only place in this country that has ever felt like home to me. I love this city even when I complain about it. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with having the same mentality about life and death that I’ve always had: enjoy today because you could be gone tomorrow. One thing that always bugs me on a molecular level is putting off joy till later. Um, there are more than enough things in life to make you forget about joy, so why inflict it upon yourself? Katrina emphasized that even further–you could lose everything you have in a day and have to start completely over. I’ve moved around the country enough, starting over, that having to start over again at my current age isn’t desirable, but I’ve done it enough times over the course of sixty-three years that I know if I have to, I can. I am also very thankful for that hard core of resiliency baked into who I am.

I am very thankful for my writing career. It’s what I always wanted to do, for as long as I can remember, and even when I get frustrated with it, or wish I had done something differently…well, there are any number of people who wish they had my career, and despite the fact that my writing career happened because so many things that needed to happen for it to happen, happened. I think part of the reason I never took my career as seriously as I should have from the very beginning is because luck and good fortune made it happen, which also makes me very aware of how it can happen. But…that doesn’t, and shouldn’t undermine, the story of my career trajectory. I’ve been nominated for awards almost thirty times, and have even won on occasion. Some writers never get nominated for anything. Some writers never progress past the dream stage. I’ve gotten incredible reviews, and I have some absolutely devoted readers that I am thankful for every damned day. I also think part of the depressive state of the last year or so has everything to do with me not writing much during that time–I am always happier when I am writing fiction, no matter how much stress and anxiety is involved with the writing of said fiction. I’ve pretty much been able to write whatever I want to write most of my life, too.

I’ve also been blessed to be able to know some amazing people, and to call them friends. They are an amazing support system, and they believe in me as a person, as a friend, and as a writer. It’s kind of sad that I didn’t learn what it was like to be or have a good friend until I met Paul. I always have this deep down feeling that no one actually does like me–the PTSD of growing up in a very homophobic society–but I am getting so much better about that.

I am thankful that I have the life I never knew I truly wanted, or could have imagined, during the rough times.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your holiday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, one never can be sure, can one?

One can never go wrong with a shirtless photo of Nyle DeMarco, can one?
  1. Believe it or not, it’s a thing for me; it has a lot to do with fear of gaining weight and the nagging sense that I always need to lose at least ten pounds. I’ll write about that at some point. ↩︎
  2. On the “bury your gays” trope, for the record. ↩︎
  3. Not really the first time; there have been any number of times over our almost thirty years (!!!) together (next summer) where I’ve had to face the possibility of losing him and spending the rest of my life alone (I don’t need a companion, and no one will ever be like Paul to me, just like no one could ever replace Mom for Dad) multiple times already. ↩︎

Strange Things Happen

Remember that stomach thing I had going on yesterday morning? And it had resulted in my not sleeping well? Yeah, well, I was very miserable and tired all day at work, and my stomach just felt worse and worse and worse. I finally left work early, came home, and just chilled out. I also took today off as a cautionary measure. So far so good, and here’s hoping I am rested and can do something with this extra free day that so unexpectedly dropped into my week. I think it means some time with Lavender House, and I do need to clean this messy kitchen up, beginning with the laundry room. Maybe I can put on some Orville Peck while cleaning. I’m really enjoying his music.

Last night I watched the first half of the Ken Burns documentary Leonardo da Vinci, and I quite enjoyed the fact they didn’t try to shy away from his sexuality or try to straight-wash him, like Da Vinci’s Demons did (still enjoyed the hell out of the show, anyway) and so many other shows and movies have, but actually talked about his male relationships quite openly. That was rather refreshing. I’ve always been interested in the Renaissance, and with Leonardo and the great Michelangelo as well. I was thinking about this while watching last night, ferreting out of my brain’s fading memory banks where my interest in Italy came from, and I was able to peg it properly: when I was ten I spent five weeks in the South, including about three at my paternal grandmother’s on a bay in the panhandle. Her second husband loved nothing more than a good flea market, so we often went to them, and I got to buy books for pretty cheap. I remember one time I got two books: one, a lovely but crumbling old edition of a biography of Francois I, King of France; and the other a book called Italy in the Golden Centuries. I think maybe I also got a turn of the twentieth century translation of a history of France; it may have been on that same flea market visit or another, but it was the same summer. I was in my Tudor/Stuart phase at that time, but that July I started learning about France and Italy…both of which were way more interesting than English history. There was a hammock strung between two massive live oak trees in her backyard, dripping with Spanish moss, and I would lay there in the shade with the cool salty breeze from the bay and the steady lapping of water, and just read. It was wonderful. I could have spent the rest of my life in that hammock, reading. The connection between Italy and the French kings, the great artists…since we went to Florence I’ve had this idea for a book I want to write about a lost piece of Michelangelo’s art, going back and forth through the movements of the piece through time and the present day thriller of trying to find it in the present day while others (BAD GUYS) are trying to beat them to it. (I love that kind of shit.) I may even take a stab at this sooner rather than later. I mean, it sounds fun–but my word, the research! And of course I would need to return to Italy for research purposes, wouldn’t I?

I also have been doing the weirdest research for a future book project you can imagine: I’m watching Youtube compilations of television ads from the late 1960’s through the early 1980’s, and it is fascinating how many of them I remember–and can sing the jingle along with. I may have hated the ads–still do–so I guess they were effective? I don’t know if they ever shaped my buying choices and decisions (price is always the most important factor, and store brands are no different from name brands; Costco’s brand is better than most competitors), but I sure do remember them. That’s kind of the grounding in the period that I need to write about it, to trigger memories of what I watched and what was going on and what kinds of bikes did kids ride and music did they listen to and games did they play. Going down this memory hole has been interesting, because I am also having to revisit those periods of my life from the perspective of a much older and very much more tired gay man who really hasn’t developed a whole lot of wisdom about either myself or life in general, but I can see things I couldn’t then. Perspective? A little amusement about how things that didn’t “exist” then that we know about now and I could have been medicated for all those years? Yeah, I can’t be bitter or mourn something that never could have been. And despite how much I grouse and bitch and moan and complain like the old man I am now, I am very pleased with my life and where I am with it. My mom always said (some of her stuff was wise, some of it was kind of horrible, but it was always absolutely real) you can’t have regrets if you’re happy, and I think that is very true. And examining my own history is kind of not painful anymore in that context, if that makes sense? I always never wanted to look back because it seemed like I always got angry when I did–but I wasn’t really being angry; because I am not angry about it anymore. I do remember the anger, the pain, and all the emotional rollercoaster ride that came with it. When I tell the stories, whether face to face or write them on here, I do channel that emotion again into the telling to make it clear just how horrible it all was and how horrific it felt. I guess I can write passionately, and I do not think that’s a bad thing at all.

I am having fun writing the essays, too. I am having fun writing again. That is very pleasing in my eyes. And I am hoping all this free time (five days off in a row) will get my butt in this chair and writing. Sparky hasn’t quite figured out Paul hasn’t come home yet, so he’s not super needy yet–but I am pretty sure that moment is nigh. I slept so good last night, y’all, and it’s nice to wake up feeling so good this morning. This kitchen/office is an utter and complete disaster area, and I definitely must do something about it sooner rather than later. I think I’m going to finish this, start straightening up, and then repairing to my chair to spend some time with Lavender House (it really is quite superb), and I think I’ll finish watching the Leonardo documentary today, too. Heavy sigh. I may even try to write later on too. #madness

And maybe I’ll even finish assembling my desk chair. It’s been about a month since I bought it and started putting it together only to get frustrated and walk away from it before I took a sledgehammer to it. I may even put that on the top of my to-do list.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving Eve, and I may be back later. One never can be sure, and I have a lot of free time to myself over the next five days–except, of course, for my darling Sparky.

Baby Don’t Go

Paul is sleeping and won’t be up before I go to work, so I won’t get to see him before he leaves. I’ll be coming home to a quiet apartment tonight with a needy cat, who will only get needier as the night goes along and his other daddy doesn’t come home. I imagine tonight will be one of those nights where I don’t really do much of anything other than cater to the cat and miss Paul. Heavy heaving sigh. I didn’t sleep well either; I got a stomach ache yesterday afternoon that finally went away around three this morning, thank the Lord, but I was waking up every hour it seemed, and not really going back into a deep sleep. I am definitely going to hit a wall this afternoon. That’s okay, I can come home to a needy cat tonight and read Lavender House in bed while watching news clips upstairs. I think I am going to move my laptop upstairs too; doesn’t it make more sense to write in bed than in my recliner, if I don’t feel like sitting at my desk? Tonight I am going to also watch some of season three of Heartstopper, whose first season I was all-in on, but whose second season, while enjoyable still, began to lose me a bit. I always say that Heartstopper wasn’t written or filmed for me; I am not their target audience, and with young people in mind, it’s quite marvelous. I don’t know, though. I have some critical thoughts about the whole thing–books and show–that probably aren’t going to be popular with other queers, but…when I have ever been popular with other queers that didn’t want to fuck me?1 Yeah, yeah, an overstatement; but I am kind of concerned about the kind of representation we get in popular forms of media (books, movies, TV shows, documentaries), and there’s nothing wrong with having an opinion on anything, right? I will certainly not claim to be speaking for everyone in my community.

And of course, the accompanying corollary to having a relatively fit body was that serious queer writers didn’t take me seriously, since I was a genre writer (the horror!) and in decent shape–ergo, not literary or educated or smart enough to be allowed to fit into those snooty cocktail parties. Of course, before I published my first book, New Orleans literary society pretty much assumed I was just Paul’s boy toy–flattering on one level but insulting on all the others, which was always funny to me because without question I am almost always the person in the room who has read the most books across genres and styles.

Oh, yes, I have many chips on my shoulder. Care to pick one?

Ugh, this stomach thing is really icky. I am going to have to take something OTC for it, methinks, because while it’s much more bearable now than it was, it’s still incredibly uncomfortable. Just wait till I’m tired later on today! I did make an executive decision to take tomorrow off–in case this doesn’t get better later on–for a five day weekend. Tomorrow might be the day that I rest and read and not worry about anything other than resting. At least Paul won’t be home if it’s something catching, but I think it’s a combination of something I must have ate Sunday or Monday–it feels like an aching muscle, but it can’t be that, can it? Sigh. I’ll try some Tums and see if that does anything, but I doubt they will.

Ugh. Hope I can make it through this day.

Catch you tomorrow, Constant Reader, and I hope that you’ll forgive me this briefness. I hope to feel better tomorrow.

  1. Yes, I know how arrogant that sounds, but the truth is when I was in my thirties and forties I could get laid any time I wanted to, and since I am not being dishonest or self-deprecating about anything any more, I’m embracing it. I may not have thought I was anything special myself back then, but when I see pictures I’m like wow, you had some serious body dysmorphia. How could you have lost any more weight? ↩︎

It Ain’t Me Babe

Ah, it’s Monday and I am up early, swilling coffee and getting ready to face down a very short, and most likely slow, week in the office. Paul is leaving tomorrow for a week, so tomorrow I’ll come home to a quiet, empty house. It’ll be weird, of course,1 but I am going to try to keep busy. I do have a lot of homework2 to get done this week, and hopefully Sparky won’t be near as needy as he always is when it’s just the two of us. Sparky has, at long last, starting sleeping in the bed with us, always in a kitty donut down by my feet, which is very relaxing. He’s been there the last several mornings when I wake up, which is nice. He’s also started cuddling and sleeping with Paul on the couch–like Scooter, Sparky takes turns with our laps when we’re watching television; unlike Scooter, Sparky starts with Paul for a while before curling up in mine for the rest of the evening. It only took just over a year, but we finally have the cuddle bug we wanted. He still only purrs when he’s riding my shoulders, draped around my neck–but he’s getting cuddlier, and there’s more head-butting by the day.

I had a very relaxing day yesterday, but didn’t get nearly as much done as I wanted to–like always. Still reeling from the power of The Reformatory3, I started reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen. I am absolutely loving it. I love the voice, I love the main character, I love the writing, and so I know I am going to really love this book–and once I get going, it will be unputdownable. Yay! And there’s two more in this series, too, which is very exciting–not to mention all his other works, in y/a and romance. Paul spent most of the day working upstairs, and leaving me on my own with Sparky for most of the day. I finished my entry on The Reformatory, and worked on some writing, mostly thinking and taking notes. I’m glad this is a short work week, and am looking forward to some lovely down time here by myself. I made progress on the apartment this past weekend, and will probably get some more progress made over this coming long weekend4.

I need to make a to-do list, and to get better organized, but I made progress. I have a manuscript to edit, some short stories to read and judge for Saints and Sinners, and my own writing to work on around here. Sparky will be needy the whole time, and I am going to watch the new season of Heartstopper, before diving into Sex and the City. I’ve also found some movies to watch over the weekend, too–or in the evenings when I get home from work tomorrow and Wednesday. I’ve also got my Housewives shows, and there’s always some cleaning to be done somewhere–not to mention more pruning of the books and the storage attic.

While I was driving around doing my errands Saturday I started listening to Orville Peck’s music on Spotify, and I love it! I have yet to hear a song of his that isn’t a bop, so I saved several of his albums to my library and am going to start listening to him more regularly in the car. I’ve always liked all kinds of genres of music; there just really hasn’t been any country outside of Dolly in a while that I’ve been interested in. I also kind of hate how country music has been taken over by the Right and MAGA–I’ve never forgiven country music for what it did to the Chicks, and they were RIGHT–so I try not to listen to much of the newer stuff. Country music used to be about outlaws and fighting the man holding down the working class, instead of being a bunch of appeasers and collaborators.

They’d shun and cancel Johnny Cash today for being woke. How fucking sad is that?

They must really hate Orville Peck for being openly gay–even though they really embraced Li’l Nas X when he was doing country music back in the day…until he came out and switched genres.

I don’t know what to think about what’s coming, but it’s pretty sad that the only thing standing between us and authoritarianism are the courts, Senate Republicans, and the administration’s utter incompetence. Paul and I have made up our minds to enjoy ourselves as much as possible between now and the transfer of power; who knows what’s coming after that? These are dark times indeed, and a lot of damage can be done by utter incompetence and a program of complete and utter unfettered cruelty. I think the biggest shock for me of the election is that self-absorption and unbridled hatred of anything not straight, white and cishet was actually embraced by the country.

Then again, this is a country that wasn’t able to legislate or vote slavery out of existence, and it took a war. The appeasement of slave-owning Americans from 1787 through 1865 will always be a stain on this nation’s history, and by not dealing with any of it, or systemic racial oppression, by not facing the truth in all its brutal ugliness, we’ve never been able to progress as a racially diverse nation or move on from it. (I always love when Americans take the moral high road when talking to or about other countries; like we have any room to talk about oppressing citizens and human rights violations? Bitch, please.)

Sigh. And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows!

  1. I’ll never understand how someone can take up so much space, and how much bigger and emptier it seems when he isn’t there. ↩︎
  2. Writing and reading and editing, oh my! ↩︎
  3. Which might be one of my favorite novels of all time, period, regardless of genre. ↩︎
  4. I am planning on simply cleaning the bathrooms on Thursday morning, and having a very lazy day doing little to nothing other than reading and binge-watching television series; I’ll push myself the other three days. I can also do things at night this week once Paul departs tomorrow morning. ↩︎

Shake

Well, yesterday was a good day for one Gregalicious. I didn’t get as much done around the house as I would have preferred, but c’est la vie. I did have football games on all day, mostly as a break from monotonous silence, but I did get to see the Florida upset of Mississippi, and surprisingly enough, LSU beat Vanderbilt last night to stop their three game losing streak…but have to play Oklahoma next, who managed to not only upset Alabama last night but beat them pretty soundly. After the LSU game I caught the end of Auburn-Texas A&M, which Auburn finally won in quadruple overtime. What a crazy year this has been in the SEC, has it not? Now the winner of Texas-Texas A&M will play Georgia for the SEC title. #madness.

But one thing I remembered finally is that I usually read during games I don’t necessarily care about, and so I finished The Reformatory by Tananarive Due at last yesterday, and what a read it was. I’d say it’s one of the best books I’ve read in a very long time, and I read a lot of really good books, so that is really saying something. I’ve added Due to my list of “must-read” writers, and she has a substantial backlist I am looking forward to exploring. It took me a very long time to get through this book, because it was so powerful and the horror in it was so completely real, but more on that later. I am going to go out on a limb and call it a masterpiece for now, and encourage you to read it if you have not. Today I am going to start reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen, whom I’ve met and found delightful, and whose career I’ve been following avidly. I’ve yet to read one of his books, but I am very excited to read one of the most acclaimed queer mysteries of the last few years. I’m also kind of thrilled to be reading fiction again. Today I am also going to read a couple of short stories a friend sent me to read, and probably will do some writing, either short story, essay, or the book, today as well. I went to get the mail and made a grocery run yesterday, so I don’t have to do anything errand-like today, but I should probably make it to the gym later this morning. The weather has been wonderful, and one thing I am determined to do this year is drive around the city taking pictures of Christmas decorations. I definitely want to write a nice essay about Christmas this year, and the essay I worked on briefly yesterday, “Recovering Christian,” is one I started working on about twenty years ago. The lovely thing about Substack is I now have a place to post those essays, and share them with the world. I do have to make more of an effort to post content there at least once a week.

I do wonder if all the readers I picked up there during my ranting about homophobia post are expecting that kind of content all the time? I don’t know, but in some ways I am thinking that the Substack (also a place to publish short stories, too, if I so choose) is kind of a good place to write about my life, and explore issues of being a queer American writer, and my thoughts and opinions about systemic bigotry, and all the things I was miseducated about as a child. (American Mythology, hello?) That way it will live up to the name it shares with this blog, “Queer and Loathing in America.” I also want to write essays about my gay life, and the lessons I learned the hard way, as well as writing. I’ve been unpacking my past ever since Mom died–the first time I’ve ever allowed myself to look back–and while I am not sorry I never did this before, I am also learning a lot more about myself and why I do things and why I react the way I do and how much of my life was controlled/driven by anxiety. I was fine at the party the other night, but too many people in spaces still makes me uncomfortable and uneasy, but that’s okay. The claustrophobia might be anxiety related, or it may be entirely it’s own thing, but the primary difference was that there was no adrenaline spike or spiraling. I was able to relax, and kind of enjoy myself more.

And that is what I meant when I said I was pulling back from the crime community and centering myself. I want to focus on myself, on Paul, and our needs and what we need to do and handle and take care of, and I don’t want to do emotional labor for anyone else anymore. I’ve been watching a lot of Youtube and TikTok videos about cutting MAGA voters out of your life, or at the very least setting boundaries, and I saw one that really made a lot of sense to me: we don’t feel safe around them, but we don’t have to cut them out entirely, we just have to stop giving them emotional labor. Go get sympathy from another MAGA voter, since you’re all so empathetic and sympathetic to the concerns, fears and rights of other people. It’s why BlueSky has been flooded by Twitter trolls, now that the genius has killed that platform (but hey, let’s put him in charge of government!). They don’t enjoy talking to each other, so they have to “pwn the libs.” But they just get blocked, so they’re the ones who wind up in a echo chamber. Hell, I block people who annoy me. It’s my space, my experience, and if I don’t want the aggravation of annoying people or giving them time or energy, well…no one can make me engage with people who steal my peace.

I also don’t think people understand how casual homophobia, so easy for straight people to slip into with their excessive privilege, makes us feel when we hear it or hear about it or (in some cases) read about it in screen shots. Not only do we no longer feel safe around you, we can’t count on you to stand up for us when the chips are literally down. There’s been some slightly viral conversation about some Jewish lesbian who voted for Trump and has been cut off from her friends and kicked off a team. “I wouldn’t do this to someone who voted for Harris,” she cries her crocodile tears, as she sits down with right-wing podcasters and plays victim and martyr. She voted for Trump because of pro-Palestine lefties…or so she claims. So she aligned herself with someone who actually had dinner with a Nazi, and has been embraced by American Nazis. Who ally themselves with the Proud Boys and other ant-Semites (who precisely are the voters who chant “Jew will not replace us” again?), and now wants everyone to feel sorry for her and pretends ignorance. Sorry not sorry, bitch–your new buddies and the Karens posting on your instagram talking about how horrible it is that queers actually can see this quisling bitch for who she is? Those bitches will be the first ones to turn you into the SS, moron. It’s especially egregious because my education in feminism and social justice was at the hands of lesbians; I’ve always thought lesbians, of all people, would know better than this bullshit. And this bitch is talking about “how we all need to have these tough conversations”–no, we don’t, honey. The time for tough conversations was before the election, and trust me, there’s not a single tough conversation I could possibly have where I’d be willing to come to an agreement or compromise with people who cheered the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s. You don’t compromise with the Klan. You don’t compromise with Nazis. You don’t compromise with people who’s starting position is “you don’t deserve any rights, and you really shouldn’t exist.”

Feel free to pound your head into that wall until it’s pulp, Benedictine Arnold. Enjoy the lonely life of celibacy you’ve set up for yourself.

The funniest thing about her is she is a butch lesbian–short hair, masculine clothes, the whole ball of wax–and you know she is going to get challenged going into the ladies’ bathroom or changing room.

Good. Enjoy what you voted for. I have no patience with queer remoras attaching themselves to the sharks circling the rest of us. I certainly have no forgiveness in my heart for the future informers and camp guards. She showed us who she is, and we believe her.

And on that note, I am going to head over to my chair to read for a bit before I get to work around here. I slept really well again last night, and feel pretty good this morning. I also want to work on my review of The Reformatory, and get some other things done. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later on.

Heart Full of Soul

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment! We’re having a cold spell here in New Orleans (yes, I know a high of sixty and a low of fifty-one is spring from most of you that live north of I-10, and you break out the tanks and shorts and sunscreen, but this is the time of year down here where you don’t feel like the climate is actively trying to kill you when you go outside, and it’s lovely), which is wonderful; I woke up feeling very well rested yesterday and had a very productive day. I wasn’t tired the way I usually am on Fridays, and managed to get all my work-at-home duties done, my blood work taken care of, picked up the mail, and made groceries. I’ll have to run out to the store again tomorrow to pick up a few things, but I don’t mind. My new watch came in the mail–I lost the Fitbit charger, and realized hey I don’t need to have one anymore since our insurance changed–so I ordered a cheap Timex on-line. I spent some more time with The Reformatory (it’s so good, so compelling and so horrifying at the same time; societal horror on top of supernatural and just breathtakingly brilliantly done), and worked on my chores whenever I needed a break from my computer duties. I also think the weather change has something to do with my energy picking up again; it might be finally healing from all the medical shit I had done last year (coming up on the one-year anniversary of my first-ever major surgery), and I always sleep better when it’s cold…although that does make it harder to get up in the mornings. I mean, I never want to get out of a comfortable bed as it is, let alone a warm comfortable bed on a chilly morning!

I got all the dishes done and did the bed linens; I also started picking up around here a bit more. I’ve really let the house slide badly since the surgery; it’s more than a little horrifying to think I’ve let it all slide for this long. I am really going to utilize the time Paul’s gone to do a real nice deep clean on the apartment. It’s long overdue. I also am trying to decide what TV show to binge while he’s gone; I’ve never watched Sex and the City (I’ve seen one episode) and I stopped watching Desperate Housewives midway through the first season when I missed one and didn’t know how to get caught up on it. (Both of these came to mind from watching a Youtube video while I was doing some quality assurance on paperwork, whose theme was “When Your Main Character Becomes The Villain,” which focused on Teri Hatcher’s character Susan (I remember getting really annoyed with her that first season), and used Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw as another. I realized I’d never watched these shows that were hugely popular with other gay men (the show-runners on both were gay men), so it would be interesting to see them now, all these years later, and perhaps even make a project out of it? I’m leaning towards Sex and the City because the episodes are shorter, and I don’t there are as many, which is a terrible reason, isn’t it?

Embrace the dark side, Gregalicious.

I slept well last night. Paul was out at an event, so I was home alone for most of the evening, and went to bed early when I started getting sleepy, around nine. It must be the cold (to us) weather. I do have to run out to get the mail and make some groceries, but for the most part I’ll be lazing around here, picking up and cleaning and moving things to clean behind or beneath them and so on (I am waiting to move the couch until Paul’s not here; there’s no telling what Sparky has under there–although he doesn’t try to squeeze his way underneath there anymore). I did cruise through my streaming services last night to see what is on there that I want to watch (I was also searching for Sex and the City and The Assassination of Gianni Versace, of which I’ve never seen more than the first episode), and I cleaned off and organized my desk–which was really nice to come down to this morning–and it’s nice to have all the dishes and laundry done. I’ll probably do some more cleaning and organizing around the kitchen/laundry room this morning, around reading more of The Reformatory. LSU will probably lose to Vanderbilt tonight, and if they do, I won’t be too mad about it. I’m enjoying Vanderbilt’s improbable season, and I can’t help but pull for them since they are always such an underdog every year. Tulane1 is also doing well again this year, which is fun–New Orleans really gets excited for Tulane when they’re doing great, and it’s fun seeing people heading for the tailgating in their green garb waiting for the streetcar along the neutral ground of St. Charles Avenue when I’m driving home from uptown. I’m working on an essay about religion, hoping to work on finishing a short story or two this weekend, and getting back to work on the book.

I also am thinking about rewatching Saltburn, so I can finish my essay about it. It’s not longer timely, of course, but it’s an interesting movie that I think bears some Gregalicious perspective on it. I still have some Imposter Syndrome (“who cares what I think? I never studied film as art.”) when it comes to expressing my opinions on art outside of my own form (literary arts), but reviews are basically what you liked and didn’t like, and I really enjoyed Saltburn, and want to dig through its multiple layers to get down to the heart of the matter. I think I’m going to read a queer mystery next, probably The Lavender House by Lev Rosen, which I’ve been wanting to dig my teeth into for quite some time. I am feeling so much better these days, and I have to say during this lengthy recovery from a major trauma to my body I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get back to normal, and if that exhaustion I felt almost constantly was something I was just going to have to live with and teach myself some work-arounds2 that I no longer need to do anymore. I don’t need to be constantly efficient when I am doing errands, planning and mapping out the route and order in which I do them to save a few minutes here and there, which is dumb. I also know it’s not going to kill me to leave the house again for something I’ve forgotten as it really isn’t a hassle to do so, or stop on the way home, and so forth. Tomorrow I most likely won’t leave the house at all, other than walking to the gym in the late morning–I need to get back into that routine, since I should be focused on getting into the best shape possible for what is coming3 under this new regime of horrors. My hopes aren’t high…when you have to depend on Republicans to save democracy…I just can’t believe more people didn’t think January 6th was disqualifying.4

So much for the “land of the free.”

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to have breakfast and get another cup of coffee prepared before I repair to my easy chair with Tananarive’s amazing book–I really need to exhaust her backlist–and I suppose I’ll have the television on for games today that I won’t pay a lot of attention to for background noise–probably Mississippi-Florida, Kentucky-Texas, and LSU-Vanderbilt tonight. But I hope you do have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later.

It’s a mystery!

What are the odds Facebook will want to take this down as a sexual image? After all, everyone knows butts are for sodomy.
  1. It’s also weird for Tulane to be doing better than either LSU or the Saints. ↩︎
  2. Since getting properly diagnosed and medicated for generalized anxiety disorder, I have begun to realize just how many things I do are workarounds to lessen the anxiety–which I am noticing now because the anxiety is (mostly) gone. ↩︎
  3. I’m hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Project 2025 is coming, thanks again, MAGA trash. ↩︎
  4. Then again, look how long emancipation took here, and how long Jim Crow lasted. The USA has been one long history of atrocity after atrocity, truly something for fragile white cishet people to truly take pride in as their heritage. ↩︎

Count Me In

Work at home Friday! I have to go have blood work done at noon, so I am going to do my errands then–get the mail, hit the grocery store, wash and clean out the car–before coming back home to finish my work-at-home duties for the day. It shouldn’t take long, methinks; Wednesday night I managed to do my errands and make groceries in under an hour after I got off work. I left the office that night just after five, and figured it would take me about two hours to do everything and get home. I walked into the apartment at six, which was pretty impressive efficiency. Well, I was impressed.

I was tired yesterday when I got off work, but had committed to the party so when I left the office, dragging and really just wanting to hang out in my chair with Sparky, I forced myself to get up and go get cleaned up and ready. I always dread these things, always, but inevitably always have a good time once I actually am there. I hate getting ready and getting there, in all honesty. I did some chores before I left the apartment, and Sparky got some sleepy time in my lap before I got ready. But sadly I was dragging a bit, and knew I wouldn’t last long once I got to the party. I haven’t left the house at night in the car to go anywhere in a very long time, and I did go to the Marigny the way I always used to (side note: while I often regret and miss our old office on Frenchmen Street, taking the way I always used to go to work made me very glad I no longer work on Frenchmen and have to deal with negotiating the CBD and the Quarter every evening to come home)–yeesh, what a horror it was driving–so much so that when I came home I went to Claiborne and got ont the highway. The party itself was really nice–the house, which used to be a Satanic temple, I think, was also very interesting. John Cameron Mitchell’s residence is the very top floor, and I am actually kind of curious about the house now, which is called the Temple1. (side note: I can’ believe how much the Marigny has changed in the years since we moved to the Elysian Fields office, but it’s been a very long time since I have driven to the other side of Elysian Fields and gone into the Marigny.) I saw some people I wanted to see, got to see the house, and of course didn’t take any pictures. I stayed for an hour, which is an accomplishment. The live music was amazing, and the food was terrific. I was driving so I didn’t have anything to drink, and came home to change into something comfortable and to relax (and watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City) before going to bed. I slept later this morning than I usually do, too, but feel pretty good and will be ready to dive into the work-at-home spice mines relatively soon. The apartment is also a terrible mess; the stacks of dirty dishes here in the kitchen, not to mention the general disarray of the entire apartment, needs to be worked on today.

I never did make a to-do list, either–which means I need to make one today, one for the weekend and one through Thanksgiving (Paul is leaving on Tuesday), and start crossing things off. I want to get more writing done this weekend–I want to finish that short story and start editing Scotty, maybe even finish another essay and perhaps even dive into some other writing, too. I also know it’s an ambitious plan for the weekend and I may just decide meh, let me vegetate in my easy chair with Sparky and blow off a day, as I so often do. That’s also fine, too.

More lighter fluid keeps getting squirted on the dumpster fire that is the country/world now, and I am veering between optimism and pessimism about the future–I often descend into gallows humor, as is my wont–as a method of dealing with the existential nightmare we are being unwillingly dragged into. I’m not sure what it says about me that I always deal with these sorts of things by laughing at them, even when they truly aren’t funny; but that’s what happens when you grow up gay in a homophobic society. Legacy media continues to swirl around the toilet bowl, capitulating in advance as their ratings and subscription rates continue to fall deservedly. Their corporate masters decided that it was better for their ratings to be Leaders of the Opposition to get those monster ratings they had during the first term again, so they betrayed their viewers by doing everything they could to throw the election to the Right, rubbing their monstrous little hands with glee while they watched their potential ratings and advertising revenue shoot up again. We’re the Resistance and we’re here for you! Alas, they severely overestimated their importance and the ignorance of their viewers/readers. We saw them betray us, again and again, playing a long game that wasn’t actually a game for many of their audience. When they shivved Biden this past summer, starting with that faux-liberal piece of shit George Clooney (who lives in fucking Italy) in his “I’m so much smarter than anyone else with progressive credentials” arrogance writing that disgusting editorial in the New Yuck Times and has been completely invisible since he accepted his thirty pieces of silver. (I laugh every time Apple TV tries to push his latest film on me. No thanks, never thought he was very talented or handsome, and still think he did his best work on The Facts of Life and Roseanne.) But Paul and I have our exit plan if it comes to that. I know, man plans and God laughs, but it makes me feel better.

I cannot believe the fall/winter holidays are upon us already. Madness! But it has been a year, hasn’t it? Heavy heaving sigh. I should go fold those clothes, so on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and get some more coffee, too. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and who knows if I’ll be back again before tomorrow morning? It’s a mystery!

  1. There are so many cool and interesting places in New Orleans! I’ve lived her for almost thirty years now and still find new to me cool spots all the time. ↩︎

All Day and All of the Night

Monday morning and back to the office today. I had a really nice lovely weekend, to be honest. The weather has changed here in New Orleans and has become what would pass for early fall everywhere else, but here? The lack of humidity and the bright sunshine, along with cool breezes, make all the difference. It’s nice being able to wear sleeves and pants outside of the house or work, you know? And I do sleep better. I just don’t like that it gets dark so early. That’s always felt kind of oppressive to me for some reason. but while I am certain it makes no sense in any logical or rational way, it does. I also can’t believe Thanksgiving is next week. Paul is going to visit his family this year, so I’ll be by myself–well I’ll have Sparky, and he will be needy. But it’s fine, don’t worry about me. Last Thanksgiving was the week of my biceps surgery, so this year will definitely be better than last. Thanksgiving was always Mom’s holiday, you know, which is why I scheduled the surgery when I did last year. This year will be the first time I really have to deal with that, but I’ll do fine. I can get things done around here that I usually can’t, and four lovely days off in a row? I have no excuse.

We watched Caddo Lake this weekend (we watched after LSU lost yet again), which was really well done and very interesting. Shot in location at actual Caddo Lake in western Louisiana, it’s staggeringly beautiful (Louisiana is so beautiful) and it was an interesting movie focusing on following two people while some strange things are going on around the lake. Dylan O’Brien (of TV’s Teen Wolf, aka the gayest show ever on television) is terrific as the male lead. It reminded me of the German television show Dark, which was one of the smartest shows I’ve ever streamed. To talk about anything else would be a spoiler, but I recommend it. It’s a slow burn, but it’s absolutely worth watching.

I also was able to spend some more time with The Reformatory, which brought a huge surprise twist over halfway through the book–always a pleasure when something unexpected happens–and the writing continues to enthrall. Tananarive Due is the real deal, y’all, and I need to read more of her work. I have no idea where this story is going, either, which is always fantastic. Yay! I should be able to finish the book this week, which is very cool. I’ve not picked out my next read, but I think it’s going to be potentially either Angie Kim, Amina Akhtar, Lori Roy, or Kellye Garrett. I also have the latest Celeste Ng and Ann Hood books on my shelves. I did do some more pruning this weekend, pulling out books for the library pile–hey, the authors have my money, even if I didn’t read the book–and I am also sending it out into the world to find a new reader, and a potential new fan for that author, so there is that. I need to get back to writing. I did do some yesterday, a very small bit, but I am taking that as I swing back into author mode. Continuing to put off writing is going to bite me in the ass one of these days, and so, reluctant as I am to get back on it, I am going to have to. This week I am going to edit what I have written on Scotty and work on some of the short stories on hand, and then I am going to dive into writing the book again. But I do feel like I’ve reset myself. I am continuing to limit social media and the news–which I am not getting from any legacy media company, may they all burn to the ground–for my own mental health. I feel pretty good this morning, but I also didn’t check the news except to see if the Saints won (they did), and I don’t think I am going to be doing that hardly at all anymore. The sad reality that we have to depend on Republicans (!!!) in the Senate to protect our democracy when they’ve spent the last thirty years trying to dismantle it is a bit much for me, and I’m no longer enjoying the vote-regrets as I used to–and even that was a grim smirk more than anything else. Sorry, folks, I know we’re all going to suffer, but my concerns are for the marginalized. The ability to imagine the worst possible outcomes isn’t a gift, it’s more of a curse…I always thought the most tragic figure in the Trojan War was Cassandra, driven mad by being able to see the future only to not be believed. I’ve always wanted to read that story from her perspective, as she was the most interesting character in the whole tragedy.

That’s me, always wanting the woman’s perspective–and willing to believe it, too1.

I also am not sure I completely believe the “vote regret” videos, either–although I think the lesson that should have been learned this time out is that voting matters and is too important to not be informed. I don’t think anyone really learned that lesson, and many will simply find a way to blame Democrats for their problems (it is their default) and keep voting (if we can vote) against their own interests. I don’t think I can trust any election results going forward, either–I’m not certain about this last one, and wasn’t that the entire point of 2020, to make us all not believe election results aren’t to be trusted. The entire plan behind all of this, I believe, came from Moscow; what better way to undermine a democracy than making the citizens not trust or believe our institutions? The legacy media is already tainted and cannot be trusted. I worry that people can’t see how dire things actually are right now in this country, and this is just the prelude; we’re not even to the opening credits of this horror show yet.

I’ve also not taken the time to talk about the grievous loss of Dorothy Allison after the election. It’s been lovely seeing everyone’s tributes to her, and how much she mattered to queer people. Paul and I knew Dorothy long before anyone knew who either one of us were; we met her the first spring we lived in New Orleans and volunteered for the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival, which was almost thirty years ago. Dorothy was many things to many people, but we just thought of her as a supportive friend who was always there for us whenever we needed her to be. She adored Paul, and the feeling was mutual. Dorothy called us the morning we evacuated for Katrina, told us to come stay with her for as long as we needed to, and was kind of bummed when we decided not to drive across the country. She checked in on Paul when he was hospitalized. We tried not to make any demands on her, because she was a bottomless well of kindness and consideration, and a lot of people leaned on her. I’ll miss her, terribly, and I know Paul will. I’m not going to write a lengthy tribute to her because I’ll leave that to the people who were closer and her family, but she will be missed. Part of her charm was her ability to flirt with anyone and everyone; I’ve not seen that mentioned yet. She even flirted with me and I’d flirt back, even though obviously it was just in good fun. I think her first words to me were “who is this tall, dark and handsome gay man? I might just have to take you home with me.”

I’ll miss you, Dorothy.

I also get to have some glamour this week. I’m going to the Tennessee Williams Festival gala this Thursday night, and it’s at the home of John Cameron Mitchell of Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame. (He was also terrific in The Sandman) I’ll have to go home and get cleaned up after work, and put on fancier clothes first, but how cool is that? I do sometimes have a glamorous life, don’t I? I never really think about that very much–it’s one of the many reasons I try not to complain about anything, ever; I kind of take that sort of thing for granted. This will also be my first experience going to an event of any sort since I started taking anxiety medication, so maybe I’ll be able to enjoy it more? I will report back on Friday morning, and perhaps I’ll even remember to take some pictures.

I also have decided to try harder to separate the blog from the Substack. The Substack posts are things I’ve spent more time on, thinking about and revising and editing; this stuff is always going to be what’s on my mind when I write it, unvarnished and unpolished; exactly as it comes to me, forgotten words and typos and incomplete sentences and all. Yesterday morning’s post actually gave me the opening to an essay I’ve been struggling to write since last summer, about masculinity and my outsider’s point of view from what society considers traditional–and the masculinity that I was raised to believe in was actually a perpetuation of toxic masculinity. I may mention something on here briefly, or a paragraph about it, but the crux of the conversation will eventually be posted on Substack. I’ve also been thinking about posting essays I’ve written for other places there, so people can access them if they so choose. I’d wanted to collect them into a book, but…I’m not a big enough name to sell copies of an essay collection when none of them were ever in places like the New York Times or The Atlantic or McSweeney’s–not good enough for those markets, alas. The “Words” entry on Substack, about some of the homophobia I’ve faced in the crime fiction community at conferences and within writers’ organizations, bled over into some entries here last week, as I burned some bridges (that were never there in the first place) and came back more into myself. Fasten your seatbelts, as someone else can be Mr. Nice Gay from now on.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I have some errands to run after work and a delivery is coming tonight; and I have some chores to complete once I am home. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and stay tuned for more spicy content.

I can’t be the only person who has noticed that all underwear/bikini style models now have enormous bulges–all of them looking relatively the same–in every photo?
  1. Despite the fact that some homophobic white women, who have no other reason than my sexuality and politics to not like me, claimed “Greg doesn’t listen to women.” Yeah. that’s me, dismissive of, and always talking over, women. Then why do I have more woman friends than you do, bitch? ↩︎

Blowin’ in the Wind

Wednesday morning and the middle of the week! We’ve made it this far, Constant Reader, even though this week hasn’t quite gone the way I would have liked.

The decision to limit social media consumption isn’t going as well this week as I would have liked; I hadn’t anticipated the pull of my phone while I am at work. And getting home from work every night this week, after I finish whatever I need to do (errands and so forth) I’ve repaired to my easy chair and watched some “MAGA voter regrets” videos on Youtube before my eyes started to glaze over and I kind of zoned out for the rest of the night. I don’t like the part of me that enjoys their pain; it is not my instinct to default for sympathy for people who want to harm everyone else. You can never go wrong not having any faith in the decency of the majority of Americans, because they have no decency or shame.1

But, I am not going to be hard on myself. I am trying, at long last, to break all the programming/grooming that I don’t deserve anything or even a writing career. I am going to keep writing–make no mistake about that–and i have to figure out ways to market them and get the word out there. Going to mystery conferences was clearly a mistake; why bother pitching readers on books that are not in the booksellers’ room2? I finally got resigned to them never having my books–or only one copy–and hoped people would possibly enjoy listening to me on panels and maybe take a chance; and now I am wondering if my presence also gaslit queer writers into feeling safe at conferences? I guess that will be on my conscience till the day I die. (Ironically, the substack posts about homophobia get way more than ten times the views that my other essays get, which means one of two things, or both. I was either wrong about scaring people off by being honest about how much it sucks to be queer in this modern time, or people enjoy reading about queer pain. I don’t think I want to know which one is right, to be honest, or even consider that the two are linked.)

But what I need to do is get back to writing my books and stories; I need to put all this shit aside and focus on my work. I was able to get through the first forty-two years of my life with my sexuality and my love life against the law in every one of the fifty states (and the territories! Can’t forget those bigots either!). I lived through the Reagan administration and the George W. Bush years, both of which callously didn’t care whether we lived or died (in fairness, Reagan and his people thought AIDS was an excellent way to get rid of us). My country was willing to let us all die. Remind me again why I should be a patriot, or a conservative? All our equality movement did was make people realize if they were openly homophobic, some people they cared about would think they were bad people.

And I’ll keep writing about the bad shit, of course. It won’t change any hearts or minds, of course, but I need to get that poison (and anger) out of my system before it festers and makes me as bad a person as everyone else is. I don’t want to be a bad person. I don’t want to give into the darkness; I don’t want to feel bitter about the crime fiction community. I know I have friends, actual friends, in this community, and I do cherish them because they love and support me. But I need to stop thinking well of people who I’ve met and have been nice to me because I always forget the vast majority of people default to polite when confronted with someone/something they are revolted by. I don’t think most straight people realize what it’s like to be viewed with revulsion, like you’re some disgusting thing, some abomination. But it’s also much easier to go through life assuming people aren’t bigots until proven otherwise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be someone we’ve racialized as a society. I kind of get it, but am still white privileged so will never understand completely; even my imagination is too limited.

The good news is a federal judge struck down Louisiana’s Ten Commandments in Every Classroom law as unconstitutional, but an immune from prosecution or consequence executive order from the White House will overrule that. And this Supreme Court already is on its back with their legs up in the air and their ass lubed, ready for some serious Constitution fucking. The Federalist Society is about to get their wishlist for the country for Christmas, isn’t that great? I, for one, look forward to not paying income taxes to educate other people’s children anymore. Wonder how my MAGA nieces and nephews are going to educate their kids, but hey–they voted for it.

I’m so tired of being ignored like Cassandra on the walls of Troy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day. Constant Reader, and we will soon be returning to our regular content. I’ll go back to ignoring the slings and arrows of “allies” and enemies, like a good little gay, back in his corner–and no worries, folks. I wouldn’t go to a conference even if they asked me to be a special guest–and that is never going to happen anyway. Not as long as a straight white man has written a first novel, anyway.

  1. And even as this administration destroys their lives, the government-controlled media will help convince them it’s someone else’s fault, because it always is. Is anyone ever surprised about how horrible people after all the genocides? The gleeful bigotry and the embrace of hatred? ↩︎
  2. This is something I left out of my Substack essay yesterday about homophobic booksellers: they are also never to be criticized, no matter how bigoted and horrible they are. “They work so hard on conferences,” is always the response, “you can’t even question their bigotry.” If you want to read it, this link should take you there. ↩︎