Category: equality

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

You don’t sing me love songs…anymore.

I had been waiting to hear about an anthology I sold a story to (they asked me to keep it quiet until further notice), but had never did so I could never mention it. But it was announced; they just hadn’t tagged me. Anyway, the anthology is Celluloid Crimes, and will be released this summer from Level Best Books. My story is “The Last To See Him Alive,” which actually now is the first, revised chapter of Chlorine, which, if you’re wondering, I’ve never stopped thinking about or working on since I first brought it up on my blog six or seven years ago. Over the weekend, I did confess to someone that I have about six or seven novels currently in progress; Chlorine is definitely one of them. In fact, taking Chapter One and turning it into a stand-alone short story also triggered some creativity in my brain, and that helped the entire novel take shape, and now I know what the middle part will be, and the end will become even more poignant and noir-ish with these necessary changes to the story. Huzzah! More about the story and the anthology as it nears its publication date.

The auction for the Transgender Law Center concluded last night, and we raised over $58,000! I have to admit being enormously pleased and proud of the organizing committee as well as all the people who donated items and those who bid on them. Well done, everyone! This project began two or three years ago (it was before my arm surgery, I do know that much–I have no grasp or concept of time anymore–but other than that? Pfffft.) and it’s kind of hard to believe it’s over and done with at last. I didn’t do that much–the driving forces were truly Susanna Calkins, Sandra SG Wong, Ellison Cooper (Jen Dornan-Fish), Cheryl Head, and Ed Aymar. The group was exceptionally fun to work with, despite my on-going issues, and I didn’t contribute nearly as much as I ordinarily do when I am volunteering because of my on-going issues, but my fellow organizers were so efficient and on top of things I didn’t need to, which was lovely. It was truly a great group, and our advisory board (including spokesperson Robyn Gigl, Brenda Buchanan, and John Copenhaver) were also amazing and hard-working. What a lovely experience this was indeed.

I did get some writing done last night, but not nearly enough. After driving uptown to get the mail and then making groceries, I was pretty fried by the time I got home, so wasn’t really able to resist Sparky’s meowing insistence that I get in my chair and let him sleep in my lap, so I did. We continued watching Mid-century Modern, and you know, not every joke lands nor does every scene necessarily work, but all the actors are clearly having a good time with it, and Matt Bomer is absolutely perfect as the beautiful, former Mormon flight attendant who is actually very sweet and a little like Rose from The Golden Girls, completely without guile and literal. Nathan Lane can be a bit histrionic, but he’s Nathan Lane; always charming and likable. Such a shame Linda Lavin died, because she’s terrific as Lane’s mother–and was probably going to at least be nominated for an Emmy. But Nathan Lee Graham steals the entire show as a former fashion editor who is very quick-witted in that bitchy sarcastic way that so many of us develop as a shell for self-defense. It’s also refreshing to see a show about older gay men who, like The Golden Girls, still are vital and have sex lives and embracing life rather than sliding into self-pity or caricature. These characters would have been easy to play as one-dimensional stereotypes, but it’s a tribute to these actors’ skill that they have heart and are real people. I’m sure it won’t thrill some queer people–nothing ever does, we are notoriously critical of things about us–but it’s nice to see gay men as realized characters on a traditional style sitcom, and definitely a progression from Will and Grace.

I feel better today than I did yesterday; another good night of sleep was had, and this morning I don’t feel any brain fog or exhaustion like I did yesterday. I think I am now acclimating back to my life, which is nice because I also need to get my act together and start getting things done again. This weekend will most likely be restful and lovely as well; and perhaps time to start working on household projects (like cleaning out the attic) so the house can be sort of presentable and livable again. Stranger things have happened, you know. I started writing a tribute to Dorothy Allison for my newsletter, triggered by the tribute reading I did Sunday, as I have been remembering how much she and her work have always meant to me. It’s kind of hard to believe such a force is gone from the world.

Sigh. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Mama Can’t Buy You Love

Ah, Wednesday and it’s all downhill for the rest of the week, isn’t it? Huzzah! I feel good this morning, too, more rested and alert than I have been for most of the week. So, this week feels back to normal in that weird way of feeling better later in the week as my body again resets to getting up early every day. I was fatigued again last night when I got home from work, but I wrote for a little while once I was home, and did some chores (the kitchen looks presentable again) before zoning out with The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and the news last night. I also ran an errand after work, picking up my copy of Christa Faust’s The Get Off, the third and probably final book of the Angel Dare series. I loved the first two (Money Shot and Choke Hold), and nobody writes like Christa. If you’ve not read Christa, and love noir, you really can’t go wrong with reading this trilogy. It really is fantastic.

As a general rule, I simply watch the antics of “”book social media” from a removed, slightly bemused distance and don’t get involved, other than a comment about how jaw-droppingly insane the latest controversy on those sites are, and these controversies usually involve the actions of a problematic author and/or publisher. I have my thoughts and opinions about each and every topic in those hashtags and posts that grow heated (remember the fun days of American Dirt? Good times!) but I don’t contribute to them because I don’t see any point. Are there authors that write bigoted, uninformed work that is questionable at best and horrifying at its worst? Are there readers who will embrace those works because said stories confirm their prejudices and values? 100%. Are they all, authors and readers, awful people? Certainly. Will arguing with them on social media do anything other than raise my blood pressure and wreck my day? Not likely. Personally? I don’t want to ever unintentionally offend anyone (unless you’re MAGA, in which case you shouldn’t be reading my work in the first place because you are not my intended audience but if you are reading it, suck it up snowflakes, and fuck your feelings); and I constantly question my choices in my work. My go-to is always if I question it, best to remove it. (Sidebar: I bet the American Dirt author–Jeanine Cummins?– was really happy about the pandemic because it made everyone forget about her and her shitty racist book.) There have been some tempests in this week’s (and last’s) social media teapots1, haven’t there? Sheesh. There was an explosion (again) of homophobia in the m/m writing community, which got people riled up (I love when cishet straight white women inform gay men that books with two men falling in love aren’t for us.) There was another kerfuffle where a romance writer gave her main male character an HEA–just not with the female lead, but another man. Horrors! Needless to say, that also triggered an on-line meltdown, and I am reminded again why I never want to write romance…just like I eschew the y/a publishing community, which is also a snake pit.

I’d rather jump into a piranha-infested river, to be honest. Or be forced to be on a Kardashian television show.2

And yesterday, the “Tori Woods” groomer romance situation blew up on the Internet–and her book, about a “romance” that begins when an adult male is attracted to a three-year-old “but waits for her to grow-up so it’s not child sexual abuse”, is from the same publisher as the last author who wrote racist books and was “canceled” (whatever the fuck that means) deservedly for being a racist piece of shit. Sounds like a publisher issue to me, doesn’t it? I think the publisher has also published problematically racist books before, too. There was some historical romance writer who also outed herself as a racist pos–apparently, people of color only existed in the past to be enslaved or rescued by noble white people–and seriously, how did RWA take so long to burn to the ground in the first place?3

Don’t get me wrong; I still want to write a gay romance novel at some point–and maybe even more than one, honestly. But I’d really rather not get dragged into that on-line community, if I can. (I saw yesterday that someone is publishing a grooming romance–and the grooming started when the girl was THREE. Um…yeah, no thanks.) Did not trying to be a part of the on-line y/a community probably, possibly have cost me some sales? For sure, but at the same time I am really grateful to have my peace of mind.

Peace of mind is priceless.

I also got my assignments for Saints and Sinners/Tennessee Williams Fests, and I am going to be hopping all weekend, it looks like–panels, a tribute reading, the anthology launch–and I will have LOTS of friends in town, too. But this year I took Monday off, too, so I can recover from the weekend and get things done around the house. I’ll also be commuting back and forth so Sparky’s not alone for the whole weekend, and someone needs to feed him, anyway. He is not going to be happy. Paul went to the office yesterday and wasn’t home when I arrived, so Sparky was especially cuddly and needy. I don’t mind, but clearly he doesn’t like being left alone–or puts on a good show after he has been.

My Youtube algorithms, always an interesting mystery, have recently started showing me videos about the classic scifi television program V. I loved V when it originally aired, but when it became a regular weekly series in the 1980s, I stopped watching because I lost interest. I did love the rebooted series, which was fantastic and again ended on a great cliff-hanger. And of course, once I watched one video, it started showing me more. This of course is because I’ve been watching videos about the rise of fascism in Europe between 1918-1939, World War II, and the “America First” movement of that period (newsflash: conservatives were Nazi-adjacent until Pearl Harbor)…and that’s the allegory at play in the series–the Visitors are stand-ins for Nazis, etc. I had grown up believing that it could never happen here…but watching this show made me realize how incredibly easy it is for people to side with their oppressors. It’s something, sadly, that is very human. I also remember a school did a social experiment with fascism, which was made into a TV movie called The Wave, which was again the same thing–the way we can so easily slide into being “good Germans.” I read Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here during the reign of Bush II: Electric Boogaloo, which cemented it even further into my head. I’ve talked before about writing a book that I originally got the idea for in the 1990s, where the queers fill in for the scapegoated minority…interesting, though, that my video research into fascism triggered the algorithm to remind me of V, which was also probably, along with Red Dawn, the biggest influences on that idea.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a wonderful midweek Wednesday, and I’ll probably be back later or tomorrow.

  1. Although I am really hoping the move to cancel Kim Kardashian and her odious family really takes this time. ↩︎
  2. Please, God, let this be the end of all things Kardashian. Haven’t we suffered enough? ↩︎
  3. Racists working with a gay white man (racist) brought RWA down, remember? ↩︎

After the Love Has Gone

And here we are on Monday morning, getting ready to dive into another week and I feel like, somehow, I am able to do so? It was a very nice, restful weekend for one Gregalicious, and I felt good and creative and was able to get things going. I caramelized onions in the crockpot yesterday–oh, how marvelous that smell was!–and I made my own version of Salisbury steak for dinner, with mashed potatoes, and I also figured out how to deal with the battle with Sparky over my desk chair. I’ve been trying to use my laptop, but the screen is way too small and I’ve always had issues with the keyboard, so usually when I use it (which is when I travel) I take an external mouse and keyboard with me to set up. I’ve been trying to use this in my easy chair to no avail. I can put the external devices on my lap desk but there’s no room for the laptop itself, and again–small screen means putting it anywhere near the chair doesn’t work, either, because again, small screen.

And then, like a moron, I finally realized I could share the laptop screen through the Apple TV onto my wide screen television.

Voilà! Problem solved!

It’ll still take some getting used to, but it’s definitely workable. And my easy chair is way more comfortable than my desk chair. So, win-win, right? Right. I also managed to write 1300 or so words on the book yesterday, and I started thinking hey this manuscript isn’t in terrible shape the way I thought it might be which was also incredibly helpful and will get me back into writing the book. Huzzah! And for whatever reason, I also realized how to keep the story flowing. Always a good thing, methinks.

I also spent some time thinking about, and making notes, on an essay I’ve been asked to write about sex workers in gay crime fiction. It’s a good topic, frankly, and I am very excited to tackle this subject; it’s a good intellectual exercise as well as a memory exercise for me to think back to writing my books and short stories, and how many times I’ve written about sex workers, and how they are depicted in fiction, particularly in queer crime–and it also extrapolates a further discussion on frank depictions of sexuality in crime fiction, and the always, constantly preached to me “nothing on the page in crime fiction!!!” I have written about any number of sex workers; hell, even one of the books I have in progress has a sex worker character in it–the love interest, no less–so apparently I’ve been writing about sex workers almost my entire career. Who knew?

We finished watching Adolescence yesterday, which was a family drama exploring what happens when your child is accused of murder, rather than a crime drama about a family whose child is accused. The acting was excellent, as was the writing; and the style of filming was almost documentarian, which was interesting. When we finished that (and my dinner; a makeshift version of Salisbury steak that turned out quite tasty) we moved on to a queer horror comedy, The Parenting, with an incredible cast. The premise of the story is a young gay couple has rented a really nice place in the country and invited both sets of parents, so they can all meet. Brandon Flynn (of Thirteen Reasons Why fame) and Nik Dodani play the young gay couple; Flynn is going to be a major star, I think; he’s good looking and charismatic and a good actor; their parents are played by Edie Falco, Brian Cox, Lisa Kudrow, and Dean Norris, with Parker Posey as their eccentric landlady/neighbor. The movie is more funny than scary, but it was enjoyable piece of fluff that went down easy. It’s also really nice seeing how seamlessly you can integrate a film with queer characters; usually in this type of movie it’s a young straight couple. Is it a great movie and an award contender? No, it’s not that, but it’s nice to see a gay couple having relationship/parent issues like every other straight couple in movies and television.

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

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 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. ↩︎

Every 1’s a Winner

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Tomorrow is my usual remote day, but I have a couple of doctors appointments so I am taking the day off. I was right about being tired; by the end of the day I was so tired I thought I might fall asleep driving home! But I didn’t, and I got the mail and came home and got inside safely, locking the door and the cold outside. It’s very cold this morning, too (currently a toasty 31 degrees!). We watched some Arrested Development last night, and I did some work on my writing. I got some welcome feedback on a short story I wrote for an anthology, which was also very nice. I slept very well last night, too–the cold, I think, played a part in that as well as my physical exhaustion when I got home last night. I even did some chores last night, which was very pleasing. I have an errand to run on the way home from work tonight, and once I get home from the appointments tomorrow, I’ll be in for the rest of this very cold weekend in New Orleans, and buckling down and writing. The parades also start this weekend, so I need to be very judicious in my parade attendance so I can get some writing done. I am feeling more into my writing than I have in a very long time, so that is very cool and kind of exciting to me. I was terribly concerned over the last two years that I’d never write anything again. I think that the combination of everything else going on, in my life and in the world, along with severe burnout, was why I was struggling to write, and when the depression is mixed in, well, it’s no wonder I was uninterested in writing anything and couldn’t get anything done.

Definitely wearing layers today, too. The apartment is warm, but here at my desk? Not so much, really. But I am so grateful for last night’s sleep! I actually am awake and alert and not foggy in the least. It feels good to feel like I’m totally present, which I didn’t feel like the first part of this week. God, sleep is the best, isn’t it? I feel like today is a day when I can get things done and function and get my entire act together for a change. Hopefully, this feeling will last me for a while. I guess the trip last weekend required some readjusting back into my life–it’s weird how something like that can be so disruptive once you’ve settled into a routine (rut, whatever) with your life, isn’t it? But I am also in a very good mood this morning, and I’ve kind of been too tired lately for that to be a thing, you know? And definitely plan on riding this wave as long as it lasts–it’ll probably crest this afternoon. I do have some chores I need to do once I am back home, and of course, back to the store today on the way home (thank God for CBD Rouse’s, so I don’t have to go the long way uptown).

IN my tired state last night (and after being scolded/lectured by two trolls on social media, whom I made very sorry that they emerged from under their bridge) I was thinking about things–going to Alabama always makes me think about things from the past, plus all that 70’s research I’ve been doing lately–and I was remembering, with Sparky curled up in my lap, how different life is now from when I was a child. (Shocking, right? Who knew that I’d go through the same things every other older person has throughout history!) I was talking to Dad about Mom and her mother and what things were like for Mom growing up (Dad always talks about how great Mom was and how she never complained, despite how poor they were when they were first married; I replied, “Yeah, that apartment in Chicago might have been tiny but she had running water and a telephone, so that probably seemed like a step up. She didn’t know any better.”), and of course that led into how Mom and her mother never, ever reminisced or thought about the past…and I said “Well, it’s also kind of weird to think when my grandmother was born the Archduke hadn’t been assassinated yet and Europe was dominated by monarchies and empires”…which tripped him out a little. And she had older relatives who’d seen the Civil War. I was born during JFK’s presidency, before Vietnam and in the midst of the civil rights movement. Women couldn’t have credit in their own names and were erased as people, assuming their husband’s name legally as “Mrs. John Smith” rather than as “Lisa Smith.” There was no such thing as no-fault divorce, and the grim reality was most women made their hellish marriages work, dooming them to a life of misery.

Our country really hasn’t been around that long, and neither has our progress toward the ideals of the founding–we’ve never achieved that original ideal, and now we are sliding back into the abyss as a tyrant is in charge (Reagan could only dream of the power the FOTUS has assumed and been gifted by his craven political party) and our constitutional republic is on the ropes. I also have realized over the last week that the only people who can save the country from this threat is the opposition–the courts aren’t going to do it, Congress sure as hell isn’t, the media is laughably unconvincing propaganda-pushers with no desire to do their jobs properly, and neither are the “all-in” party that supports this. I no longer subscribe to the notion that MAGA voters and politicians have been “fooled” somehow, conned…at this point, we just need to accept the fact that they are willing participants–all of them. They can’t say they didn’t know because he told them, for years, what he wanted to do and they cheered, so yeah–I have no empathy for any of them. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as “MAGA regret” because I will personally guarantee that if the election were done over and held again tomorrow, every last one of them would vote for him again despite what they now know.

There can be no forgiveness without atonement and true repentance–that should be the lesson of the Civil War.

Well, this turned into a rather lengthier tome than anything else I’ve done on here this week, hasn’t it? That’s a good sign I am going to take with me into the spice mines for today. Have a great Thursday, everyone, and stay warm!

Rock ‘n’ Roll Fantasy

Wednesday and we made it to midweek. I am tired this morning–I tossed and turned all night yet again last night, and I’ve also been having heartburn1 lately, too, despite the medications I take for each–but this morning I don’t seem to have the heartburn problem, at least for now, and I’ll take it. I have things to do today, too, that definitely need to be done. I got one of them done already. I am tired physically this morning and my brain is a little spacy this morning, but that should clear with some more coffee and writing this.

It started sprinkling last night, and after the rain clears up today we’re having lower temperatures and high winds. It’s going to get close to freezing again down here, so it’s going to be another pipe issue weekend. Not for us, but definitely around southeastern Louisiana for sure. I don’t mind, as I don’t think I really need to leave the house all that much this weekend–it’s nice to be warm and toasty inside while it’s horrifically cold outside–but I definitely need to work this weekend. I did work on my short story yesterday and got about 1500 or so words down, so hopefully I can get that done this week as well as get back into writing the book again.

Parades supposedly start this weekend, but it’s supposed to be cold and rainy all weekend, so I am not sure if I’ll be going down to the corner at all this weekend, other than for King Arthur on Sunday, which is the unofficial queer parade. I always get lots of stuff at King Arthur.

I had wine and appetizers (truffle fries, yum) with a friend in from out of town last night, which was fun. I walked to meet her at Gris-Gris, but it was closed, so we walked over to St. Vincent’s and sat in their bar. It was drizzling last night, giving the city that weird sky glow we get when it’s raining (all the lights and neon reflecting back), and there was kind of a fun noir, opening scene of Mildred Pierce (with Joan Crawford walking out onto the pier in her mink) feel to the early evening. It’s always fun to talk to another writer, you know? One of the things I miss is having local writer friends that I see periodically. Emails aren’t the same thing, you know? (Mine are always far longer than they need to be, and probably don’t get read all the way through.)

Okay, I think I’m going to head into the spice mines. Sorry I’ve been so dull lately, but here’s hoping I’ll get interesting again relatively soon!

  1. And this morning, I figured this out when I went to take my pills and noticed…I hadn’t put my acid reflux medications in the pill sorter. So, I’ve not taken it since Sunday morning. Duh. ↩︎

Take Me Home

Tuesday morning and we made it through Monday. I was correct; after running errands yesterday I was very tired when I got home from work. I spent some time with Sparky and did some chores, but overall, didn’t do a lot once I got home. We did watch some Arrested Development, too, before I went to bed. It’s very cold again this morning, but I’ll just wear layers to work and it’s also super cool that I came home to a warm apartment yesterday (as opposed to how it felt when I got up yesterday morning in the bitter, bitter cold–okay, maybe I was the bitter one and not the cold). Tonight I have to get the mail on the way home, before settling in to get my chores done and maybe do some reading and writing. I feel like I’ve already acclimated back into my regular life, but it’s also still relatively early in the week. There’s no telling how I will feel by Thursday. And next week is jury duty, and this weekend is not only parades but rain, so not sure how that is going to go at all for parade season.

I did breakthrough yesterday on something I’m working on with a bunch of other writers (to be honest, I’ve done very little thus far and have basically been one of those who came along for the ride) and did the things I was supposed to have been doing mostly yesterday, and must say I was very pleased with the result. Huzzah! I felt very accomplished, I have to say; that’s been hanging over my head for months, and I’ve certainly been checked out since the election. I’m not sure that I’m checking back in completely–it’s kind of been nice staying insular in my own little world these past few months–and I do think, going forward, that some of the decisions I’ve made about my peace and peace of mind are going to be a definitive priority in my life. I don’t need people upsetting me and/or pissing me off, and the methodology I use for social media now–annoy me and you’re blocked–is going to be the foundation for dealing with people from now on. I used to let things slide with people, and it’s definitely worn me down and out with those folks…because they always get worse. So, yeah–no more Mr. Nice Gay.

And I am finished apologizing to other people for not living up to their expectations. That is your problem, and it’s never going to be mine. I disappointed you? That’s on you.

Just like I got tired of people telling me, in excruciating detail, of what a bad person I am and a terrible friend. Well, I never claimed to be anything other than who I am. You don’t like it? I don’t give a fuck.

We’ll see how long that lasts, won’t we?

Probably not long. I think sometimes I might have too much empathy? I mean, I feel bad for fictional characters that don’t exist, too.

But I am going to try to not let the bastards get me down, and I feel like the best way for me to fight back, given my old age, is to write. Writing is activism, and always should be. Writers have changed the world for the better–the writings of French philosophers about the ancien regime and its abuses eventually led to the French Revolution; Marx and Lenin also wrote manifestos; and that’s not taking into consideration all the writers who opposed tyranny and wrote about freedom and justice led to our own revolution–and the Civil War. I am not a journalist nor a political scientist nor a historian, but I’ve read enough history and followed politics (and the combination of the two) over the course of my life to understand where all this bullshit we’re dealing with originally came from1, and while I am certain, better analysis of things would come from experts in that field…but I can write about them as a citizen, what I think about these issues and why, can’t I?

And I could never be as entirely wrong about everything as MAGAs and Andrew Sullivan.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be here again tomorrow morning.

  1. Helpful hint: remember how Hilary Rodham Clinton was mocked for talking about a “vast right-wing conspiracy” in the 1990s? Once again, she was right–and had people listened to her maybe we wouldn’t be where we are, here today. ↩︎

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!