Category: errands

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. ↩︎

Save Your Heart for Me

Well, hello, Tuesday, how you doing this week? Yesterday wasn’t too bad. I was on social media more than I needed to be1, which I must correct, but I had a nice day at work and then ran errands on the way home. Paul was home shortly after I got home–I also left earlier than usual–and I grilled the hamburgers I didn’t last night, which was nice. We watched the last episode of Rivals–most excellent, highly recommend–and caught up on Someone Somewhere, which I also love. I wasn’t particularly tired when I got home last night, so I picked up some and read a bit more of my book, which I am loving, even as it also makes me squirm a bit (more on that later, when I write about the book)–and you know what? I should squirm while reading that book. Every white person should, but they won’t read it–or finish reading, if they start– because it might “make them feel bad.” Well, if you want to be a decent person…you need to do the fucking work and feel bad every once in a while. I think that’s the real truth: straight white people don’t want to completely understand how horrible they truly are–which is why they are so defensive all the time. They know they’re bad people, they just don’t want to face up to it, and so lean into being horrible.

And they sure as fuck don’t want to do the work to be better people, so why waste my time with them?

Hell, why am I bothering writing this book? We’re going to be all labeled as porn soon enough, and my publisher might be forced to close. And for the record, I know what it feels like to have your entire canon, your entire writing career, labeled and called pornography. I know what it feels like to get death threats. To paraphrase, there’s nothing as hellish as Christian love.

It’s raining again this morning, which is relaxing. I did sleep well again last night, which I was expecting to do, even though I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home. Today I am in the clinic working with people for the first time in a while, so we’ll see how that goes. I have to get myself back into counselor mode after an enormous (well, several of them) shock to my system…but I was able to counsel after Mom died, so I should be okay. I wonder what their mood will be like? I mean, we are entering the dark times. I think that’s why I wrote that Substack post; it was after the election that I realized that people who are casually homophobic like it’s no big deal aren’t going to step up to rescue queers when it comes to that, so…this is what minority people are talking about, straight white people–if you’re so callously dismissive of us and don’t care about that sort of thing, how can we truly ever believe we are allies? It’s a return to the 1980s again (which were not fucking great, no matter how the Reagan apologists try to make it seem like this glorious lost time; likewise the 1950s shit, too–those may have been good times for straight white people, but not so much for anyone else. And straight white people will always close ranks against outsiders, because ultimately their privilege is the most important thing to them. More important than outsiders…”others.” And sorry, I’m not here to make straight people feel better about themselves. You’re homophobes at heart and it’s not my responsibility to absolve you so you can feel better about yourself…I really don’t give a fuck about how you feel; why should I when you clearly don’t care a fucking thing about how you make us feel? “Oh, sorry if we turned Bouchercon back into your junior high school hellscape! You’ve survived it before, right? You’ll be fine.”

I never should have gone back after the initial homophobic experiences back in 2009-2010. I’ve given the crime fiction community so many chances, always thinking oh it’ll be better this time and optimistically tried again…but unlike Lucy and the football, this faggot Charlie Brown has finally learned to accept that it has failed me, repeatedly, over and over again, and talk about diversity and inclusion is just that–talk. I’m no more welcome in the mainstream mystery community than I was in 20022. That old cliché about how trying the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is insanity?

Well, now I am sane and clear-eyed.

When I tried again this last time, I refused to be chased away the second time because I’ve tried, as an adult, to always stand up to, and fight, the bullies. I hate giving them the satisfaction of admitting defeat finally, but you can only try so hard for so long before realizing that any win for me in this regard would always be Pyrrhic in nature. I’ve never, ever be able to completely relax or feel welcome or made to feel like a part of things, like I belonged. I used to think it was because I was so scarred from my past, and that it was entirely on me and not anything anyone else was doing to make me feel that way. I convinced myself we were welcome.

So, so naive and trusting that this time would be different.

I should have known from seeing friends do book events in stores run by homophobes and racists but then claim to be allies. How big of an ally are you when you talk the talk but launch your book in a store known to be unashamedly homophobic, misogynist, and racist? What message do you think you are sending to people who you claim to support until it comes to your money and your career? How you “don’t want to rock the boat”? It’s called collaboration, and after the Second World War you’d have been executed or at least your head shaved and a public shaming. But–at least in our brave new world you won’t have to pretend to care anymore.

This is why minorities don’t trust you, you know. You can blithely go through your life smugly patting yourself on the back about what an ally you are, how you definitely talk the talk so people know you’re one of the good guys, but guess how we feel when you announce your book launch at one of those stores? We see you, but most of the time we’re too nice to call you out for supporting stores that hate us. Miss me with your boycotts of Home Depot and Walmart and whoever; it’s all just performative bullshit when you really only care about yourself–and you’ll shop there if you think no one will ever find out.

And for the record, telling a minority writer “you’d be so successful if you’d just write about straight people” is condescending, invalidating and deeply offensive. You think I can’t write about straight people? Bitch, please. I understand you people better than you understand yourselves. Believe me, I see you.

And no worries if I’m boring you with all this, Constant Reader. I’m giving you straight people the okay to stop reading this blog, without judgment. It’s a queer space, and I care about your feelings as much as you care about mine.

Then again, you’re probably not reading this anyway? Straight people won’t read me for free, let alone pay for something I’ve written. Christ, what a fucking fool I’ve been.

But give me another day or two and things will go back to normal. I’ll be over it, and not to worry; none of this will ever come up again because I will never be hurt by betrayals from straight people–especially men–ever again. I’ll just expect y’all to be homophobic garbage from the start. It’ll be easier that way–and like I always used to say, you can always count on straight people to carelessly, casually and thoughtlessly cruel…because you don’t matter to them. You’re subhuman. You‘ve heard the things white people say about racialized people–well, that’s also what they all think about queer people.

All these years I’ve smiled and let you demean and dehumanize me, over and over again, with a smile on your face as you performatively act like I’m a colleague when you really are disgusted by my existence.

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. In fairness to me, I was enjoying the “find out” phase the Nazi voters are experiencing. But if your feelings are hurt, MAGAts, no worries–we’ll probably all be dead by the 2025 holiday season so you can gloat to your heart’s content, guilt-free! ↩︎
  2. When mystery bookstores wouldn’t let me sign in their stores because “they don’t carry those kinds of books”–which is why I will always be grateful, and loyal, to Murder by the Book in Houston–to this day, the only mystery bookstore in the country that would have events for me. ↩︎

Eight Days a Week

I guess this will be the last Veterans’ Day, since going forward it will be renamed Suckers and Losers Day, right?

It’s Monday morning in the Lost Apartment and I am up early. My vacation is over and I am going back to the office. It’s going to be weird; it feels already like I’ve not been there in eons. But going back to the normal routine after a very restful (if stressful) vacation was inevitable. I had a nice day yesterday, in which I got some things done and made groceries, before Paul and I settled in for an evening of Abbott Elementary and Rivals–both of which I love– and we’ll be finishing Rivals tonight. I’m glad to be back home in New Orleans, and I slept very well last night. I didn’t really want to get up this morning because the bed was so comfortable, but Im not groggy this morning, so that’s a big win for me. I feel rested, which is the point of time off, and ready to face my week and whatever demons are thrown into my path this week. There’s always, sadly, a few.

I also spent some more time with Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory yesterday, and it is truly an exquisitely written and incredibly powerful story. It’s also heartbreaking in its truth about what life was like in Jim Crow Florida for Black people, and it’s a very stinging indictment of whiteness and the false promise of this country. I keep thinking ah yes this is what they mean by make America great again–a return to this kind of disgusting societal norm1s. I will write more about it when I finish savoring it, but I felt it needed to be brought up right now–I am not even waiting for me to finish this book to tell people they need to read it. I started listening to it in the car–the audiobook narration is completely en pointe–and continued reading in physical form when I got home this weekend. It really is superb, and I can see why it was (is?) so acclaimed and it definitely deserved every award it won. Due is going onto my ‘must-read’ list; I’m just sorry it took me this long to dip into her canon.

But after that I think I am going to read a crime novel. I have a shit ton of them in my TBR stack, and with my time on social media being dramatically curtailed going forward (I succumbed to the trap yesterday more than I should have; bad Greg, bad Greg), I should have time to read every night. Tonight I am going to pick up the mail on the way home, and I am going to cook out–it rained all day yesterday–and I’ll read some more while I do that (and clean up the kitchen more). Thanksgiving will be here before we know it, and that’ll be another lovely long weekend. I also decided this past week that this will be the last year I’ll skip Thanksgiving; it’ll mean a lot to my sister to have me there. Dad didn’t go last year (it’s really a Mom holiday), but he might go this year. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have either Dad or my sister, so I should spend as much time with them as I can while I still can. Morbid, yes, but my reality. And yes, since the election I’ve been much more aware of how little time I may have left here.

My new mantra, by the way, is fuck your feelings (see caption on picture), and I am not dialing anything back anymore. What good did being a pick-me gay ever do for me? I’m actually kind of sickened by how much of a ‘pick me’ loser I’ve been for so long in the crime fiction community. My Substack essay? Wasn’t even the fucking tip of the iceberg.

And you know what? DO you have any idea of how many straight “allies” let that kind of shit fly because it doesn’t affect them in the least, and well, if a queer is listening, that’s on them to say something. I can recall exactly ONE time in the last fifteen years when some straight white asshole decided to use the word faggy in front of me at the table in the bar where we were sitting. He smirked and looked right at me when he said it, too; he knew what he was saying and was testing me to see what I’d do or say; in other words, he put his little shriveled dick on the table and dared me to say something to him. As I burned and counted to ten before punching him in his smug smirking face, Lisa Lutz stuck her finger in his face and said, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. We don’t use that word, ever.”

And I will be grateful to her for the rest of my life.

I do find it amusing how many straight men have no clue how close they’ve come to getting punched in the face.

None of this stuff makes me angry anymore; it’s how things are, and I’ve come to the realization that straight white people are never going to change. They are always going to be entitled, selfish monsters who will always convince themselves they were the real victims. “Well, we wouldn’t have had to kill all those Natives if they hadn’t fought back” or “if they hadn’t massacred that white settlement”. If anything, they were too kind to the colonizers. That’s what happens when you give straight white people the benefit of the doubt–it somehow always ends up in genocide.

And on that cheerful note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and never worry–I’ll be here for as long as I can be!

I used to worry about offending straight people by making lewd comments on these pictures, but nobody made you come here, so fuck off. And this picture just needs to be captioned “taste the rainbow.”
  1. For you white people who haven’t thought this through–no offense, but I am sure it’s most of you–when you ask, smugly, who’ll do the menial jobs when everyone is deported? They told us already–those are “Black jobs.” What else did you think they meant? Now do that math. How are they going to get Black people to do that work? Now you’re on the right track. ↩︎

Just a Little

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. It’s raining, and has been since last night–probably related in some ways to the hurricane, Rafael–so I slept deeply and well last night. It was muggy and miserable outside when I ran my errands yesterday morning, and today I have to make a grocery run, but rather than what I usually do–go in the morning or right around noon–I am going to go later and try to get all the things done today that I need to do here in the house instead. That makes the most sense to me, because usually making groceries (going out in public and being around other people in general) ends up with me in the chair with a sleeping kitty curled up in my lap. I want to get these other posts/book reviews done this morning, and I want to do some more writing today; I really need to get back on the Scotty horse this week. I also am going to start going to the gym a couple of times per week. Protecting my mental health is my biggest priority right now. The nice thing is that now that LSU humiliated itself in front of the nation last night, we don’t really have to pay much attention to college football anymore this year. Really, it’s such an enormous waste of time on a free day that I really shouldn’t waste my time on it going forward. I will say that I was incredibly lucky when I landed Paul; we both have the kind of dark sense of humor that makes us laugh about this horrible world in which we’ve always lived. It’s gotten us through some really dark days, and at least I have someone to face down the darkness with–while pointing and laughing at it. Thank heaven for him, seriously.

But my relationship isn’t real, you know. Perverts can’t love, right?

I am completely out of fucks now, and so yesterday I wrote a Substack entry talking about some of the homophobia I’ve experienced in the crime fiction community, and it got me a lot of new subscribers. I called out some people in the piece, not by name–I can never really get over that polite thing that was instilled so deeply in me by my mother–but I said some things that have been bouncing around in my brain for quite a while. Bigotry is very insidious, and it pops up all the fucking time, whether it’s direct aggression or a micro-aggression. I’ve always been the kind to give people the benefit of the doubt–“well, they don’t know how homophobic they are being”, but no more. Straight men making jokes about being gay, or gay people in general, or our sexuality, isn’t funny. It isn’t funny to have a writer’s retreat you mocking call after a movie which is literally about how much it sucks to be gay in this country and one of the main characters is beaten to death for it, ha ha ha, how funny!1 Maybe we can have a gay male writing retreat we can jokingly name after a miscarriage, or a dead child? If my rights are going to be stripped away from me, why the fuck should I keep giving straight people the benefit of the doubt? (I know, I know, #notallstraightpeople, right? Yes, yes, those of you in the dominant culture are the real fucking victims.) I never completely trusted straight people to begin with–you know, the people who wanted us all to die in the 1980s and laughed about it–and have always been somewhat wary.

Clearly, that wariness was smart. I haven’t felt this way since 2004, when the entire country made it abundantly clear to queer people that they think we don’t deserve love or happiness or full citizenship.2

You can never go wrong expecting straight people to be horrible. Trust me, they’ll never disappoint–like the ones I actually know who basically called all queer people groomers and pedophiles and couldn’t understand why that was like punching me in the mouth. I’ve shared meals with you. I’ve hung out with you. I’ve been nice to you. But queer people shouldn’t be around children, right? Thanks for nothing, mediocre bitch.

But I no longer care about other people’s feelings anymore, or not wanting to make other people feel bad about their own fucking bigotry. I’m not explaining to you why you’re a problematic bigot anymore. You don’t like and there’s nothing I can do about that–so fuck you to hell and back. I’m not getting paid to educate your stupid ass, nor do I care about your fucking feelings. You have no idea what a fucking bitch I can be, and I am taking the gloves off now. I’m not playing nice anymore, and until proven otherwise, you’re my enemy. I don’t like being that way, but how many times do we have to be abused by our fellow Americans before we finally say fucking enough?

And if you ever ask me to be on a fucking diversity panel ever again, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born–or demand payment for being an educator to troglodytes.

Be nice we need their support.

No more fucks.

Have a great day, Constant Reader.

  1. You want an idea how offensive that is? My partner was almost beaten to death twenty years ago and lost an eye. HILARIOUS, right, assholes? It’s no different than telling rape jokes. ↩︎
  2. Funny how we still have to pay all of our taxes to a system with its boot on our throats. ↩︎

Catch Us If You Can

I rolled into New Orleans around eight thirty last night; twelve hours, give or take, in the car for the second time in less than a week. It was an okay drive, although there was a lot more traffic than I would have preferred. It was also cold in Kentucky but hot when I got further south, so I didn’t dress properly for the drive and got home feeling kind of icky. But the good news is that neither drive exhausted me the way that drive used to, which is pretty awesome. This is also the first time I’ve been up there since new meds/surgery recovery. I slept well the entire time I was there and wasn’t tired for a change, too. I’ve gotten a lot closer to my dad since Mom passed away almost two years ago–they were such a unit and so devoted to each other that they were all either really needed. I didn’t foresee this, and talking to him about my childhood and what it was like for them when they were young and first dating and so on. I choked up many times while I was up there that I lost count, but I still won’t cry in front of my dad–childhood training in masculinity still deeply engrained in me.

I also have decided, in the wake of last Tuesday, that my primary focus going forward is myself (and Paul and Sparky, of course) and not wasting any energy on things I cannot control. I have finally achieved some kind of mental stability and settled into my life and who I am and what I want out of my life, so I am going to enjoy myself and focus on my work and Paul for as long as I can until I either have to step up because of my conscience, or…I get classified as a dissident for my sexuality and my work, with whatever horrors that is going to bring. I accepted a long time ago that most straight white people are homophobic garbage, and even those who think they are allies don’t care about us when they are voting. These people wanted us all dead in the 1980s, and I guess that’s what we’re going back to. I also decided to unsubscribe from a bunch of newsletters, and did so this morning. I will never go back to CNN or MSNBC; and I am definitely for sure done with the New York Times, Washington Post, and Los Angeles Times. Fuck you people forever. Have fun being controlled by the state, assholes. This is what you wanted, and no sympathy from me. I also am going to severely limit my time on social media. I’ve wasted too much of my life on there as it is, and I have better things to do.

I guess not enough people have seen Cabaret, or missed its message.

I did finish Gabino Iglesias’ latest (more on that later) and started Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory, which is extraordinary; I also read Scott Carson’s The Chill, which I also loved (more on that later). I also had some ideas while I was up there for stuff that I am working on, and am looking forward to getting all that worked on in the upcoming week. I have a manuscript to edit, a manuscript to write, and all kinds of other things to work on and complete and get back to the gym so I can get myself back into better shape again and be healthier. It will help me have more energy–which now that I sleep better has also improved (well, and finally recovering completely from my surgery), and while I do know it’s unrealistic to expect to ever get back the energy I used to have, regular exercise will help decrease muscle loss with age and bone density, which is something I have to be concerned about genetically. I also find that regular exercise triggers my creativity, which is pretty fucking awesome.

I have a lot of things to do today–errands and such–and of course there are great football games on today, capped off by Alabama-LSU in Baton Rouge tonight. I also have some other posts to do–book reviews of what I read while I was gone–and I also have some thoughts about essays I want to get working on. So have a lovely Saturday, hang in there, and by all means, protect your mental health. You’re probably going to need it.

Baby the Rain Must Fall

Up far earlier than usual on a Sunday morning1, because of course, later on today I am driving to Kentucky. Twelve hours in the car, but I’ve figured out what to listen to on the drive, which is cool. I don’t know what traffic is going to be like, but that’s cool; I am also going to go a different way than I usually do–going thru Nashville instead of the nightmare that is always Chattanooga–so that will be interesting.

I was very tired yesterday morning, the way I always am on Saturday, but I got errands done and then came home to work on the house and get ready for today. We mostly watched football all day before going to bed; starting with Vanderbilt-Auburn (Auburn lost) and Mississippi-Arkansas, then Georgia-Florida, capping the night off with South Carolina’s big win over Texas A&M. The SEC is indeed crazy this season; it almost seems like no one wants to win it all this year. Now, all the one-loss and two-loss teams are going to continue knocking each other off the rest of the season, which is wild. LSU still has a chance, but they have to win out…and that won’t be easy (Alabama, Florida, Oklahoma, and Vanderbilt remain on the schedule). Interesting season, this first year of super-conferences and paying players and a play-off, hasn’t it been? All in all, a very nice, relaxing day was had by everyone in the Lost Apartment, including demon kitty Sparky–who turned himself into a love bug for the entire day. I’ve not yet packed or loaded up the car–I got up early this morning to do that specifically, as well as to add to the “I’m really tired so will sleep well tonight” feeling when I get there tonight. I’ll also be on the road for the Saints game today, so GEAUX SAINTS and I hope they do well.

It’ll be nice spending some time with Dad, resting and relaxing and reading. I don’t know if he’ll want to go do things–like sight-see historical sites in the area (I am not going to the Ark, rest assured of that)–or if we’ll end up just sitting around chatting and watching television. The weather will be similar up there to what we’re having down here, which is great as I don’t want to take a coat with me, either. I decided to finish listening to Gabino’s book in the car on the way up, move on to The Reformatory, finish reading it over the week, and then listen to Shadowlands in the car on the way home, so I can finish reading it when I get home Friday. I have a lovely weekend when I get home before I have to go back to work, and then of course it’s only a few more weeks to Thanksgiving. Paul is probably going to visit his mom for the holiday, which will give me a long weekend alone at home with Sparky, which could be a lot of fun.

And of course, once I get home from this trip I need to really get back to work on the book and everything else around here that I want to get finished by the end of the year. I need to do some research on actual hurricanes (as well as the ones that have hit New Orleans over the centuries, including from before when they got names), and I hope to spend some time brainstorming on the book’s plot. I know I want it to shift direction several times, but I am still not sure of how everything comes together and why, which is part of the fun ohf writing these types of novels, isn’t it?

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely day, Constant Reader, and I don’t know how much I’ll be here posting this week, so hang in there without me, okay? MAKE SURE YOU VOTE.

  1. But not as early as it usually feels, thank you for the extra hour this morning, Daylight Savings Time. ↩︎

The Seventh Son

Saturday and I need to make a to-do list, as well as a packing list. I do get an extra hour of sleep tomorrow morning (thank you, daylight savings change!) which should make the drive somewhat easier. I am also kind of excited about trying a new route, which is oddly thrilling to get out of the usual rut of going the same way I have ever since I started driving up there around the turn of the century. I was still very tired yesterday from Thursday’s toe procedure (which isn’t difficult to care for, so that bit of anxiety was for nothing) so after I finished yesterday’s work, I ran my errands. I picked up my new glasses, got the mail, and picked up a prescription before heading home and just collapsing into my chair. Paul was working, so I watched the news clips and so forth to make certain I was aware of the daily madness that is the election, and then Paul and I finished off Agatha All Along, which was fan-fucking-tastic (more on that later, as the utter queerness of the show deserves more reflection and commentary) and for which I am hoping there will be another season, which was sort of set up in the show, too, although they may not be able to call it the same thing. Such brilliant writing and direction and production values and the acting! The show should get multiple Emmy nominations, but I am pulling mostly for Patti LuPone, who was fantastic as Lilia. Today I have to clean the house and make groceries for Paul and run a few errands and pack. LSU is off this weekend, so I don’t care about the games today–background noise, more than anything else, really–and hopefully, I’ll get to read some today as well. I just don’t want to get lazy, you know, and blow everything off and leave it for next Saturday when I am home again.

It’s kind of nice not to have my toe hurting again. I have to go back to the podiatrist next month (how is next month December already?) to have it looked over again. Yay! Closing out the year with non-stop doctor appointments constantly isn’t exactly the biggest thrill of my life but might as well use the insurance as much as possible before the deductible kicks in again…and I am rather pleased with both the dermatologist and the podiatrist; I’ve really felt like I am in better care than I ever have been since I fired that primary care doctor last year. I am dragging a bit today, too–carryover from the shock to my system as well as exhaustion from the week, which is okay; I usually am dragging a bit on Saturdays lately, which is why watching games all day on Saturdays usually is so appealing. But I’ll finish this, take a reading break, get cleaned up and redress the wound, and then run those errands. I’m not terribly concerned about doing any writing today, although I might so as not to lose the time. I mean, I probably won’t even be here after tomorrow until Saturday anyway. And so much will have changed by then, too. The election will be over, for one–I can’t be the only person who is sick of the endless elections cycles; elections were never meant to be a billion dollar industry, let alone a life-career path. They also didn’t expect people to make a life out of public service, either, but here we are.

Imagine my shock, when sitting down at my desk and waking up my computer simply to see that I never finished writing this, let alone never posted it. Bad Greg! I am getting older, you know. Yikes. I don’t think I’ve ever started in the morning and never finished the entry till later, which is bizarre. Ah, well. I did run my errands, and it was a lovely day outside. I Armor-All’ed the inside of the car, vacuumed it out, and washed it. I should do that every few weeks, frankly, and maybe going forward that will be my plan. I got the mail (another royalty payment; that’s two this week!), made groceries, came home, went to the car wash and then stopped at the Fresh Market. I think I have Paul supplied, plus he can always eat out whenever he wants to or doesn’t want to mess with making anything. Now I just need to make my packing list and get started on that, too. I’d like to get the suitcase packed and loaded into the car today, and then tomorrow morning the other things can go into the car as I depart New Orleans for the week. I did spend some time this morning with House of Bone and Rain (I keep saying blood instead of bone, which also works, but not as well), which continues to be extraordinary; I’ve decided to finish listening to it in the car on the way north tomorrow, move on to The Reformatory in the car, which I’ll finish up there, and then on the way home I can listen to Shadowlands, which I’ll finish reading when I get home next weekend. A very good plan, methinks.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close as it is LONG overdue. Have a great Saturday, and I’ll post tomorrow before leaving town.

California Girls

And here we are at Remote Friday again in the Lost Apartment. I was very tired when I got home last evening, after my doctor’s appointment and running some errands. I went to my first ever podiatrist, and the good news is I don’t have arthritis in my big toes yet, but the bad news is that there’s really nothing to be done about the pronation of my feet, which I was expecting and was kind of a Hail Mary ask. What was super-nice was his PA was a lesbian, which she revealed in one of the most amazingly nonchalant way, and did make me feel better about being there, if that makes sense? (I think the primary care physician I fired last summer was homophobic, if I am being honest. He was certainly dismissive of me and all of my concerns to the point where I was uncomfortable asking him anything. He could just be a shitty doctor, but one of the great joys of being marginalized is never knowing, or being completely sure, if someone is homophobic or not homophobic and just an asshole. Got some serious trust issues, don’t I?)

And of course I slept late this morning! No wonder I was exhausted; I also asked him about the chronic ingrown toenail on my big toe, so he took care of it in the office as an outpatient procedure. I won’t go into details of what he did on my big toe, but for the next week I have to soak my toe twice a day in epsom salts and re-bandage it after applying Neosporin. I always forget those kinds of things are a shock to the body, and it needs rest after trauma, so it takes a while to recover. I’m not used to these sorts of things, which is pretty amazing that these little traumas and shocks to my body didn’t start until I was in my sixties. I’ve always been relatively healthy for the most part, and also…lived in pain for a good portion of my life mainly because it never occurred to me to do anything about it, which is really kind of insane. But all those years of no insurance taught me to live with pain because I couldn’t afford to see a doctor. (I am writing about my low-paying job history and being the working poor, in an essay for my Substack, which I really need to finish and post before I leave for Kentucky on Sunday.) He also gave me a cortisone shot in my right big toe to do away with the reoccurring pain, and it’s actually kind of nice to not have my toe joint hurting for a change. Woo-hoo!

At some point today I have to take a break from working remotely to head out to Metairie to pick up my new glasses, which is very exciting. I have a lot of cleaning to do around here before I leave Sunday morning, but LSU is off this weekend so I am not terribly vested in watching games tomorrow; I’ll have it on in the background but will mostly clean and read for the day. I also was able to read some more of House of Blood and Rain, which is extraordinary, and I am hoping to finish that before Sunday, too, so I can blog about it before I head up there. I’m going to listen to Shadowlands by Peter Straub on the way up there, and probably Lisa Unger on the way home. I am also going to experiment with going a different way than I always have–I always go through Chattanooga–but this time I think, for something different, I am going to go through Nashville. Exciting, no? The drive to Birmingham will be the same; that’s where I’ll leave 59 North and head for Nashville instead of driving through northeast Alabama. I’m not going to worry about doing any writing (or blogging) while I am up there; you’ll simply have to get used to doing without me for the duration of the trip. (I know, I know, whatever will you do without your daily Gregalicious?) It’s also going to be rough being with my conservative family during the election, but I can keep my mouth shut, and years of experience (and knowing they will never change their minds) has taught me how to be honest but noncommittal; it’s not my fault if they interpret my responses as agreement or concurrence. (Example, from 2009: my dad says “Sarah Palin is no Hilary Clinton” to which I reply, “you can say that again.” I can certainly can agree with that statement , right?) But at least I’ll know how the right is taking the results, regardless of what happens. It may be harder if there’s violence, as I expect there to be. (I’m hoping not, but…those hopes aren’t very high.)

I did watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City last night; as you can see, the excitement level around the Lost Apartment for Halloween was very intense. Paul went to a friend’s party (I was exhausted, as I already mentioned), and so I stayed home, reading and cleaning (very lackadaisically) and watching news clips on Youtube to stay slightly aware of what’s going on nation-wide with the election. All the desperate shrieking from the right side seems to be getting more shrill and hysterical on a daily basis. I also had to laugh at the right being so upset over the false claim that President Biden called them garbage; let’s see, what have you trash called me over the course of my life? Pervert, sinner, fornicator, groomer, pedophile, traitor–so yeah, miss me with the hurt feelings of the “fuck your feelings” crowd. Maybe the lie hit too close to home to the people who know, deep down, they aren’t good or nice or Christian or even decent? Just like the “deplorables” thing. Hillary said one negative thing about “some” of his supporters, while they were chanting “lock her up” and worse, and they lost their fucking minds. They sure don’t like being called names, for a group of assholes who feel pretty strong in their ability to call everyone else names but should remain free of criticism myself. And at this point? I’d correct Hillary to say they are ALL deplorables. Maybe not in 2016, but they sure as fuck know they’re all trash and a disgrace to all humanity now because they’ve seen what he is capable of doing and they are looking forward to the end of our democracy.

I don’t think that’s patriotic, actually. I find it deplorable and disgusting and treasonous. (Someday I will write about how the right wrapped itself in the flag and absconded with the country’s symbols to such a point that the word patriot no longer means what it once did.)

Ugh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I may check in again later.

A Walk in the Black Forest

Thursday leaving work early because I have an appointment with a podiatrist (for the very first time in my life) to see if a) I have arthritis in my big toes and b) if there’s anything that can be done to stop, or at least delay, the continuing pronation of my feet. I have finally found an every day shoe that is incredibly comfortable and my leg joints finally feel good again–or at least, don’t ache. (Air Monarchs, to be exact. I love my new shoes.) I slept really well again, which is great, but I do feel a bit wrung out, if that makes sense? I was very tired yesterday when I got home from work–came straight home, too–and so took the evening off after finishing the character list (so far) and starting the outline. Maybe, if I’m not too tired from running errands tonight after work, I’ll be able to get some writing done on the book before the trip, which is Sunday.

And it’s Halloween! Yay! I didn’t get as much horror read this year as I would have liked, but I think I am still going to read some more horror for a while, just for the fun of it, before going back to my usual crime novels. I am so far behind on my reading it’s not even funny at this point. I will try to read some tonight, since tomorrow is a work-at-home day and I don’t have to get up at six (Sparky to the contrary). My new glasses also have come in, so I need to pick them up before I leave town. Yay! I’m not dressing up for work–I always go as Bitter Old Queen Close to Retirement— but I do miss the days when I would wear costumes for Halloween. I was never good at costumes; I always say the descriptor for my costumes started with ‘slutty.’ Yup, I used to be one of those gay men, ready for any opportunity to go shirtless and/or dress ‘slutty.’ I don’t see anything wrong with it, though–then or now, for that matter. I’ve never been one to turn up my nose at embracing our bodies and our sexuality in a positive, healthy way, and yes, I’ve had people explain to me almost my entirely openly queer adulthood about how ‘desperate’ and ‘thirsty’ that is, that gays who dress like that1 and show off their bodies are just attention-seeking narcissists who love to show off, etc. etc. etc. I’d listen to them, all the while thinking and if one of them was interested in you, you wouldn’t say no2 and wow you are really saying this to me. Bold choice to insult me right to my face!3

The thing is, gay men are just as guilty as everyone else of making assumptions on other gay men, based on superficiality, and sometimes place more value on how people look than who they are. This is not peculiar to gay men, either; everyone does this. When I lost weight and joined a gym, it was astonishing how differently I was treated by strangers…

Envy is always ugly, for the record, which is why I refuse to go down that path with my writing colleagues. No good ever comes from envy (as opposed to spite, my primary motivator), it’s a waste of time and energy because it doesn’t change anything, and so I don’t indulge myself with it anymore, and haven’t in over twenty years. I never envy anyone their talent or their careers. That’s pointless, and who wants to head down the path of negativity like that? My focus going forward is to try to stay positive, while making myself and my career more of a priority than it ever has been before. And it kind of feels good, you know? It’s so incredibly freeing to say “I don’t care” and “no thank you” and “sorry that just doesn’t work for me.” (That last is my absolute favorite.)

I actually do feel a bit rundown this morning, now that the coffee’s hit and I’ve had some sugary treats for breakfast (follow me for tips on how to live a more healthy lifestyle!), I do feel a bit of fatigue and some slight brain fog. At least I’m not exhausted, the way I used to get by the time Thursday rolled around again. That’s progress.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, and I may be back later.

  1. A former woman friend of mine, when I once complained about being groped without my consent in gay bars, replied, without missing a beat, “That’s what you get for dressing like a whore” to which I replied, “so you’re saying I’m asking to get raped?” and the look on her face was priceless as that reality dawned on her. I really should have cut her off at least a decade before I did. She was the kind of Trumpelthinskin asshole I have come to detest: “I get to say horrible and cruel things to and about people because I’m being funny but IT IS NOT FUNNY WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT TO ME AND HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE SO HEARTLESS AND MEEEEEEAAAAAAANNNNNN TO MEEEEEEEEE???.” Immature piece of shit. ↩︎
  2. Trust me, scruples go out the window for gay men when someone hot is interested. You’d be surprised (maybe not) at how many gay men want that homophobic POS Nick Bosa to fuck them…and let’s not forget Aaron Schock. I appreciate their looks, but who they literally are as human beings is so revolting to me that I could never. ↩︎
  3. I have so many marvelous stories about not being taken seriously because of how I looked, but that’s a story for another time. ↩︎

I’m Henry the Eighth, I Am

Yeah, I’ve been big on the Tudors for most of my life–first the Virgin Queen, and then her father, Henry VIII and his many wives1, and eventually the entire family (Henry VIII’s sister Margaret was a pistol–and it is her descendants who sit on the throne today, not Henry’s). As I got older, I became more interested in the century as a whole, and eventually I moved on from the Tudors to the Stuarts, who I find much more interesting. I still love the Tudors, and will watch documentaries and films, but won’t read any more books about them, especially because I’ve not really scratched more than the surface with the Stuarts, and I want to read more about the Tudors’ French contemporaries, the House of Valois. (Yes, I loved The Tudors, because it was more of a Renaissance version of Dynasty; I don’t watch historical films and expect accuracy2, and if you are, wake the fuck up. Book adaptations are never the same as the book, either. It’s entertainment, not a fucking documentary.)

Speaking of entertainment, I finally gave up on Jon Stewart with his defense of the indefensible. His joining in on the media’s decision to badger and hound Joe Biden–one of the most successful presidents of all fucking time–out of the race? None of that, not one bit of that, was actual concern; they all were giving (and continued, until recently) Shady Marmalade a pass on his obvious mental decline…and Jon’s decision to defend the indefensible “because comedian”? Fuck off and die, you arrogant rich white cisgender piece of shit. I’ll never watch him again, so congrats on that year contract extension, Comedy Central. You thought calling Puerto Rico a floating pile of garbage was funny? You thought comparing Travis Kelce to OJ, implying he’ll murder Taylor Swift, was funny? And on and on and on. Straight white male comedians will always circle the wagons for another comedian with a penis, but when a woman comedian (see: Kathy Griffin) is being attacked, not a fucking word? So he’s a misogynist, too. I’m not telling you what to do, Constant Reader, but Jon Stewart is dead to me, now and forever. And don’t even get me started on the 49ers and Nick the Traitor Bosa. Talk about pussy. Someone got slapped down by management when he hit the locker room and before he talked to the press, and like a good little beta soyboy, he caved and sulked like the pathetic emotionally-and-intellectually stunted bitch he is. He’s not being punished because when asked he shut his fucking mouth, which is the other primary difference between him and a true hero, Colin Kaepernick (besides the obvious “white man gets away with shit a Black man never could” racism).

And really, 49ers managers and coaching staff? Your team represents San Francisco, the most tolerant city in the country. Trade him to Dallas, where he belongs.

Thank God I am on anxiety medications. If not, I probably wouldn’t have slept at all since June. But the medications and my personal ban on legacy media companies who are garbage and untrustworthy has helped a lot with my election anxiety, and refusing to engage with the trash on-line (block, block, block) I’ve managed to take good care of my own mental health this time around. I refuse to worry about what will happen if he wins, or if he loses and they try another violent coup; I do, every once in a while, think you always wondered what it was like to be a Berliner in 1933…and I didn’t really need to get an answer to that question, you know?

I feel good this morning yet again; I’ve been sleeping well every night this week and it’s been really nice. I did my errands last night, got home and got started on the dishes and did some other clean-up around here. Paul didn’t get home until late, so I mostly went down Youtube idle curiosity research holes. I also managed to get the Scotty Bible’s first draft finished; it’s just raw information for now that I have to reorganize and pull together. I am also realizing, as I mentioned yesterday, that I should do a concordance of everything I’ve written by place; Kansas, California, New Orleans, Louisiana, Florida, and Alabama. That’s the problem of having characters cross over from stand-alones to the series and back again, you know? I was realizing that the lawyer the boys hire in Royal Street Reveillon doesn’t have as much information in the Scotty series about him as I would have thought…only to remember that Loren McKeithen has a much larger role in the Chanse series than the Scotty. Oops!

I also realized last night, as I watched news clips and documentaries about the Civil War, that with my anxiety gone I no longer feel the need to belittle and dismiss things I’ve accomplished in this wild and crazy career of mine. I’ve written a shit ton of books, short stories, and blog posts–and when I think about all the queer papers and magazines that I’ve written for over the years, yes, my output has been a bit prodigious. It wasn’t false humility (though I am often horrified at how easy it is to slip into egomania, and always over-correct once I catch myself); I honestly still thought I wasn’t very good at what I do. I always compare myself to other writers and come up wanting; but it’s really not a competition of any kind; I appreciate great writers who produce great work, and my work is different from theirs. I always strive to be better, to get better, and not stagnate–the problem that creates is it extrapolates to I could have done that better and dismissing it. Those are the kind of brain landmines I need to watch for, and avoid whenever possible. I’m proud of all my work, for the record. Sure, going through the old Scotty books was always difficult (I always edit it another time as I’m reading it) but doing it for the Bible, where I’m just looking for information, was different. Sure, there were some clunky things I could have said better, but overall, I was actually a little surprised to see how good–and clever–the books actually are. It also reminded me of how I used to write the first ones, what I have always tried to do in my work–whether anyone notices or not. (Someone once emailed me after reading one of my books and said, “Did you deliberately do this?” and delighted, I wrote back “Absolutely!” That was a big thrill for me.)

And I am proud of my work. I overcame so many obstacles to build this career, and I am pleased with myself, too. My books are pretty good–yes, there will always be a few where I think, God I wish I could give that one more pass, but even those are pretty good. There are some I am more pleased with than others; yes, I have favorite children. But that doesn’t mean that I am not pleased with all of them. How many people told me along the way that this would never happen for me, that I didn’t have what it takes, or that I have no ability at all? Maybe, maybe not–but if that’s what you think, how many books have you published? How many awards have you been nominated for, or won?

I really wish I’d known it was anxiety much sooner.

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

  1. I love that historians count all of the women he married as his wives; although technically the first two were actually annulled, so the marriages were never, at least legally, valid. ↩︎
  2. I totally understand why films and television shows based on history have to make changes; the actual stories don’t play out perfectly for different media and thus must be adapted. I do ↩︎