Category: errands

Tallahassee Lassie

Ah, Saturday morning after another good night’s sleep. I managed to sleep late again–Alarm Sparky hasn’t worked the last two days; he waited until almost eight this morning to demand breakfast and to try eating my Fitbit again; he tries to chew my Fitbit fairly regularly throughout the day. (He has also peeled off my Breath-Rite nose strip both yesterday and this morning–try sleeping through that sometime!) But he’s a sweet boy and I love him. He’s bonded again with Paul over the last couple of weeks and has adjusted to having him around again, which is nice. Settling back into normalcy (or what passes for it) around here now, and trying to get some things done today–preferably this morning, to be honest. I have to get everything done that I need to get done today before seven, which is when the NCAA regional championships for gymnastics airs with LSU trying to make it to national semi-finals. I do have a lot to do today–I really was tired last night when I finished work at home duties, and couldn’t really do much of anything other than finishing the laundry. Paul and I watched more of Ripley, which we are both enjoying and the production values are just so extraordinary; almost every shot is beautiful, and the black-and-white photography is brilliant; I don’t think I’ve seen such stunning visuals in a black-and-white film since Sweet Smell of Success.

I also managed to finish reading Last Summer last night, and there will be more about that later. It’s a very dark and mesmerizing tale; told in a voice that speaks to being a teenager but it gradually becomes very dark. I enjoyed reading it a bit, wondered about its casual homophobia (normal in books when this was punished, yet still startling to encounter; it was so common when I was growing up that I never really noticed the presence of actual queer characters and actual casual homophobia). I did remember the way it ended, and I think I do remember reading the sequel Come Winter. I’ll probably dissect more at some point, and give it a review reflective of the time period in which it was originally published and filmed.

We also watched the first episode of Mary and George, which is so much fun! Julianne Moore is clearly enjoying herself playing Mary, who dragged herself up from the lower classes and has ambitions for not only herself but for her son, the beautiful George, and Lord, is he beautiful. Nicholas Galitzine looks much prettier as a brunette than as a blond; being a blond doesn’t work as well as dark hair. Not sure which is his actually hair color, but those blue eyes certainly pop a lot more with darker hair. It’s way fun, and very very queer; historians are very quick to erase James I’s sexuality and desires for men from the pages of books–you literally need a photo of him buggering someone to convince homophobic historians; history is full of bisexuals, especially among royalty. The seventeenth century has always one of my favorite historical periods, too, and one I’ve always wanted to write about. I guess I should stop being such a coward and try to write something historical since I’ve always wanted to; but Imposter Syndrome always intrudes whenever I start thinking seriously about it. Maybe someday…but the show has the best line about sexuality and gender I’ve ever heard: “A body is just a body.”

Overall, I could easily be upset with myself for not writing last night, but I am not going to do that to myself anymore. I needed the rest, clearly, as I must have been tired. Today I have to run to make groceries, do some writing, and get some other things done. I am going to be cook out today–it’s bright and sunny out there, which is great–and I am hoping to get some cleaning and organizing done around here as well. I do need to empty the dishwasher, and I am a bit hungry this morning. I am going to spend about an hour reading Michael Koryta’s The Cypress House while I drink my coffee and my mind wakes up, and then I have to dig in and get to work for the day.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, I may be back later, and hang in there, okay?

Never Be Anyone Else But You

Wednesday and we’ve made it to the middle of the week again, well done, Constant Reader! I was beginning to wonder. Yesterday was a bit odd. I slept well the night before, but I didn’t sleep through the night; I woke up several times during the night but managed to fall back asleep. I felt a bit spacy and out of it yesterday as a result, but still managed to stay focused and get through my workday without falling behind, ran some errands on the way home, and did some chores. The weather has also been weird lately; gray and cloudy, but hot and humid at the same time. It looks like it should be cold outside, but it’s not; you walk outside and the humidity slaps you across the face. Guess it’s time to start leaving my sweatshirt/jacket at the office every day instead of wearing it to and fro.

And yes, it’s affecting my sinuses and some of my moods, and I think it made me tired last night, too. I tried to write for a bit before giving up; that part of my brain wasn’t working yesterday, which was more than a little bit frustrating. But I also have to remember that I am still technically recovering from the surgery; my arm might be healed now but I am still not completely recovered. I slept well last night, though, so hopefully I won’t be basically sleepwalking through the day the way I did yesterday.

I’ve been listening to Beyonce’s new album, Cowboy Carter, in the car and I have to say, it’s really quite good. I know the racist section of country music fans (significant in number) are hating on it and calling it aggressive, not country, etc. I hate to break it to you, but no one gatekeeps any creative field, particularly in music. If Cardi B wants to record a country album, no one can stop her. And this has been an issue with country music and its fanbase for a very long time. My dad always hated that old Barbara Mandrell song “I Was Country (When Country Wasn’t Cool)” because it basically pissed all over people discovering country for the first time–and with her variety show and so forth, Mandrell was a pop/country hybrid herself, following in the shoes of Dolly Parton, who crossed over in the mid to late 1970’s. There was a lot of pushback against “not country” artists who were recording music that was being played on country music stations and bought by country fans–look up “Charlie Rich John Denver country music” on Youtube sometime; Charlie Rich went off on John Denver for not being country enough while presenting him with a country music award. (Olivia Newton-John also crossed over, starting in country before moving over to pop.) New artists and new approaches to country music keep the genre alive and fresh. I’ve seen people trying to quantify this Beyonce album as “well, it’s her version of country” and other things like that…but that’s why I am listening to it in the car; giving me the sense that I am listening to the radio, and if I didn’t know it was Beyonce…I probably wouldn’t have ever guessed. Yes, when you know its her you easily can recognize the vocal range and style, but it’s a terrific album I am enjoying…and I’ve never forgiven country music as an industry for what they did to the Chicks.

You know, when the right invented cancel culture? Yes, they were the ones who let that genie out of the bottle they constantly decry these days…until they decide they need to cancel someone else.

I did do some research via the google machine last night to get some information I may need for the revisions of the two stories I’ve written thus far this year. Both stories are going to have significant revisions, but they are also going to be much better stories than they were in their original drafts. I also know where to go next with the book, which is excellent news. I am going to need to rework the beginning again, but that’s fine and inevitable to deeper you get into drafts, anyway.

We are still enjoying Apples Never Fall, and what a horrific and dysfunctional family we have on display! One thing that really isn’t working for me on the show (when I think about it later; when watching I get caught up in it all) is how calm they all seem; their wife/mother is either missing or dead, and no one seems to be all that disturbed or upset by it. Again, who wants to watch hysteria for episodes on end, but I guess they’re all in denial and a little bit of shock, which is also understandable.

All right, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later–one can never be entirely sure.

My Happiness

Tuesday and feeling a bit better after the wasted weekend (I wasn’t wasted, but rather wasted the weekend; but I need to stop looking at it that way and realize both my body and my brain wanted, and needed, rest). I wrote another chapter last night and am back into the book; here’s hoping it will last and I’ll keep writing as more time passes. The work wasn’t great, but it’s done and it’s fixable. This weekend I am going to have to really dive into things for sure, and I am hoping this week I’ll be able to keep up with the kitchen and everything else so I don’t have to spend a lot of time doing that this weekend and instead can dive headfirst into writing and reading.

I stopped to pick up a few things on the way home from the grocery store last night, and then once I was home I emptied the dishwasher, bonded with Sparky a bit, and then sat down to work. Sparky wasn’t especially fond of this idea–he’s not fond of anything I do that doesn’t involve either providing a lap for him to sleep in, filling his food bowl, or playing with him. I do think we’re going to have to make a Costco run this weekend at some point–we’re running low on some things–and there are some other things I need to order for delivery this weekend, too.

But I am happy I am writing again. I’m sorry I didn’t have the time or energy to edit “Passenger to Franklin,” which I was writing for the Chessies chapter’s next anthology; but it wasn’t ready to be submitted and had I done so, it would have been rejected anyway. The nice thing is this anthology–themed around urban legends–provided two short stories for me–“When I Die” and this one; both of which need editing, and both of which I think are going to be terrific stories and perfect for my collection, too. I have found the voice for “Passenger,” which was missing in the first draft, and “When I Die” needs to be revised so I can make the main character gay; it works better that way, especially with an unrequited crush on his wealthier roommate. I like the idea of them visiting the graveyard at Frenier as kind of a fraternity prank; the rich roommate thinks it might be a fun thing to do to all the pledges, and the one they take out with them into the Manchac Swamp is a pledge who looks up to both of them, in a smarmy way the main character doesn’t necessarily like–and we see a personality change come over him as they cruise through the swamp at night. (I also need to look up boats, and sometime I have to drive out to Laplace so I can take the old highway and see what that’s like so I can write about it some more. The college and town I am writing about on the North Shore is fictional, of course; but Frenier and the swamp are real.

And both legalizing cannabis and protecting abortion are now on the ballot in Florida, which makes me absolutely giddy with joy. This is very good news for the Democratic Party and really bad news for trash like DeSantis and that ghoul Rick Scott; I would hope it means a huge turnout which always is bad news for Republicans–that’s why they are always screaming about “voter fraud” and trying to suppress people’s right to vote; free and open elections generally aren’t good for Fascists.

After I got my word count for the day, Paul and I settled in and started watching Apples Never Fall, which we are really enjoying. It’s based on a book by Liane Moriarty (also the author of Big Little Lies and a few others; I’ve enjoyed everything of hers that I’ve read thus far) and I like how this is playing out so far. It’s so nice having Paul home in the evenings again–I’d forgotten how much I just enjoy our down time together in the evenings.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I may be back again later; one never knows.

Don’t You Know

Monday morning and it’s back to the office with me. The weekend was a bit of a bust; I did get some things done but zero writing. I missed the deadline for the anthology I was trying to write a story for, but despite a good start yesterday fatigue set in fairly early and I wound up spending most of the day in my chair, Sparky in my lap, while we continued watching Will Trent, which we are both enjoying. Today is also April Fool’s Day (does the apostrophe go before or after the s? I can never remember if it’s fool or fools), which is a kids’ thing, really. I don’t feel exhausted this morning, but I do feel like I could have certainly slept for longer.

This week I have to get back on track after last week was essentially a big loss for me, alas. I did get some things done last week, but it was derailed and then the weekend was also a complete loss. It was incredibly poor timing, of course, but sometimes life does happen–and it’s been happening to me a lot since January 2023 (really, you can even go back as far as the summer of 2022, when I got COVID), which kind of sucks. But that’s what life is, really; one long series of traumas with pleasant interruptions in between until you die. Well, that sure sounded pessimistic, didn’t it? It’s very easy to get caught up in the negative side of life and focus merely on that while not paying attention to the good things that go on in your life, especially when you keep getting derailed. (The anxiety side of my brain is trying really hard to send me into a depressive spiral here, but I am successfully holding it off this morning…so far.)

So, this is going to have to count as my reentry into my life after the festivals since last week was simply a holding pattern; Paul and I even talked about that last night between episodes of the show. Last week was simply a lost week during which I was able to get some things done on and around everything else that was going on. But it’s also a new month today, so I am going to try to get everything together this week and get my life back together. I’ll be going to visit Dad the first week or so of May, which will also be an interruption, but despite the lengthy drive there and back (I’m meeting him in Alabama first for the First Sunday in May, and then we’re driving north) I am kind of looking forward to it. I’ve got lots of books and stories to listen to on Audible (yay!) and of course, I always get inspired whenever I go to Alabama (or through Alabama). I do think I have my writing for the year figured out as well; I am going to finish the current one, finish everything I have unfinished on hand, and then I am going to write an entirely new project; and I know what the next two new ones are going to be. I do want to revise the story I didn’t finish and turn in for the anthology yesterday; it needs a strong rewrite, and I can also throw it into my short story collection, which will also then be finished and ready to go.

Progress, and getting back into a good headspace, is always a plus.

I did read some more of Last Summer yesterday, and that sense of foreboding just continues to grow with every page. I am enjoying the ride, and I know the book ends with tragedy; I do remember how this one and its sequel end, but I am still not entirely sure whether I am remembering the ending of the book from reading it before or from having seen the movie, which I also don’t remember much about, so can’t swear to having seen it. And also now that I am in the second half of the book closing in on the ending, I also see what Hunter had done with the two parts and it’s masterful yet chilling at the same time. It’s definitely a novel for adults, but it has teen protagonists; so is it young adult fiction? I am hoping to get it finished this week so I can move on to the Michael Koryta.

And on that note, I am bringing this to a close. Happy Monday and April Fool’s Day, Constant Reader, and have a lovely day.

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Easter, which really should be the highest holy day of Christianity–but it’s not. That would be Christmas, which again–really doesn’t make sense. But at least the date of Jesus’ birth is fixed–as opposed to how the day of his death floats.

I overslept again this morning and I suspect my exhaustion–which carried me through yesterday as well–has everything to do with the situation on Friday. Yes, I know I am being vague, but I also never am sure about crossing a privacy line for someone else. Essentially, I lost the entire day, and let’s just say that I am glad I am on anxiety medication because my mind would have exploded this past week, probably. But it was exhausting and draining, both emotionally and physically, and that all kind of caught up with me yesterday. I did get some things done–laundry and I did run an errand–but was completely worn out yesterday and had excessive fatigue. I feel better this morning than I did yesterday, but I also have a lot to do today and hope that I can manage somehow. I feel motivated today, which I didn’t have the energy for yesterday, and as soon as I finish this I am going to get cleaned up and finish cleaning the kitchen and dive into my day.

Sounds good, anyway.

It’s also a very bright and cheery day out there–it’s been cold since around the festivals–and I am hoping to cook out today, too. We spent most of the day relaxing with the television on. I did read some of Last Summer, too, which I am really getting into, and I think my next read will be an old Michael Koryta, The Cypress House. He really is one of my favorite writers, and I need to read more of his backlist as well as get caught up on recent releases. I pruned the books a very little yesterday, and we did watch some great stuff yesterday. We watched Quiet on Set Friday night, which was grim and creepy and horrifying, and then yesterday we watched Thanksgiving and moved onto Will Trent, which we’d been meaning to get around to but kept forgetting–it’s quite good. Thanksgiving was another holiday slasher movie, kind of clever and didn’t take itself too seriously (always a plus in a slasher movie) and I enjoyed–but it didn’t say anything new or do anything wildly clever or original. Quiet on Set, on the other hand, was deeply disturbing–which brings me to another point about the falsity of the right and it’s anti-queer lies about grooming and pedophilia. Every day I see pieces posted on social media about another male (sometimes with a female accomplice) convicted of raping and/or sexually abusing children…and getting off with thirty days in prison, or three months, or suspended sentences.

Where is all the outrage about THAT? Judges and juries giving light sentences for raping children? That’s how I know the right is all smoke and mirrors when it comes to these issues. They chose to attack a small minority and accuse them of not being safe around children, but where is there concern about all these religious figures, church leaders, your counselors, and COPS who are getting away with destroying children? Watching Quiet on Set made me aware just how hypocritical they are. If they really cared about children and keeping them safe, they’d go after actual people who, you know, commit the crimes and the disgusting sentences they get for said crimes. It’s hard to take any country seriously who doesn’t punish actual perpetrators of crimes against children, but instead accuses innocent parties while looking the other way when the criminals don’t fit their narrative.

I’m tired of liars using children as a bait-and-switch to come for queer people.

Sigh. It’s easy to get frustrated and fearful these days with the world in the state it is currently in; I take no pleasure in seeing my predictions about the rise of modern American fascism, made in the early 1990s, coming true in my twilight years. You see, I recognized the rhetoric of the right, and how they were using queer people as scapegoats for everything, in the decade as the same language and dialogues that Germans used on Jews and queers in the 1930’s, and I also saw, with the rise of Fox News, the further decline of the American system and way of life. We’ve never really achieved, as a country, the democratic utopia the founders strove for–but it seems like a significant portion of the country no longer sees patriotism as country over party anymore. The Divine Right of Republicans to run the country was part of the unholy marriage of conservatives and evangelicals that Reagan fostered as a Machiavellian scheme to retain power. The right has been smearing the left as communists since the fall of the Tsar in 1917–it’s still a slur they sneer today (communist, commies, socialists) while painting themselves, quite offensively, as the real patriotic Americans.

Sometimes I think I am thinking overly optimistic and that more and more Americans are beginning to see the tin god as precisely that; a golden calf they worship despite their Holy Book’s continued warnings about false gods, false witness, and liars.

And for the record, I have always believed that faith in religion should be shown by works, not words. Anyone can say they are a Christian and they love Jesus–it’s their behavior and what they do that truly matters.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a happy Easter, Constant Reader, and I may be back later.

Lavender Blue

Friday morning and I’ve taken the day off. Yes, it was going to be a work-at-home Friday, but a personal crisis has interfered with my daily routine and I ended up having to take the day off. (I also had to leave work early yesterday, but I will save the tale of the personal crisis until it has passed, thank you for your understanding during this trying time; which of course leaves me in a quandary about what to write about this morning–so please bear with me.)

I did read some more of Evan Hunter’s Last Summer, and I am not sure what to make of it thus far. I think I read this book when I was a kid, but I’m not remembering it, and it’s similarities to Summer of ’42 (which would now be banned as a grooming novel/movie) may have confused me into thinking I’d read both. I don’t know that I’m enjoying it as much as I am supposed to as the reader; I do like the sparing style Hunter used to write the book, which reminds me of James M. Cain. I’ve also not read any of his Ed McBain novels, but those are considered classics in the subgenre of police procedurals; one of those holes in my education as a crime writer that I always deplore (the list is appallingly long and would contains authors that would both shock and scandalize you). I’ll keep reading the book, but it’s taking me longer than it should because I can only take bits of it to absorb at a time; there’s this marvelous sense of foreboding in the narrative voice that I am loving, and I am also trying to figure out how he manages to do that. (Every novel I read is an education of some sort, whether I’m enjoying or not. I no longer finish books I’m not enjoying–before I would do it as a puzzle for me–how would I write this better? That may seem arrogant, but it’s not. Just because I don’t enjoy a book doesn’t make it a bad book, it’s always a matter of personal taste.)

I also slept late this morning. I was exhausted when I tumbled into bed last night, and Sparky even slept with me in the bed, which he has started doing more often lately. I do like that; there’s something about a purring cat sleeping pressed up against you. I also woke up this morning to some rather lengthy bloody scratches on my hand. I went to bed just before ten thirty last night and woke up at nine, grateful I didn’t miss PT (which ended last Friday) or got a late start to my work-at-home day. I’ve got a very messy apartment to work on, and hopefully the crisis will pass today and things will return to some semblance of normal around here. I also need to get back on my writing horse, answer a shit ton of emails, and pick up the reins of my life again. I was sort of letting things slide this week while I was writing so much and so well, and now those chickens have come home to roost. Laundry to do and put away, dishes to put away, filing to do and floors to clean; it never ends for one Gregalicious. I was also kind of running on a low internal battery charge all week, which meant tiring early and being exhausted by the time I went to bed. (I always realize these things after the fact, but at least no longer berate myself for not being more productive.)

I’m going to sit here and finish this while enjoying my morning coffee. The coffee tastes really good this morning and I am going to need to eat something; I was so caught up yesterday in the crisis that I never did eat anything after breakfast, which isn’t good for me or anyone, really.

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 can be sure about these things.

Guitar Boogie Shuffle

Good morning, Tuesday, and back to the office today. I am very glad that I took yesterday off, as I was completely exhausted. Once I finished my blog yesterday morning, I started trying to get caught up on everything that had slid over the weekend (dishes, laundry, etc.) but ran out of steam around eleven and was so tired I ached. So, no errands, no gym, no writing, not much of anything was truly done yesterday, but I was so tired I was fine with it. I am still fine with it this morning, frankly. I slept deeply and well last night, and of course, was very relaxed and comfortable this morning and didn’t want the night to end. But I am awake, my brain is coming alive and my coffee is tasting pretty good this morning. I am not sure what my day at the office is going to look like yet but I’ll let it be a surprise. I will have to pick up the mail today after work, but that’s fine.

I’ll probably snap back to normalcy tomorrow morning. I also have a lot of email that has accumulated since Friday to take care of, too. Heavy sigh.

But I still feel a little charged from the weekend, even if my own batteries are running low a bit. My legs and back don’t ache, for one thing, and my mind feels a bit less foggy than it did yesterday. Poor Paul got home yesterday afternoon and collapsed on the couch, from which he’s only moved to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink, so I hope he gets some seriously good rest today. (We watched the world skating championships and the SEC gymnastics championships before I went to bed.) I just didn’t have the energy to write yesterday, which was okay. I know I have a lot to do in order to get caught up in any way, but any work I would have done yesterday would have been terrible.

I did come up with some ideas for short stories over the weekend–not exactly what I want or need at the moment, but hey. I’ve been wanting to do more “Sherlock in 1916 New Orleans stories”; perhaps even a collection, and so it was kind of cool to come up with titles over the weekend (there’s a Sherlock novella I want to write, too, which would make the collection even more fun). I don’t need more ideas any more than I need a deep gaping hole in my skull, but the Sherlock thing is one I already had so I am not counting it as new but rather filling in the blanks for something already started.

But I am excited to roll up my sleeves and dive into the book again. The weekend was the kind of lovely recharge I need every now and then; which is what you can get from going to these types of events as a writer. Being around people who appreciate literature and writing and reading is a dream for me, and I love these occasional reminders that I am a part of the writing/publishing community–it’s very easy to feel removed from it when you don’t live near your writer friends and are only around them for brief spurts of times at conferences. There’s never enough time to talk to everyone, to catch up with everyone that I want to, as well as meet new people whose work you’ve yet to discover, and how wonderful it is to see the starry-eyed authors-to-be when they come to something like S&S for the first time. I saw several of those, and it’s also lovely that the short story and poetry anthologies are, in some cases, the writer’s first publication…and their reading at the festival is their first time doing so. I was very impressed by the poetry I heard Saturday night, particularly after talking to Steven Reigns about poetry on Friday night. I think I’ll start with T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.

And so now it is time to officially return to the spice mines. I doubt I’ll be back later, but then again, one never knows. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader!

Red River Rock

Monday morning after Saints and Sinners and I am exhausted. (I took today off, thank God.) It was such a lovely weekend–as it always is–but I wasn’t at 100% yet, and it definitely took its toll on me. I walked home quite a lot–every night since Thursday except for Friday night, when I was so damned tired I took a Lyft home. I also walked down to the Quarter yesterday, walked to and from the BK House in the lower Quarter from the hotel on Friday night (hence the exhaustion that night). But I am very pleased to report that I was able to do a reading and moderate a panel with no stage fright or high anxiety, which was so fucking lovely I kind of wish that I’d been on the proper medications for a lot longer, because I was able to thoroughly enjoy myself instead of having an adrenal spike and the panic-sweat and so forth–and now I understand how other people experience panels and readings. It was a wonderful experience.

But I am so exhausted this morning! My legs are ridiculously tired, and my lower back and shoulders are a bit sore this morning. I’m glad I did all that walking, tiring as it was, because I need to start working on getting back into shape now that I am done with the physical therapy. I should go to the gym today, actually, and perhaps will later on in the day. Paul will come home from the hotel today, but will most likely sleep most of the day away and he’s entitled, poor thing. He was so exhausted yesterday! But it was a marvelous weekend and I know he enjoyed himself a lot, despite working 18 hours a day. There were a lot of new faces this year–young aspiring writers–and they were so excited and thrilled to be a part of the weekend. That’s always been a concern of Paul’s–how to draw in and attract new panelists and readers, especially younger people–but somehow they all seemed to find US this year, which was lovely. I did some things this weekend I generally don’t do–went to the anthology launch, came to the closing in time to hear all the poets read. They were all amazing, and that, along with a conversation with noted poet Steven Reigns on Friday night, actually sparked an interest in poetry, and I’ve decided that one is never too old to appreciate a new to them literary interest–so I am going to start reading poetry and learn to appreciate it, and maybe even try writing it at some point. I’ve always found poets make terrific fiction writers (Margot Douaihy is the latest–and one of the greatest–examples of this), and so maybe this could be a way to improving my own writing.

One never knows.

But as I sit here this morning swilling coffee and feeling my aching body slowly coming back to life, I am also a little bit sad that it’s all over. S&S is always so good for my soul, for my creativity, and my inspiration. It was the perfect way to end a week where I finally snapped out of the 2023 malaise and got back into both reading and writing, which has been wonderful. I should also make groceries today, but I am feeling so tired I am thinking it may not be the best idea, since I have to go back to the office tomorrow morning and am already exhausted. I should probably just chill around here, order a pizza for dinner, and do some chores and writing while I let my body rest and relax.

I suppose this is the time to announce that I am going to be the guest judge for the S&S short fiction contest next year, which should be interesting. I spend so much time reading crime fiction that I don’t really read outside my genre as much as I should to get a more rounded experience, and this is a good opportunity for me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve read outside the genre, and as much as I need to get caught up on my crime fiction reading, I also should not just read crime fiction, either; I’ve always believed that writers should read across all genres and forms of fiction as a method of keeping your own work fresh and not derivative, which is always a danger when you write within the confines of a genre–I just haven’t been very good with it to begin with myself for a number of years now. Maybe this year.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day–actually right now, i am going to finish some chores and then go to the easy chair with the book I am reading now, and hopefully get some rest and relaxation. Have a great Monday, I may be back later, and I’m looking forward to getting some writing done today.

16 Candles

Paul moved into the Monteleone yesterday for the weekend, so I find myself home alone with Sparky, who either feels needy when there’s only one of us here, or gives me a lot more attention when Paul’s not home to make me feel less lonely. I’ll be spending most of my weekend down there myself–although I am hoping to get some writing done every morning before I head down there for the panels and parties and things. A boy can dream, at any rate. Sparky was pretty needy after I got home from work, and spent most of the night either sleeping in my lap, following me around, or riding on my shoulders.

I did spend some time going down an Internet research rabbit-hole for the new book I am looking forward to writing later this year, The Summer of Lost Boys. I found a Facebook page for the suburb we lived in that is going to be the basis for the story (the same suburb the main character of Lake Thirteen was from), and spent some time between clients going down memory lane and remembering people, places and things I’d forgotten in the ensuing fifty years or so since we lived there. (FIFTY YEARS???) Most of the members of the group are people I didn’t know or don’t remember, but there were certainly some familiar names there–including some of my bullies. Charming, but glad to see they don’t look so great now. It was a strange suburb, really. When we moved out there it really wasn’t much of a town or anything; it was mostly subdivisions that were going up very rapidly. The town (or village; it’s still called The Village of Bolingbrook) started developing more after we moved out there…the end of the street we lived on was a field about a block away from our hose…within a few years, the Ivanhoe subdivision went up in that field. We got our own high school in 1974; I was going to be in the first graduating class for BHS that had gone to BHS all four years; the older grades has spent some years attending Romeoville High in the next town over. I am going to try to immerse myself in the period–culturally, politically, and so forth–which should make the book more interesting, or at least to people my age. I’m kind of excited about it, to tell you the truth. (And yes, some of my earliest post-pubescent crushes are also there. Also didn’t age well, but hey, we’re all in our sixties now.)

I’ve also picked out the other stories I want to use to fill out my next short story collection. Those two stories need a bit of work, but I hope I can get this whole thing finished relatively soon, so I can move on to the novellas I want to finish, the two books already in progress, and then this new one I want to do. See? I’m feeling ambitious and driven again, which is lovely. I wrote some more last night, and it was good work; revising the second chapter and pulling the story and everything together, and I’ve found the voice again, which is so crucial and was part of the problem I was having before.

I also spent some more time with Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (Taylor’s Version) last night and realized…I’ve liked every song thus far, and I am well into the second hour of the film. I will undoubtedly write about it once I’ve finished watching, but it’s an excellent way to hear her music–some of it for the first time–and think, I really need to listen to her albums in the car and this is why she’s the biggest star in the world right now. It’s also a pretty amazing show; the girl knows how to please an audience and make them happy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back probably at some point later today.

A Teenager in Love

Monday morning and back to the office blog. I did write some yesterday–not nearly enough–and I did get some things done this weekend. I bought blinds for the breakfast nook, but I think they are too small; I may have to exchange them for another, larger set. Which is okay; I can do it after work one night as the Lowe’s is just up Elysian Fields. Tonight after work I have to go to the gym to do PT, and then I’m coming home to do some more writing and cleaning. Paul’s moving into the Monteleone on Wednesday, which means I’ll be here alone with the Sparkster, and also means Sparky will be very needy. He loves the cat treats I got him this weekend, no surprise there, and so I will continue to dole them out for good behavior. I feel rested this morning, which is different from most usual Monday mornings, but I think that has to do with making myself get up early Sunday morning and not sleeping late again the way I did Saturday morning.

Still, that felt amazing.

I feel pretty good this morning, too. The temperature dropped again over night, so there is a bit of a chill in the air this morning. I need to actually look at the program for S&S this weekend so I can put the stuff I am doing on my calendar and can start planning for the weekend. It’ll be weird being home alone for the long weekend (Wednesday thru Monday), but I’ve been a Festival widow since January anyway, so it probably won’t even be noticeable. I’ve also taken Monday off, as it’s always brutal getting up at six in the morning after the Festivals have concluded. It was a little odd this morning, though; Sparky usually comes and starts smacking me in the face with his paw just before the alarm goes off, and continues to do so while purring and cuddling until I get up. He didn’t come out from under the bed until I actually got out of bed, and just followed me downstairs instead of insisting on food immediately. His bowl was completely empty this morning, too.

I did write about a thousand new words on the short story yesterday, but my mind kept wandering and I got up to do something and just never went back. I also edited the 2000 words or so I had already done, so I think it was probably more new words than merely a thousand. It still feels a little rusty for me when I’m writing, but the best way to get past that is to keep writing until it starts to feel natural again and my mind stops wandering when I am writing. That’s the weirdest part. Usually when I write I shut out everything and am laser-focused, that’s not the case anymore and that’s fine.

My mind is still bouncing all over the place, too. It’s trying to spike my anxiety, too, but I just take some deep breaths and calm down, which is a lot easier to do with the new medications.

I did finish reading The Cook by Harry Kressing, which was an interesting and short read. It was a black comedy of sorts, more of a Kafka-esque fable than anything else, but in all honesty I enjoyed the movie version (Something for Everyone) a lot more than I did the book; in the book Conrad seduces everyone with his incredible food and force of will; in the movie, he’s played by a stunningly beautiful young Michael York who actually sexually seduces his prey until he gets what he wants. I will do a more in-depth review of the book at some point, but it does play into my thoughts that Saltburn owes more to that movie than it does The Talented Mr. Ripley or Brideshead Revisited.

We also finished watching season two of The Tourist, which was twisty and clever and fun and we really enjoyed it and are really looking forward to the third season–the second ended with a terrific cliffhanger twist that definitely will make for a fascinating and exciting third season. Plus, Jamie Dornan and Danielle Macdonald have some amazing chemistry together.

I also watched some documentaries last night about Jayne Mansfield, who I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. I’m not entirely sure what triggered me to thinking about her again. I first read about her in Earl Wilson’s The Show Business Nobody Knows when I was a teenager, and from there went on to read May Mann’s biography of her, Jayne Mansfield. She was very interesting to me, and was thrilled when her daughter began her career as an actress. I remember thinking Mariska Hargitay? She must be Jayne Mansfield’s daughter because what are the odds of there being two Mariska Hargitays? and watched her for years on Law and Order: SVU. Oh, now I do remember. I bought a copy of the Wilson off ebay because I thought it might be helpful with Chlorine, to give me an idea of what it was like to be in show business in the 1950’s, and of course, he devoted a chapter to her. I bought another bio of her off eBay recently, and she is very interesting, as she always has been to me. I’ve only seen one film of hers, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, which I thought was hilarious and she was fantastic in it. Benjamin Dreyer brought her up on one of the social media channels this weekend, and so I thought I’d find what I could of her on Youtube. Her story was actually perfect for someone like Jackie Collins or Jacqueline Susann to have written a huge trashy novel about, I’ve always thought. I also loved that she was actually–despite her image as a sexy dumb blonde–incredibly smart, almost genius level. And she only worked in show business for about ten years–while having four children, too, and keeping that incredible figure.

It’s funny; I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed, Constant Reader, but I generally use song titles for my blog posts. About twelve years ago it was getting harder and harder to think up song titles organically, so I started using themes–Stevie Nicks songs, Pet Shop Boys songs, top 100 hits of 1977, that sort of thing. I can’t remember now which years I’ve used so I recently went back to the top 100 of 1959, I think; it’s interesting how many titles and songs have to do with teenagers; clearly, modern songwriters don’t have to write about teenage heartbreak anymore to appeal to young listeners. I also started watching Eras: The Taylor Swift Concert Movie, and I have to say I am very impressed. I can’t dedicate three and a half hours to watching it, but putting it on and listening while doing chores is terrific. Her show is amazing–I still have over an hour to watch (and am bummed she didn’t do “Red”) and I am actually looking forward to it. I also love how much right-wingers hate her.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day Constant Reader, and I may be back later, you never can be sure. I’m tricky that way!