Category: history

Impressive Instant

Friday morning and in a bit I am off to the office for a meeting before I run errands on my way home. It has been a pretty decent week, in all honesty. I didn’t sleep as well as I would have preferred, but that happens, and I think I was drinking coffee after twelve noon the last couple of days, which could be the cause. Caffeine and I walk a very thin line together; too much makes me sick, and if I drink any after noon I won’t sleep as well. So it goes in the life of a senior citizen. But I did sleep through the night, and feel pretty rested and good this morning (I think my body doesn’t know I am going to the office in a moment, or maybe the extra hour this morning made a huge difference).

It did rain a bit yesterday (and more so while I slept, given how wet everything outside appears to be), and now that I work in a testing room with a window (it faces Elysian Fields1) the temptation to just sit there and watch the rain is very powerful. I am a sucker for rain, always have been, which is yet another reason I love living in New Orleans. I lived in California for eight years and I can’t even remember it raining there, which was awful. The rains of Houston, where I moved next, were awesome though. Unfortunately, that meant the humidity returned after it stopped and the sun came back out. Wednesday it was in the 80s most of the day, but when I left the office it was pleasant out–meaning no humidity–and it wasn’t hot inside the car, either. I managed to get home and into the house without breaking a sweat, and it’s been months since that last happened.

Well, the always problematic Joyce Carol Oates showed her entire flat, unwashed ass by claiming the only genre where AI would be useful would be romance–which she claimed was formulaic and thus of no value, apparently–which is such a disgusting thing for any woman to say, especially one as famous and respected and praised as Joyce Carol Oates. Way to shit on an entire genre, which is predominantly for women and dominated by women. Surely, Ms. Oates doesn’t mean to imply that she hasn’t written anything formulaic, does she? Because I cannot believe every single thing that has come out of her typewriter has been so completely original and never done or tried before and had has advanced modern literature by breaking new and important literary territory? Or is she just another one of those women who dislike other women? I know some of her buddies are misogynist pigs, and despite all evidence that her buddies are garbage, she proudly stands by them. Probably thinks she’s also a feminist while playing pick-me to be one of the guys. I don’t write romance, but I know a snobby bitch when I see one. I don’t need to boycott her because seeing her clearly as a tool of the patriarchy, I stopped reading her.

And I don’t kiss anyone’s ass, no matter how “powerful” they appear to be. It’s easy to shit on a genre when you’ve never written in it–and frankly, because a HEA is de rigeur, romance writers also excel at character, dialogue and place; no one’s going to read a romance that doesn’t affect their emotions because then it wouldn’t be a romance. I would like to challenge every elitist writer who thinks romance is a joke genre to write one. Let’s see exactly how easy it is, shall we? I remember a few years ago when that South American literary writer wrote a thriller “as a joke” but then published it; shitting all over our genre because, you know, she’s so above it. Turned out mystery fans weren’t going to support a snotty, arrogant elitist bitch anymore than a romance fan would.

I may not write romance, and I don’t read a lot of it. But I have edited a lot of romance novels, I appreciate the skills and talents of romance authors, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for them. I may write one someday, not to see if I can make “easy money” (there’s no such thing in this business), but to see if I can actually do it well. I like challenging myself when I write, and I think writing a romance would be a great challenge for me. Someday. I need to finish the current book and write another Scotty before I start the horror novel I’m itching to start writing.

You come for the romance genre through me, bitch.

I didn’t do much around here last night when I got home because I was tired. I came straight home and crashed out immediately into my chair with Sparky in my lap, and I just kind of zoned out with the news–both national and football. Today is my last full day in the office for the week–we have an in-person meeting tomorrow morning–but the good news is the house isn’t in bad shape, and so won’t take me long this weekend to set to rights. I am dragging a bit this morning, which is to be expected on a Thursday morning, right? I slept pretty well the last two nights and have no trouble getting up in the mornings, but I remain a bit tired throughout the day, and maybe not as alert as I would like by the time I get home every night? Thursday nights usually are nights when I don’t do much of anything; but I do have to get up early tomorrow for the meeting. I need to get back to work on writing fiction–the book and some other short stories, but it’s the newsletter essays I’ve been enjoying writing the most lately, which is odd–but I also think writing those is helping me improve on my skills.

Yesterday was also October 1st and the official start of Halloween Horror Month, when most of my reading and streaming will (and should be) horror. I definitely want to watch Halloween and A Nightmare on Elm Street again, and maybe pick up on some new ones. I really wish Friday the 13th-the Series was available to stream somewhere, because I’d love to watch it all again; I don’t think I ever saw the entire show. But the antique store of cursed objects–and having to track the objects down before they start killing people–was a most excellent concept, and while the show was done on the cheap–it was syndicated back before money was put into syndicated shows–the few episodes I’ve been able to track down on Youtube are a bit hokey, but there’s still a lot of fun to watch. I love dedicating the entire month to horror; even my juvenile rereads this month will have to do with hauntings, methinks. I think AHS:13 airs its entire season by the end of October, which is nice. It’s also weird to think next Friday I’ll be heading up to Alabama for Mom and Dad’s birthdays, and then up to Kentucky for the rest of that following week. This month is going to fly by, isn’t it? And then it’s November and then Christmas and then Mardi Gras and it’s March before I know it.

And ugh, I agreed to moderate a panel at the Louisiana Book Festival, so I have to do two things up there this year. Given the cost of gas, more bang for my buck is probably a good thing. I’ll probably end up going up on Friday and spending the night; there’s an opening party that night I usually skip, but I’d rather do that then get up early Saturday and drive up there…which means booking a room. Add that to my lengthy to-do list.

The local New Orleans gay community is up in arms over something I cannot really speak to without making the following disclaimer: I do not speak for my day job, I am not authorized to speak on behalf of my day job, and I am speaking here solely as myself–Greg Herren, the local gay author who has lived here for over thirty years, moving here before there was life-saving treatment for HIV. If you want to see what’s going on, feel free to go on Facebook and look at either the Queer New Orleans page or certain Quarter bars. I can’t speak on the situation and again do not speak for the agency where I work, but I would like to thank the local gay community for your support and the pushback against the businesses attacking us. I forget sometimes how important we are to the community here, how much good we’ve done (and continue to do), and how much the community actually appreciates us. I thank you, and the supportive commentary I’ve seen was touching–and you know how cold and dead inside I am.

And you know, even if I didn’t work where I do, I would also be grateful to my agency. As a sixty-five year old gay man who lived through the worst of the plague days, I have nothing but respect and appreciation for any organization that does HIV work. Anyone who doesn’t? Absolute trash–and if they ever seroconverted, you can bet your ass they’d be beating down our doors2 for our help.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning while I wait for the thunderstorms.

  1. The street, not the land of the heroic dead. ↩︎
  2. And this, for the record, is why you never fucking hire straight people to run gay businesses. Period. ↩︎

Don’t Tell Me

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I feel…slacker-ish this morning for some reason. Yesterday was a simply lovely day, from beginning to end, and I did manage to get some things done. Paul went to a show last night in the Quarter–a work thing–and so I was here all by my lonesome after about half-time or so of the LSU game (they won; GEAUX TIGERS!), and there were a lot of interesting games and outcomes yesterday, too. I did some reading, some writing, and some cleaning, and somehow wound up staying up later than I’d intended. I also got up later this morning than usual; but that’s also on me. The Saints play this afternoon, and I need to run to make groceries at some point this morning, too, but that’s not a big deal. I just need to get motivated.

Good luck with that, Gregalicious.

As I mentioned, LSU won, beating Texas A&M handily 35-6. It was only 14-3 at halftime, but again the Tigers had a big third quarter and put the game away. The defense looked impressive, and the offense misfired a few times, but overall, the Tigers looked dominant. We also don’t know how good or bad Texas A&M is this season (they lost to Kentucky in College Station last week)–but we also don’t know about Mississippi, either, after Florida embarrassed them in Gainesville yesterday 52-28 (!!!). Auburn beat Vanderbilt, and I caught the end of the Mississippi State-Missouri game, which MSU won with a strong defensive stand in the fourth quarter. I watched Texas-Tennessee, which came down to the last play, and Georgia embarrassed Oklahoma (shame) while Alabama buried South Carolina. I also caught the highlights of Iowa winning at Michigan and Wisconsin surprising Penn State. Overall, a very exciting day of college football. LSU takes a break from the SEC next weekend, playing McNeese State, while there are some other great games, too. I do love college football.

And yes, yesterday morning during the battle of the orange-and-white UT’s, I finished the first draft of my story, which pleased me to no end. It’s about forty-one hundred words, but they are mostly good words, and now I need to edit and revise. Again, it’s a very long shot, but I do enjoy writing, and it’s always nice to make very good progress on something. I may do some editing this morning after I post this and before I summon the energy and motivation to actually make the grocery list and head to the store. I also need to order some things to be delivered this morning, too.

While I mostly managed to avoid the news yesterday, I did occasionally check in on social media to see what was going on and that’s when I came across the horrific story of the Cornell 7….remind me about the masculinity crisis again? The real masculinity crisis lies in how they treat women, and so many of them fail. Cannot IMAGINE why so many women would choose the bear, can you? It’s hilarious, I’ve been trying to work my way into my newsletter essay about masculinity and my failures to be the traditional male in this patriarchical society and finally realize something about myself while reading up on the Cornell horror (and yes, there’s a rapist on the LSU football team–which is appalling–but I am not talking about that case because I’ve not had a chance to “do my own research,”–but I fail to see any research or reading that would make LSU look good, frankly)–the reason I didn’t feel particularly boy-oriented was because I never understood why we weren’t supposed to like girls at all, and that didn’t change after puberty, either, when girls were reduced to their breasts, ass, and fuckability, which is also part of the reason I wrote #shedeservedit, and now I have some more things to discuss there. (And no, I’m not saying my view of women wasn’t curdled by exposure to male-centering and women-dismissal; I’ve said and behaved in ways towards women that are toxic, but I learned and would like to believe I’ve unlearned a lot of my upbringing and social pressuring.)

I spent some more time yesterday with The Dead Zone, and John Smith is one of my favorite Stephen King characters. I am remembering, too, while I reread how much I’ve always loved this novel and how big of a fan I used to be (not getting into it now, or maybe ever), and that incredible run of great novels he had from Carrie through Misery. Maybe I should revisit another one, too? It’s been a while since I’ve revisited Firestarter….

I was reminded yesterday also about Richard Speck. He murdered nurses in Chicago when I was five years old, and I remember the horror vividly (I also remember when the news broke about Sharon Tate and the other victims on Cielo Drive in the Hollywood Hills). I’ve never read up on the Speck murders, but I read Helter Skelter as a teenager and it was terrifying–I’ve generally avoided reading anything else on the Manson family since. I remember, in both cases, how upset my mother was–a rural country girl living in Chicago with generalized anxiety disorder–and again wonder how much it must have terrified her when we weren’t home. Mothers worry, of course, but I wish I’d known when she was alive about the anxiety; I would have worked harder to ease her mind. (I also believe the anxiety shortened her life, but…she did make it to eighty-one.) Does anyone know of any good books or writing about Speck?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX SAINTS!

To Have and Not to Hold

Friday work at home day blog and here I am in the Lost Apartment, sipping coffee in between the windows. Sparky’s sleeping in a puddle at my feet and I am very excited for the day and the weekend. There are some excellent games to watch on Saturday (GEAUX TIGERS!), and of course, tonight there’s a new episode of Traitors: New Blood, which I can’t wait to see. After bingeing so many seasons, it really is torturous having to wait a week for a new episode. Heavy sigh, but that’s okay, really. Bingeing has really changed how I watch television, hasn’t it? We had started the new season of The Gentleman on Netflix last week, but despite the appeal of one Theo James (Christ, there should be a law against being that pretty), I didn’t get into the season 2 premiere, and haven’t exactly been itching to get back to it for some reason. I was thinking I might go back and watch the earlier seasons of The White Lotus so I’m not mindlessly scrolling through Youtube videos. It’s not only addictive, but it’s time consuming.

I worked more diligently on the short story last night, and almost have my new first draft finished (even though I am using the same title, the same story but with a different perspective, which I think is working). I am pretty pleased with it; it’s a very strong draft I should be able to get finished later today. It’s amazing how much I enjoy writing, but my process has changed–as I have changed–and it takes me longer to write than it used to. I used to be able to average about three thousand1 per writing day when working on a book; short stories are a different animal, but I don’t remember it taking me this long to complete a first draft of a short story; it’s a do-over of one I finished years ago but couldn’t place anywhere, so I tore it all apart and put it back together completely differently. I personally think it works better now, but I won’t be surprised if the anthology I am writing it for doesn’t accept it. Not that it isn’t good, but it’s not the kind of crime story people usually are looking for when compiling an anthology of them.

When Paul got home last night, we finished watching a documentary called A Killer Story, which is wild; true crime documentaries are absolutely terrifying to watch, especially when you see how easily a prosecutor can convict someone entirely on a theory with little to no evidence to corroborate their theory of the crime. Documentaries, though, can easily be manipulated to convince the viewer of their point of view, something I’ve noticed before. (One of Americans’ biggest fears is wrongful imprisonment, along with not being believed; being wrongly accused of murder and put on trial is definitely terrifying.)

I slept pretty well last night, even if Sparky got me up before seven. I’m a bit physically tired this morning–the Achilles tendons again–but I know once I get cleaned up I’ll feel more recharged. I have a meeting this morning, after which I am going to go run some errands. It being 9/25, the Krewe of Dolly is having a second line in the Quarter today for our departed Queen, Dolly Parton. If I could walk that far, I might have gone down to participate; it’s the kind of fun thing New Orleans loves to do at the drop of a hat. I also saw last night that Jamie Davis has come within four points of beating Julia Letlow, the Harkonnen and janky governor endorsed corrupt piece of MAGA shit, and Louisiana is getting fed up with all of this bullshit. Turnout will be key in Louisiana; if the Bill Cassidy supporters who are still pissed over the MAGA turn on him don’t vote, or vote for Davis…we could have our first Democratic senator from Louisiana in over twelve years. The data centers in north Louisiana and the spaceport on the coast and all the NDA’s everyone involved signed (Letlow owns stock in both companies) so the sweetheart deals Janky Jeff gave them will never be exposed has even Louisiana voters, notoriously blasé about political corruption, aren’t happy about how blatant this all is…it’s so blatant it’s insulting. And the way Janky Jeff keeps fucking with the LSU athletic department isn’t good, either.

I am cautiously optimistic about the midterms, but know there’s going to be some fuckery involved.

And on that note, I am going to have some breakfast and take a shower before starting my work day. I’ll run errands this morning after our meeting, and then come home from that to sit in my chair and go over paperwork this afternoon. The coffee is starting to kick in, too. So, on that note, tis off to mine spice with me, and will return again tomorrow morning. Have the loveliest of Fridays, Constant Reader!

Ah, the beauty of youth. But they just look like pretty children to me.
  1. On the other hand, last night I managed over two thousand words, which wasn’t bad.
    ↩︎

Nothing Really Matters

LSU lost last night to Mississippi, and wow–the world didn’t end. It was disappointing, to be sure, but I don’t go on the emotional roller coaster that I used to, and that’s a much better way to be a football fan, methinks. No need to foam at the mouth or jupup and down or scream at the television. There weren’t many surprise outcomes yesterday, other than Kentucky beating Texas A&M, right after the Aggie crowd cheered Pete Hegseth, and why was he even there in the first place? Remember, the UT fans booed and embarrassed Ted Cruz, and won. Everything they touch dies, seriously. Alabama needed a hot minute before pulling away from Florida State, the Georgia-Arkansas game was so bad I couldn’t watch, and it sounds like Florida-Auburn came down to the wire, maybe being even the best game of the weekend. (I also didn’t know before that Lane Kiffin had played at Fresno State, either.) The Saints game with Baltimore is on at eleven this morning, and I’ll probably turn it on while do other things; I did a lot of cleaning yesterday while Paul was out, which was nice and very overdue.

I really do like this being old meaning you have less fucks to give about shit. No one told me about this side-effect of getting older…maybe I’ve finally become wiser? Nah, not likely. Just don’t really have any extra energy lying around that I can waste on things that really doesn’t matter anymore, or things I can’t control. (I always tried not stressing out about things I can’t control, but before medication, that wasn’t the way my brain was wired.) Hence, not being angry or super-disappointed about LSU losing last night. I’m still going to watch games every weekend; part of the fun of being a football fan is seeing how the season plays out–which is the more graceful and adult way to approach the season.

I did manage to reread The Stepford Wives yesterday, while taking breaks from cleaning and game-watching during the earlier games of the day. I had just revisited the book and wrote about it last year on this blog; I may write about it on the newsletter today, I don’t know. But there are other points to be made about the book and films, and I can go in more depth in the newsletter than I could with this blog. Ira Levin was absolutely one of the greats, and what he was able to do in his novels with so few words was a gift from the gods. I hate that I am unable to focus enough to read something new; I am going to try again this morning with The Shards. I also want to reread The Miracle at St. Bruno’s as a way in to talk about the Tudors and all the reading about them I used to do, and of course, Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree is also sitting there in my Kindle.

I also watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County, which keeps limping along and somehow escaping cancellation. The new season of The Traitors has also already dropped its first episode, and hey announced the cast for the next season of celebrity Traitors for the US, and it includes Bianca del Rio! That news more than makes up for them casting MAGA skank and Charlie Kirk worshipper Kristen Chenowith, who is probably trying to rebuild her image after she revealed her true skank self last year. I’d want to be a traitor in that season just to make her the first murder.

And on that note, I am going to get more coffee and repair to the easy chair for a bit, so I can wake up a bit more and do some reading. I also hope to write today, too, so we’ll see how all that goes, won’t we? I will, however, see you again tomorrow morning bright and early before I head to the office. Till then, have a marvelous Sunday however you spend it.

This is what we call in Louisiana an allée–a straight unpaved pathway through. matching trees or shrubs. It’s a very fun word that I want to use more.

Substitute for Love

Friday morning work at home day, with a trip to Costco on the horizon for later. I feel good and rested this morning, despite the fact Sparky tried to get me up around four in the morning for some reason. I did wake up, gave him a look, and went back to sleep while he cuddled with me, which was lovely. I was physically tired when I got home from work last night, so didn’t do much of anything other than writing. I did managed to get a (very) rough draft of that pesky chapter–which still needs some work–which has kind of log-jammed me these past few weeks. My goal for tomorrow is to edit everything I have done so far, preparatory to moving on to the next chapter and reacquainting myself with the characters, the voice, and the story. Woo-hoo! There are also a lot of great football games tomorrow, capping off with the one-two punch night games of Florida-Auburn and LSU-Mississippi.

The amazing thing to me about this Ed Sheeran thing is that it keeps going, and every day and hour it continues to go on the worse he looks. That’s what happens eventually when you’re more interested in being inoffensive–you wind up offending everyone. The fact that so many people he’s friendly with (and works with) are in the Epstein files kind of shows how morally and ethically compromised he is. When I was watching the news last night, I saw someone–I don’t remember who–talking about how entertainers, like Sheeran, are the modern day version of “bread and circuses” from the old Roman Empire (first time I have thought about the Roman Empire in days, if not weeks, for those keeping track–entertaining the populace and keeping our minds off everything else going on in the world. They keep us distracted (look at social media sometimes; it’s why there’s so much celebrity worship) so we will spend money and not see what the Epstein Class has done (and continues doing) to the world and society. Ed Sheeran got very rich doing his part to entertain and not talk about anything substantial (although the white children of Ukraine got him to be political)–he even says it in his pitiful “it’s not my fault” Pilate handwashing statement (“I want to provide a space for love and peace and escape”)…that’s very telling–and it’s hard to look at any of this and think Sheeran has any values, has any compassion or empathy or is, at heart, a decent person. He fucked over a friend at the bidding of a billionaire, has tried to deflect his part in this from day one, taken no responsibility for anything, and shows that he stands for nothing but the Epstein class he continues to make money for.

Does that sound like someone we should support? Christ, Ireland hates him now.

This entire situation is a classic example of what is fucking wrong with this country: a billionaire who diddled kids got his widdle fee-fees hurt, and he stamped his foot in anger and demanded he get his way, and he got it. They are above the law, an unelected and unchosen ruling class no different from the old British aristocracy, entitled fools with too much money who didn’t give a fuck about anyone other than themselves, while people went hungry and sick and died while they gambled away small fortunes at night while too drunk to see.

And the fact that both Sheeran and Robert Kraft are too privileged to shut up and stop digging their own graves just adds fuel to the fire. Sheeran went along with the silencing and suppression of a voice because it upset a billionaire.

That tells me everything I need to know about the Gingerdoodle.

And that’s it on this subject1–I’ve given too much time and energy to this nonsense already, but this naked abuse of money and power is infuriating to me, and always will be.

Ah, the coffee is now kicking in. I want to get another newsletter finished this weekend, clean out my email inbox, and of course, work on the book some more after I get my work duties done today. Costco and the other errands will undoubtedly wear me out, so I won’t do much tonight when I get home from all of that, other than finishing the laundry which I am starting this morning. I know the new season of The Traitors dropped its first episode last night, and there’s something else starting up again that I like watching, but can’t think of it right now. I also want to read a bit this weekend–which reminds me! The other day I mentioned a copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s, and I said there would be more later…and forgot.

The Miracle at St. Bruno’s is a historical Gothic set during the turbulent reign of Henry VIII and the great divorce–and how what was going on at court politically affected those every day citizens who had no control over the ever-changing legality of, well, everything. The Tudors were my real entryway into world history (or rather, modern European history) because Henry VIII was such a fascinating monster. I read a lot of Tudor biographies, but the only historical fiction I had read up to that point was mostly fictionalized biographies–history as entertainment–of royal Tudors. I even read a biography of Lady Margaret Douglas, one of the lesser known but crucial pieces of the Tudor body politic and the very thin line of succession that Tudor sterility caused. Philippa Carr was the by-line on the book, but it was another psuedonym of Eleanor Hibbert, a British writer who also published under the names Victoria Holt and Jean Plaidy. It was vastly different from another other Gothic I’d read, taking place over the course of about thirty to forty years, with the turbulent reigns of successive Tudor vastly differentiating in their religion and policy. It was also the first in a series called Daughters of England, because she wrote about the main character in Miracle’s sequel–each new book a new Gothic romance featuring the daughter of the previous book’s main character–and history and politics are also driving forces in those books as well. I may start a reread this weekend; I need to get back to reading fiction again.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Live oak stumps always fascinate and sadden me. The size is impressive, and they are beautiful to look at…but the sadness is from the tree being cut down. Our live oaks are so beautiful here in New Orleans, and we’ve lost so many in the thirty years we’ve lived here.
  1. I do love watching people reap what they’ve sown, you know? ↩︎

Take a Bow

Thursday morning and I got up before my alarm, wide awake and feeling rested. Weird, right? On a THURSDAY last day in the office for the week morning? Madness. Sparky is also being super-affectionate this morning. He keeps wanting to sit on my shoulders, so he can head-butt me and purr up there while I walk around doing things. I don’t mind, I just don’t know why he is some mornings and some mornings he isn’t. Of course it doesn’t make sense because cat, but I can’t help but try to make sense of it, because I ain’t right in the head, you know?

Last night wasn’t bad. I headed uptown to pick up the mail (my copy of The Miracle at St. Bruno’s that I got from ebay, more on that later) and swung by the grocery store to make a few bags. I came home, Sparky needed a lap, and that was the end of that. I watched news and examined my new book–a paperback in pristine condition, like I picked it up off the rack at Zayre like I did my original copy–and watched the news—along with any number of videos ripping Ed Sheeran1 and Robert Kraft new assholes. Paul brought a pizza home for dinner, which was lovely, and we watched LSU-The Difference on ESPN, a documentary series they are filming for this season (think ESPN isn’t all in on LSU? I don’t they are doing one for every top team in the country, and there wasn’t a guarantee LSU would be any good this year, and really, still can’t be sure how good they are anyway at this point). I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home and put everything away, but…I slept very well for the first time this week, and it felt marvelous. I think we’re going to Costco tomorrow after work, too. Huzzah!

I’ve fallen down a wormhole of Internet research thanks to a Facebook friend who shared a post about a “ghost ship” that can be seen under the right conditions on the Tombigbee River in southwest Alabama, the Eliza Battle. The ship was a classic steamboat of the era (which I will always associate–steamboats, that is–with Mark Twain), transporting cotton bales and passengers when a fire broke out in the cotton and the entire ship went up in flames before sinking. I like the idea of a ghost steamboat (I am also partial to steamboats, maybe I should write about that sometime), which could make an interesting story. I love these old folk tales of Southern states, and feel like some of them could be used to write novels or short stories; I’ve been trying to write one about the legend of Freniere and the 1915 Hurricane, which wiped the town out, for years now. Learning Alabama and Louisiana history, legends, and lore is ever so much fun, too!

Has the entire world gone mad? After the Pink meltdown, the Ed Sheeran disaster, and Arch Manning proving he has no home training, I pretty much thought we were done with ignorant celebrity bullshit, but Sarah Paulson decided to say hold my beer and gave an incredibly tone-deaf white woman interview, in which she expressed disappointment that her Black male costars on The People v. O. J. Simpson got movie offers and she didn’t–she was trying to make the point that it’s more difficult for women to get parts in movies because those roles are few and far between for women, whereas male-centered movies are a dime a dozen. It was tone-deaf to make the comparison with two Black actors, who face an entirely but equally horrifying different kind of fight–yes, they are men, but they aren’t white men. And she left out the most obvious reasons producers don’t think about her when they’re casting–girl, you’re an out and proud lesbian. Hollywood is not only misogynist and racist, but it’s also incredibly homophobic. It’s getting better, but there are still an endless amount of problems in that “liberal” community.

Speaking of homophobia, I kind of love that congressional candidate Chris Gallant did, in his pre-politician life, posed in BDSM gear and there are also pictures of him on Fire Island in his underwear. YAWN. He’s running for a House seat on Long Island, is an openly gay former Marine and firefighter…and the only thing his MAGA opponent can come up with is him posing for some sexy pictures that exposed nothing prurient and was in the past…newsflash: most gay men, have sexy photos of themselves, in bathing suits at the very least, and more have nudes than a straight person might realize. I also love that he’s being defiant and refusing to be shamed out of the race. Pictures in BDSM gear doesn’t mean you’re into BDSM, and if you are, who the fuck cares? ANd seriously, the party of MAGA and the buffoon they worship has some fucking nerve trying to morality police anyone. Yo, you’re party leader is a pedophile rapist psychopath. Why don’t you start policing him? Anyway, I donated a little to his campaign.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning on work-at-home Friday!

  1. I’ve taken to calling him “Gingerdoodle.” ↩︎

Deeper and Deeper

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I feel terrific this morning. Sparky let me sleep late again, and the bed was very warm and comfortable. I ran an errand and made groceries–hardly anything for nearly a hundred dollars–and then settled into my chair. I read some more of the book I’m reading, which is haunting and interesting but not terribly engaging, worked on some newsletters, worked on the book for a little while, and even started writing a short story, inspired by, of all things, an actual Real Housewife. I also did some chores, so overall it was a good, if lazy, day. Today I need to have some things delivered, and we may make a Costco run. I have some writing to do and definitely have some chores that need doing that I’ve kept putting off since I’ve been home this long birthday weekend.

While I was reading Youtube was on autoplay, and a documentary about the movie version of Valley of the Dolls–one of my favorite camp classics of all time (“I’M NEELY O’HARA!!!”) and eminently quotable–which got me to thinking about Valley of the Dolls, which remains one of my favorite novels of all time, and when they mentioned the casting of Barbara Parkins–who was hot at the time from the television version of Peyton Place, which also put me in mind of Peyton Place (also one of my favorite books) and how interesting it was that I always thought of the two books (and their films) as connected. Both were hugely successful, both were dismissed as “dirty sex books” and “trash” , and both made their authors celebrities–and both books appealed greatly to women (and of course gay men), as did the films. I have long thought about writing about those great trashy novels of my youth; big trashy novels by Sidney Sheldon and Shirley Conran and Harold Robbins and Jackie Collins (oh! Hollywood Wives!) and Judith Krantz; I used to love long books–especially ones with revenge as the driving plot element (sighs, remembering The Other Side of Midnight)–and these were especially fun. I still remember many of them fondly, and it would also make for another interesting essay series about how these books actually influenced and impacted me as a reader and as a writer wannabe, and how they didn’t deserve the drubbing dismissal of the literary academy. So, I got down my copies of Peyton Place and Valley of the Dolls and looked through them, opening up to various places in the books and just reading.

Today I need to do some things I meant to do yesterday but never got around to doing–I need to reread and outline the first four chapters of the book, so I can remember character and place names, continuity, and tie up any loose ends I may have pulled out but left dangling.

I think we’re probably in another heat advisory today, and there’s no telling how hot it’s actually going to get out there. It wasn’t terrible when I ran my errands yesterday–or I’m getting used to the horror, one or the other–but it’s pretty bright and sunny out there this morning. This the best I’ve felt in the morning since my mini-vacation started, which is nice. I also think I am due to get a new pair of shoes, because my hip joints are getting achy again and that’s usually a sign. At least it’s just the hips, you know? I also need to order some things to be delivered, too–which I will try to get taken care of this morning so we’re free to leave for Costco at any time, if we so choose to go there today. We do kind of need to go–but in a worst case scenario I can also have that delivered as well.

And on that note, I am going to get going so I can organize and plan my day once I get these duties taken care of. Have a great day, wherever you are and whatever you do, Constant Reader, and I shall return in the morning tomorrow. Until then, hang loose.

The fountain at Audubon Park on a misty morning, by photographer David Freeman.

Till Death Do Us Part

Friday and my days are all fucked up! I kept thinking it was Friday all day yesterday, and even this morning feels like it should be Saturday. Sparky flatly refused to let me sleep late this morning, and was having none of my demurrals. I did sleep well last night, so there is that, and I feel pretty good this morning. I really didn’t do much of anything yesterday. I ran an errand, did a chore or two, but mostly just sat in my chair with Sparky in my lap watching documentaries about World War II battles in the Pacific, which have never felt got the proper attention, even during the war; our basic history classes focused mostly on Hitler and the Nazis and the war in Europe. (I’ve always thought an espionage novel set in Egypt during the second World War would be fun and interesting–Africa also gets short shrift in basic histories.) We got pizza from That’s Amore for dinner last night, and watched a new episode of The Shards, which is interesting but very strange. We also watched an episode of Reacher, and yes, the scene where they have to explain onlyfans to him was absolutely hilarious. Alan Ritchson is just so perfect as Reacher it’s almost scary.

And every time I watch an episode I think, when and if this show ends he could lost some bulk and play Travis McGee. I do think those books might be too sexist and dated to be adapted now, but you never know. I do remember them fondly.

SO my birthday was lovely. I got tons of messages and wishes all over social media, and didn’t try to keep up with them all after a certain point. I’ll take some time today to go through everything and say thanks to everyone. But I was aware of all of them, so give me some time to get caught up. Thanks for making a bitter old queen feel so beloved! We are going to see Spider-Man this afternoon in Harahan, and we’re stopping at Costco on the way back home. (I need to make a list.) Today is mostly going to be about seeing the movie and Costco, so most of the rest of the day will be for chores and reading. OH! I also sent out a newsletter yesterday; you can read it by clicking here. So, I did do some things yesterday, but for the most part I took it easy, as I will today, too.

The Penn State cocaine ring has been interesting while sort of amusing at the same time. When I first saw the headline, I thought my money’s on Delta Upsilon and Sigma Chi–with Kappa Sigma and Deke coming in as strong possibilities. So, when I turned out to be right about which fraternities it was, it amused me. It also answered a question I’d been pondering for awhile: are the current Greek systems still mired in cocaine use like they were in the 1980s? I wrote a noir story about college sorority girls in “This Town,” which explored hedonism and fallout from partying at fraternity houses, wrapped up in a lovely Mardi Gras/Fat Tuesday package. I’d been wanting to write a novella about Chanse investigating his old fraternity at LSU for a suspicious death; the cocaine ring would be a nice addition to that story (it’s called “Once a Tiger”)…which means following the story (as I’ve been following the suspicious deaths stories of Noah Presgrove and Nolan Wells) and taking notes.

And on that note, I’m going to head into the spice mines and get some of these chores handled. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I will be back tomorrow morning.

The Sipsey River as it winds through the Bankhead Forest in Alabama.

Dear Jessie

Tuesday, and we definitely survived another Monday, did we not? It’s technically my Hump Day, as tomorrow is the last day in the office for me for the week. I slept fitfully again last night, but I feel okay this morning. I hit a wall yesterday afternoon, as I feared I might, but managed to make groceries on the way home from work. Once home, Sparky needed my lap for a while–is there anything nicer than being tired and having a purring, sleeping cat curled up in your lap–and I was content to just sit there, let my mind wander while catching up on the news (oy). We also watched an episode of Furious, which just took a diabolical turn I did not see coming, and am itching to get back to it tonight. I have a nice sort of busy day here at the office, which will help the time go by. I slept fitfully last night, but not a big deal. I feel okay this morning, as I did yesterday morning, but I did hit a wall yesterday afternoon. I stopped and made groceries on the way home, and settled in for the evening once I got here. Sparky needed some attention, as always, and I was happy to oblige–there really is nothing like having a purring cat sleeping curled up in your lap after working all day. We did watch another episode of Furious, which took an interesting and unforeseen turn in this most recent episode. I didn’t seem to get much of anything else done yesterday other than going to work, really. Oh, well, no big deal.

I’m not putting any pressure on myself to do much this week, using the big birthday as an excuse for doing very little this week, but maybe tonight I can get back into the first four chapters of the current work. There are also some short stories I need to finish, and of course I need to do a birthday newsletter musing about becoming a senior citizen–and how weird it is to know that I started first grade sixty (!!!) years ago. The world is still burning, and of course there’s a stubborn percentage of voters who think this is the country operating at full blast, and somehow we’re going to emerge from this great again. It’s too much to hope for that this despicable administration has exposed all the cracks and flaws in the system and everyone can agree that an overhaul is necessary; the hard core faithful will go down with the ship and form the kernel from which the next treasonous rebranding of fascism will grow. (We thought after 2008 we were done with that, but then came the astro-turfed Tea Party, which the racist media gobbled up–after all, the media learned nothing from Iraq and Afghanistan–and went back to their job of being opposition to the president…which they will never do with Baron Harkonnen. I did find a meme on social media the other day that showed the Baron from the David Lynch version of Dune, comparing him to his modern real-life iteration, and it was eerie how spot on I was with that. Also glad I wasn’t the only one to see it.)

Heavy sigh.

I am going to stay positive despite feeling a bit tired and hope for a lovely day. I do love my morning coffee, but God damn, I hate waking up to alarms. Always have, and when I was in school I never was really awake until third period or so. It’s not so brutal now as it was when I had to start getting up this early (which I knew was just a matter of time once we moved into the new building; my glorious days of not going into the office until ten or eleven didn’t survive the pandemic, but I knew we were heading that way when we moved), but I still don’t like it. Five more years of this before I retire, I suppose–providing that’s even possible in our post-democracy era. I am still holding out hope, like the ridiculous optimist I am, even in the face of stark reality. The nation will be looted and bankrupt by 2028, if it’s even possible for us to have elections still at that time. This isn’t going to end without bloodshed, I fear (like Cassandra) because these kinds of things always do–and our proud American tradition of pretending it never happened will kick in if it doesn’t. The failure of Congress and the Justice Department for not investigating thoroughly the chain of lies and outright fraud that got us into two forever wars–and followed up with prosecutions. Has our Congress ever not be completely corrupted? I also saw that Grassley is running for reelection–which means he’ll be 102 at the end of his term if he wins. Is it really that hard to surrender power? Hasn’t he robbed and stolen enough from his constituents already? We need term and age limits, frankly. The Founding Fathers didn’t write term limits into the Constitution because it never occurred to them anyone would want to make politics their career. It was seen as you do your public service and then you go home, much like the military.

But no, we have been plagued throughout our history by these power-hungry greedy pigs almost from the very beginning instead.

Ah, well.

I am going to see if I can get the reread of the draft-so-far done today, with notes and making things more organized, and maybe even go ahead and outline the next four chapters? Why not?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow, on birthday eve.

Cherish

Monday and back to the office with me today. Yesterday was kind of nice, to be honest. I started clearing out old drafts of posts here; moving them over to the newsletter because they are all longer than I am willing to do here on the blog. It was kind of fun going back to see the ideas I had for longer posts–including ones talking about writing Timothy and A Streetcar Named Murder, which I should really finish and get posted–assuming, of course, that people who get the newsletter are interested in that sort of thing.

Yesterday was kind of nice. I had a short something to write, so I took a few moments and gathered some thoughts and dashed out a rough draft to send to them to see if I was on the right track…apparently I was because they loved it and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I guess I can go ahead and cross that off my list.

I also spent some time cleaning up and organizing computer files–long overdue, and very time-consuming, but it’s a very good start for now. I now have a nice file for New Orleans Nemesis and even thicker files on works currently in progress. It’s kind of fun, if a little bit daunting, to see how much stuff I need to get done, but I am also getting into the swing of my life again. I feel much better, am not tired all the time anymore, and while there are definitely times when my mind needs to just rest, those moments are becoming fewer and further between. The house didn’t need a lot of chores done, either, so I was able to sit in my chair, watch documentaries on history (some excellent ones about World War II, and some Spanish history through the kings and queens) while I cleaned up my back-up hard drive and organized computer files. The next chapter of the book in progress is forming in my head, and so this week while I wait for those thoughts to coalesce, this week is going to be about clearing up continuity in the four current chapters. I also have to make sure my tenses are correct; I am not used to writing in the present tense, and when my character thinks about the past…that can be in past tense but do I switch back every time I need to? The real nuts and bolts of being a writer here, folks.

I feel pretty good this morning; I slept really well and thus feel rested this morning. I only have to go in three days this week because the birthday is Thursday and why work on Friday if I am taking Thursday off? Doesn’t make sense to me, so I took them both off. We’re also in a heat advisory still, but nothing really new there. I am going to make some groceries on the way home tonight and have some things that need to be done at the office today in addition to seeing my clients. But I am not doing anything on Thursday, the big day itself; that will be my day to just stay home and do not a goddamned thing besides read and watch television. That will be lovely, and I think I will probably stay off-line all day, too.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again in the morning. See you then!

The Sipsey River. Alabama is really beautiful.