Saturday morning blog, after a rather dreary and gloomy Friday. It clearly rained overnight, as everything outside is wet. I was exhausted yesterday after I was finished with PT and daytime work duties; by the time I ran my errands I was exhausted. I got a delivery from Sam’s last evening too, which had to be lugged into the apartment. I was dozing off in my chair a lot last night while watching documentaries about Spanish history, the Moors in Iberia, and the line of regnant kings and queens. It’s an interesting subject, to be sure; the physical and mental exhaustion did it, not the lack of interest or boredom. I even went to bed early and slept like a stone (I’ve always found that cliché odd; stones aren’t sentient so they don’t sleep).
I have an on-line panel today at 1:30 for Murderous March, an event put together by Upper Hudson Sisters in Crime, so I do hope if you have time, you’ll join us; they have panels and things programmed all day so head over to their website and take a look; you can also register there (it’s free!), and it should be a good and entertaining and informative conversation. I’m going to try to get some writing done before and after, as well as cleaning the apartment. I also want to do some more reading; I did spend some time with Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll, which I am really enjoying. About a hundred pages in the story took a surprising turn; Lofts was rather good at that, if I recall correctly. I’ll definitely talk about Lofts more when I finish the book and write about it.
Tomorrow I’ll go out and make groceries, probably in the morning, and today is going to be the day where I make a definitive list for tomorrow, and I also need to check my to-do list to see what I’ve managed and what I’ve not thus far, as well as make one for the weekend. Ugh, I also have to start working on my taxes; a tedious chore to be sure, but one that needs doing. I’ll put that on the list for next weekend. I’m also going to try to get some of these pending blog drafts finished this weekend–with me luck, there are quite a few of them–but they either need to be finished at some point, or simply deleted and given up on. (It’s really hard for me to let go of ideas for things.)
But sometimes…sometimes you do have to let things go. Grim as it is to think, I know I am never going to write all the ideas I already have, let alone any new ideas that come to me. I really need to clean out the files–I have so many; ideas that are so old that I don’t even remember having them, and the way things are going I am not entirely sure I’ll even be able to finish writing the things I am currently working on, either. I do need to tackle the rust and grease the gears and unlock my writing drive. Heavy sigh. The malaise is gone, I think; I’m not really sure, to be honest, where it came from in the first place. I’m never sure where it comes from. I think it has to do with my faulty brain chemistry, if I am being honest. Sigh.
And on that dreary note, I am going to have my breakfast preparatory to heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday–I’ll probably be back later.
Monday morning and back to the office afternoon a really lovely weekend, which wasn’t nearly long enough to satisfy anyone, really. I am wide awake, which is lovely, and I thought I wasn’t sleeping well last night–but this morning I feel rested and fine. Odd, right?
I really need to buckle down and start writing. I started three short stories ideas yesterday (“Passenger to Franklin”, “The Adventure of the Kaiser’s Spy1,” and “The Haunted Bridge,” for specifics) and I reviewed some of what I have already written on the next book, which was interrupted by the surgery. It’s now extended deadline is April 1, so yes, I need to get cracking. I did get a lot of work on the apartment done this weekend, and I was correct that I had ordered the wrong smart keyboard folio for my iPad, and Apple no longer makes them for mine because it’s too old. They recommended Amazon or eBay; I found one on eBay and ordered it so it will come later this week, which is terrific. Once I got home from refunding and returning that magic keyboard, I decided to go ahead and order two things from the Apple store to be delivered–an external wireless keyboard for my desktop, that is wider than the basic one and has the number pad, too, and a super storage flash drive that will also connect to my phone and iPad…and that resulted in an insane Kafka-like experience. The delivery was supposed to come between 3 and 5; their website showed that “Orrin” picked up my delivery at 4:46, and about half an hour later it was marked “out for delivery”–and the stuff can’t just be dropped off; it has to be handed to a person so you have to be available to go meet the delivery when it arrives. The website never updated, and the delivery never came. I finally connected with Apple Support on my phone, which was insane. Their records showed the driver had never picked it up–and it couldn’t be rescheduled for delivery today, all they could do was cancel it and refund the money. I don’t know if the “support person” I was communicating with was a real person or not, or if it was AI. Whoever it was, either they were AI, or English wasn’t their first language. I still don’t understand why they couldn’t just reschedule the delivery till today, but here we are, you know?
Thanks anyway, Apple. I have since decided that it was frivolous to buy those two items, so thank you for fucking this up and saving me quite a bit of money.
I did spend some time working on the apartment and it’s starting to look better. Hilariously, all the changes I made in the reorganization (the drawers, shelves in the kitchen, etc.) have already been forgotten so I have to go looking for things now–right now I can’t find where I put the printer ink–but that’s okay. I guess I am gaslighting myself!
I did spend some time this weekend reading Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll, which I remember reading in junior high but as I read it, it feels very new to me. I don’t remember anything about it; maybe I never read it in the first place but had a copy which I started to read but never finished? Regardless, I am definitely enjoying it. It’s slow-burn horror, which is starting to slowly ratchet up (it’s one of those “rural communities that seem perfect but always have a dark secret” stories). I like Lofts’ writing style, which was more common in the mid-twentieth century work–she has a point of view character, Miss Mayfield, but her third person is removed; like a cross between an omniscient narrator and tight pov. It has a very Gothic feel to it that I really like, and I am looking forward to finishing it at some point.
We also started watching an Australian show, The Tourist, starring the always fun to watch Jamie Dornan (sigh) as a man who is in a car accident and gets amnesia, but he has to figure out who he is because a lot of people are trying to kill him. We’re two episodes into the first season (and there are two seasons thus far) so I am guessing he doesn’t find out for quite some time….
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Monday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never can be sure.
Yes, this is a Sherlock in 1916 New Orleans stories. ↩︎
Sunday morning and as predicted, I didn’t get nearly as much done yesterday as I wanted to, but it was mostly about time more than anything else. I picked up the mail and stopped by Fresh Market, but then once I got home…well, there were chores still to be done (still have some more to do this morning) and I never did get around to writing anything besides blog entries yesterday, like a very bad Gregalicious. Today I have no choice, I have to write today…and I also have to drive out to the Apple Store in Metairie, and make groceries, both of which will be tiring. (I knew I’d regret putting that chore off until today, but at least it’s sunny out today; I think it’s going to be a rather lovely day out there.)
Sparky is always a problem for sitting at the computer as he always wants to sit in my chair–he will hang out and be obnoxious (right now he’s sprawled across the desk, his flicking tail brushing the keyboard as he knocks other things off…) and then jump into the chair the minute I get up for more coffee or anything, really. Heavy sigh, the joys of Big Spoiled Kitten Energy.
I did manage to watch Christopher and His Kind yesterday, which is Isherwood’s memoir about his life in Berlin during the rise of the Nazis, and it much more explicit than Isherwood’s earlier fictions about Berlin. During that “Staged Right” about Cabaret I watched the other night, he wrote it in reaction to the movie, to leave the record straight (as it were) about himself and his life; he hated that Cabaret made Brian/Christopher into a bisexual and that Sally was played by Liza Minnelli, when the actual Sally was marginally talented at best. It was an interesting film, but Christopher himself really came across as a bit of an asshole. There was also a lot of explicit sex, and there’s no question in watching this film about what his sexuality was, for sure. Matt Smith is simply stunningly beautiful, and Alexander Draymon as Caspar is just too beautiful for words. The two stories (Cabaret and Christopher and His Kind) are similar to each other, but I’m not really sure if a watcher didn’t know that both came from the same source, those similarities are simply base facts the story grew out of, and you might not even recognize them as the same story. I may need to revisit the books sometime when I have more time…as I recognize that a lot of the revisiting of fiction I talk about is probably never going to happen. But as always, I find rereading something as an easy way to shake off the not-reading mode I’ve been in for so long. We also watched the new BBC adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder is Easy yesterday, which we quite enjoyed…although I am waiting for the racists to complain since they cast a Black man in the lead.
So I started rereading Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll yesterday, of which I remember very little of my original read back in junior high school (I read her novels about queens and royal women before moving on to her other novels, which was very definitely an eclectic mix), and find myself enjoying it a lot more than I did when I was twelve–I did enjoy it, but I am certainly seeing it differently some fifty years later. As a kid, I just read Miss Mayfield as a lonely spinster who spent most of her life working in Africa in her colonial “white savior” role with her best friend, who hopes to save enough money to buy a little place she and her “best friend” could retired to; now it’s screaming lesbians at me. The book was originally published in 1960, and of course there are the queer deniers who like to think we never existed in the world before Stonewall. The phenomenon of spinsters sharing a home was just a fact of life, and the British never really inquired much further than that–the British cold politeness.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. There’s a lot to get done today and I am feeling like I will be able to make some significant progress today. Wish me luck, and I may be back later. Happy Sunday, Constant Reader!
Weeheeheehee dee heeheeheehee weeoh aweem away Weeheeheehee dee heeheeheehee weeoh aweem away
You’re welcome for that hellish ear worm.
Well, here it is Tuesday morning and I feel a lot better, more rested, than yesterday. I was extremely tired when I got home after work last night. I didn’t really do much of anything once I was home, other than cuddling with Sparky and watching this week’s Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, which I always enjoy, as well as two more episodes of Alexander on Netflix, which I am enjoying. I was always interested in Alexander when I was growing up–I liked Egyptian, Greek, and Roman history and culture before moving to United States history, then British, and ultimately European. I also watched some documentaries on forgotten kings and queens of Europe. Sparky mostly slept in my lap for much of the evening, and I retired early. PT was rough yesterday morning, but this Friday I get to go to the gym on my own for the first time in well over a year. YIKES. I only have a few exercises to. do there, and I am a little bit excited about going for the first time and getting back into the swing of working out regularly again.
I am starting to feel acclimated back to my life again, and I am also thinking I am feeling more like myself. I’ve been flooded with story ideas over the last few days (Alabama always does that for me, for some reason), solutions to issues in works in progress that I’ve been struggling with, and book ideas. This is, of course, a relief, as I’ve felt kind of stagnant creatively since the surgery. It’s like my brain is finally waking up again, something I was concerned about, obviously–when your identity and most of your life is wrapped around being a writer, the loss of creative energy in my mind is even scarier than falling from a great height or cutting myself (two of my biggest fears). I suppose it would be okay, but I also can’t imagine never writing again.
I actually have thought about it seriously during this time of forced solitude and recovery. Writing and publishing is like a roller coaster ride–filled with ups and downs and frightening hazards to get past. 2023 was obviously a bad year for me, but I did produce two books I am proud of, Death Drop and Mississippi River Mischief. Is it any wonder that I wasn’t able to get much work done after they were finished and proofed and approved? Bouchercon was at the end of August, and when I got back was when I had my teeth done and went on the soft diet–no surprise I was low energy and not able to write very much–and then came the surgery and the recovery. And of course Scooter died last summer…yeesh, what a shitty year, underscored by the grieving for Mom. So, having not really written much after the books went into production, and not really being able to create while I recovered, made me take some stock and wonder if I wanted to keep doing it–the publishing side, anyway. But now that my overactive imagination has been reignited, all those doubts and self-questioning seem like self-pity. Waaah, I’m not Stephen King. So what? Sure, more money would be nice, but it’s not really the be-all end-all of why I do this, anyway. I love writing, I love telling stories, and I love creating characters I genuinely am interested in and want to get to know better.
I feel good this morning. I woke up and didn’t feel fatigued, either. I got a lot of work done at the office yesterday, which was awesome, and tonight when I head home I am making groceries and have some chores to do around the house, too. And…hopefully will get some writing done, too.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I’ll check back in with you later.
Monday morning and up too early for PT before work. Heavy sigh. My body aches this morning–my back is especially tight–which means today will be exhausting. It’s a paperwork/admin day anyway–unless I have to cover for someone–and it’s also terribly cold this morning: 41 degrees, to be exact. I collapsed into bed last night somewhere around nine, and was dead to the world in a matter of minutes. It was a good night’s sleep, but I really need to sleep late sometime soon–probably not till this weekend, alas.
I did listen to River Road by Carol Goodman in the car both ways instead of The Drowning Tree, and as always, loved every minute of it. I still had some time left to listen to something, but only had a short time left, so I went ahead and started an Amazon Short by Zakiya Dalila Harris, “His Happy Place”, which was decidedly creepy but also extremely well done. More on both to come, of course, once I’ve gotten back into (what passes for) a normal routine around here. This will probably be a rough, tiring week, but I hope to manage. This weekend I am going to drop off beads and books for donations, and will also hopefully keep working on the apartment.
The coffee is starting to work, which is nice. My brain and body are starting to wake up, which is great. I’m also a bit hungry, so will probably make something to eat before I leave. I have dry noodles at the office to have for lunch, and will take some breakfast snacky things with me. Tomorrow I know we are going to be super-busy in the clinic, which will make for a rough day as well. Fortunately, I enjoy my job! But this weekend will be the hard reset I need, and I just have to make it through this week, which seems to be stretching out far into the distance and is a bit overwhelming to contemplate. I also need to make a grocery list, and today I have to run some errands after I get off work. Tomorrow I’ll make groceries after work, and hopefully I’ll start feeling more settled in. Sparky was a bit stand-offish when I got home yesterday–just mewed at me reproachfully for a while, but after a few hours he forgave me and was very affectionate, obviously having missed me while I was gone. I do kind of feel like our earlier cats were more Paul’s than mine, but Sparky is kind of mine. Of course, I was chair bound for almost three weeks, so he had a place to cuddle and sleep and hang out all day, and now of course no one’s home with him all day. Once the Festivals are over, he’ll be home more and then he and Sparky can bond some more.
So really, my return to normality after Carnival has been pushed back on the calendar because of the trip over the weekend. My word, how my imagination was out of control while driving and staying in Alabama. I remembered stories and ideas I’d forgotten about as well as having more ideas (just what I need, right?) and I also figured out how to finish off my short story collection. I am hoping to get some more stories finished this week and get off to submissions while working and planning my next book. I also have a shit ton of unfinished drafts here I’d like to get done at some point so I can clear out the drafts folder.
I also took a lot of pictures this weekend, to help me describe places when I write about Alabama some more. I also realized that fictionalizing the place where I was born means it doesn’t have to be exactly the same in my work than it is in real life, you know? But that’s also my own stubborn brain trying to make everything correct when it doesn’t have to be, which happens a lot. It’s not like New Orleans, which appears as it is in my work. Corinth County is based on where we’re from, but it’s not the same. I had an idea for something completely new on my way up there; there was an In Cold Blood-kind of slaying there in the late 1960’s; a couple who ran a corner store were brutally killed and robbed, and so when I got home I started looking for information about it on-line (I’ve done this before, but not for a potential writing project; more out of idle curiosity when I was writing Bury Me in Shadows) and interestingly enough, there have been any number of crimes down there over the last forty or so decades; in fact, in one article about another murder I read a quote from someone at a café in town that the county “seems to be cursed”–which I must have read before because that has always been the underlying theme of the fictional county; it’s even in Bury Me in Shadows with people saying “the history of this county is written in blood.” Anyway, I would be interested in writing about that 1967 shooting–either fictionally or as true-crime.
And on that note, I need to get ready for PT and then heading straight to work from there. Have a lovely Monday; I may be back later as one never truly knows.
I didn’t sleep well last night, for the first time since getting the new night meds, and as I sit here blearily this morning drinking my coffee it occurs to me that anticipation of this day probably had a lot to do with it.
Yesterday was a nice day. I slept super-well and even a bit late, came downstairs, posted three blog entries throughout the day, and managed to get a lot done. I got some laundry done, cleaned out the sink and ran a load in the dishwasher, straightened up around my desk some, did some filing and organizing, worked on cleaning up computer files, and so came downstairs to a relatively clean kitchen. Huzzah! I also started making lists of things I need to write this year as well as the things I need to write this year. I am also trying to sort my short stories predicated on submission calls I’d like to send work to and establish some kind of timeline (just the remotest suggestion of one, knowing mood and energy levels will affect that and I won’t make all of them) for getting them done and keeping myself on track. I also want to finish this y/a novel that’s been languishing in the files for quite some time, and I even started thinking about Scotty X, Hurricane Party Hustle1 , which was kind of nice, too.
In other words, yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had since the surgery, and today will probably not be one of my better ones. I don’t feel grief-stricken or anything, but it’s still difficult. I’m glad I am meeting Dad in Alabama this weekend2. I feel good now that the caffeine is percolating through my veins and my body is responding to it. I don’t feel fatigued, but then again it’s also still early in the morning and I haven’t yet had the inevitable caffeine crash that will come this afternoon. I do have to make groceries again today (it really never ends), but I think after that I can just go straight home, which is great. Any other errands can wait until after PT on Friday, before I head up north to Alabama. I know I’ll be sad once I am around Dad, and it’ll be hard saying goodbye on Sunday and heading back south, but that is a lot easier than having to live in her house.
And really, I had my mother for sixty-one years. Thank God they started young, right?
We also watched The Last Voyage of the Demeter yesterday afternoon, and it was very entertaining, although it’s very hard to maintain suspense once you know it’s based on the captain’s log entries from Dracula, and the movie opens with the ship wrecked on the shore with no survivors. SPOILER. right? But it was a clever idea–I’m always a fan of expanding the mythology from books that weren’t addressed fully in the book, especially for movies and television (like Castle Rock and Chapelthwaite built out from the Stephen King universe), because I think it’s cool, it doesn’t take away from my enjoyment of the originals, and I’ve done some homage work myself (Timothy).
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day!
I’m not sure of this wisdom of this title, honestly. It was supposed to be the fourth Scotty, and I had sent the proposal to my editor the week before Katrina. Certainly, there’s a lot of superstition involved in that kind of thinking, but at the same time I feel kind of squeamish and may come up with something else. ↩︎
I was thinking about my next Alabama book, too. ↩︎
I woke up to a very cold apartment. The temperature dropped overnight and so, this morning I switched the HVAC from “cool” to “heat” and will wait to shower and so forth until the apartment is warm and toasty. I slept late again today–something I’ve done every say since Friday–but it felt good and every day I’ve felt rested and relaxed. PT was brutal yesterday and so when it was time for Proteus and Orpheus…the combination of exhaustion/fatigue along with the falling temperatures kept me very much inside. The good news is I am doing so well in PT that next week I am graduating to one PT session and one session at my gym on my own–I am trusted and recovered enough to try light weights for the arm and shoulder. This is nice, actually, and the transition from going to PT twice a week to going to the gym twice a week, gradually adding a third day, is going to be awesome. For me, it’s still going to be about fatigue and exhaustion until my stamina returns. And the only way for stamina to return fully is to…well, keep pushing myself, and isn’t that what exercises are about in the first place? It’s going to be a long and tough road, I reckon, but putting it off will only make it harder. And in all honesty, I actually enjoy going to PT. I love the endorphin rush, I love how I feel…it’s just been a while since I’ve felt exercise fatigue. and need to get used to it again.
I also made groceries last night after PT (and picked up the mail) and totally stocked up in a way I haven’t in a while; or it was just the most I’ve spent at the grocery store since my surgery. I also had the gods of Carnival parking looking out for me, as a spot in front of the house was open when I got back. On Orpheus Monday. That’s three times now that the parking gods have blessed me with ease. Paul apparently finished off our last king cake last night (I didn’t buy another, as you aren’t supposed to eat them on or after Ash Wednesday, so it would have had to be completely eaten today, and that’s a nope), which is great. I’ve maintained the weight loss from the surgery so far–my weight now fluctuates between 203 and 208, whereas before it was between 216-220; I’ll take it, thank you very much, and now that the Carnival “excuse” is over, I can’t really justify eating sweets and chips and things except as an occasional treat. I’ve been living on turkey sandwiches now for several weeks, for the most part. And if I start taking walks every night around the neighborhood (or on the nights where I don’t have to run errands), that will also help me sleep better (although that’s not been an issue since my new meds; apparently I slept soundly through a horrific overnight storm, which included hail in some places and flooding rains, on Sunday night). 2024 is my get healthy year, and by that I mean both mentally and physically.
Once I experienced the endorphin crash yesterday I was pretty much down for the day. I did do some cleaning and organizing, but then I crashed into my chair and pretty much stayed there for the rest of the day. I pretty much wasted most of the day, in all honesty, because I was definitely fatigued. I also got a book I’d bought from eBay that I had always wanted to read but never did, and thought of it recently for some reason I cannot recall right now: The Little Wax Doll by Norah Lofts. Ms. Lofts is very much forgotten today and never talked about much, but she was a terrific British mid-century writer who wrote historical novels, occasionally wrote about the romantic lives of royal women (some of her subjects included Eleanor of Aquitaine, Hortense de Beauharnais, Katherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, and Isabella of Castile, to name a few) and she also wrote modern stories, usually some sort of suspense novel. The Little Wax Doll is horror/suspense, and it’s kind of irritating that I’ve never read it. I picked it up and read a chapter, was sucked in, and read another few before putting it down. I loved her short story collection of ghost stories (Hauntings: Is There Anybody There?), and look forward to reading this book and talking about Lofts more.
Zulu is passing; one of the fun things about waking up on Fat Tuesday is hearing a parade passing at the corner. When I woke up there was a Whitney Houston remix playing, now I can hear a marching band. I’m kind of glad it’s cold today, because I won’t wax sentimental about staying in on Mardi Gras. It’s not like I wouldn’t collapse with exhaustion by the time we walked to Canal Street anyway.
We also watched some more Abbott Elementary last night, and I have to say I love this show. Everyone in the cast is fantastic and the kids are adorable for the most part. And it’s clever, character driven, and funny as hell.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. It’s still a bit cold in there, so the shower will definitely have to wait, but I can get some other things done in the meantime. Have a lovely Tuesday, everyone, and I may be back later.
Sunday morning and everything aches. I went out to Iris yesterday by myself (see previous post) and had a lovely time. It was indeed a gorgeous day and a wonderful reminder of how much I love everything about Carnival–and why I put up with the challenges of living inside the box; because once you are safely home and have parked your car, the convenience of the parades being only a half-block away simply cannot be beat. I got a lovely haul of beads, caught numerous plushies and cups and various other toys–including a super-hero Iris cape–which I gave to the children who were near where I was standing. I also gave away a lot of beads. Despite my gradual exhaustion that came on slowly, it was marvelous and despite having to spend the rest of the day in my easy chair (and still feeling the muscle fatigue this morning) I do not regret going out there, just as I will not regret going out there for Orpheus tomorrow.
I guess the Super Bowl is tonight and I also suppose we may end up watching. I don’t really care about either team that much, honestly; I lived in Kansas so I have a connection to the Chiefs, and I also lived in California and San Francisco is the motherland of my people. Of course, I’ll wind up rooting for Taylor’s boyfriend because it is fun watching the MAGAts lose their minds over this. I also love that “liberals” have now ruined football for them. They can’t root for Taylor’s boyfriend so they’ll root for the queer homeland and Nancy Pelosi’s team?
Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Eat shit and die, MAGAts. You don’t own football, either.
Paul stayed up late Friday night working and so he was asleep until shortly after I came in from the parades to find a toy for Sparky on our doorknob from the neighbor ladies; it’s one of those serpentine tunnels for cats, and Sparky loves his already. I think I’m going to get him some more toys once i get the house back into some semblance of order. I am going to try to work on that today and work on some writing as well; I also want to spend some time reading Lina Chern’s book, which I’ll probably do after I finish this post. It’s quite good actually, despite my taking so long to read it–which definitely should not be seen as a criticism of the book, which will get its own entry at some point. Once he got up we watched My Best Friend’s Exorcism on Prime. It’s based on the Grady Hendrix novel, and I do need to read his work. (I really loved Paperbacks from Hell, which was his first book, about the horror boom of the 1970’s thru the early 1990’s.) He’s also openly gay, and the movie is terrific. It’s set in the 1980’s, and while I was a teenager in the 1970’s I was only in my twenties during the 1980’s, so all of it–cultural references, clothes, the music–was also pleasant nostalgia for me. (The 1980’s was a difficult time for me, but I really need to confront that decade and my memories and move past them at some point.)
I then showed Paul the pilot for Abbott Elementary, and we then binged the entire first season and well into the second before it was time for me to call it a night. This show is amazing, and I had always meant for us to get around to it. I’m glad we finally are watching, because the cast is fantastic; the writing is sharp, crisp and funny; and the characters are fun and interesting. Highly recommended, and looking forward to getting back into it before watching the Super Bowl (or not. I can certainly follow the game on social media).
And on that note, I am bringing this to a close. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll catch you again later.
So, are you ready for some MORE blatant self-promotion?
During the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon, the other panel I was on had to do with writing young adult fiction (the other panelists were amazing, I might add), and once again, I am answering the questions sent to us by the moderator to turn into an interview with JUST me (because it’s all about ME ME ME) but I do urge you to seek out the video of the panel. It was terrific, and I was definitely the most uninteresting person on the panel, seriously; this is NOT self-deprecation. (I bought everyone’s books during the panel, I might add; definitely check out Lauren Melissa Ellzey.)
What is the definition of Young Adult? How does it differ from other genres?
I think it’s primarily an age distinction, to be honest, which is something that always makes me uncomfortable. Growing up I read far above my age level; when I was in seventh grade I was reading at a college level, per the tests and so forth. I mean, I did read The Godfather when I was ten; my parents, despite their conservative religious beliefs and values, let me read whatever I wanted without having to ask permission–I think when I asked Mom if I could read something the last time she replied “Read whatever you want, I don’t care” and after that I never asked again. When I was a kid, there was no such thing as young adult; everything was either for adults or “juvenile.” The juvenile category contained multitudes, beginning with the Little Golden Books and picture books to kids’ mysteries to Judy Blume. I think sometime in the 1980’s the genre was separated into “juvenile” for kids 8-12 and “young adult” for 12-18.
But there are kids like me, who can read above their age/class level and others who can’t read at their age/class level, and I think in some ways that differential could be harmful for those who are below-average readers–reading is the most crucial aspect of education, because if you can’t read…and no matter how many ways they try to make the language around slower readers more accepting and less stigmatizing…it doesn’t really help kids to be told they’re below average or not as smart or quick as the other students. (One of my primary problems throughout my education is I would understand something the first time, while others inevitably didn’t, and as the teacher explained for a second or third or more time, my ADD would kick in and my mind would wander because I didn’t need to listen and then wouldn’t be listening when the teacher moved on.
Ah, well.
Oh, and all subgenres of fiction also have the middle grade/juvenile and young adult sub-sub-genres.
Why or how did YOU choose YA?
I don’t know that I chose y/a so much as it chose me.
I started writing when I was a child (all my childish scribblings are lost to moves and time passing), and I wrote about kids my age. My first attempts at writing were always some kind of kids’ mystery series, a la The Hardy Boys and The Three Investigators (I’d still like to do this, frankly), and when I became a teenager, I started writing about teenagers. I wrote a bunch of short stories while in high school about the same group of kids going to the same high school. Those stories slowly but surely grew into a sprawling, handwritten novel about the county with plots and subplots and main characters and minor characters and all of this history; a “Peyton Place in Kansas kind of thing”. I worked on it for like five years, and eventually had this enormous sprawling mess that needed to be revised and rewritten and typed…and since I didn’t know how to type, made that part of it a problem. So I shoved it into a drawer and started pulling from it rather than revising it; taking out plots and characters and using them in other books and other stories.
After I finished that, I spent the next five years mostly working on short stories. I started another book, more horror than anything else, but never got further than the third chapter. I finally decided to write a horror novel built from my old manuscript and those short stories from high school. I was about three chapters into it when I discovered two things: there was a big market in y/a horror at the time (Christopher Pike and R. L. Stine were HUGE during this period) and so I bought some of them. When I finished, I thought, “You know, I should turn Sara into a y/a novel” (because I thought somehow that would be easier? Foolish, foolish rookie) and so… I did. I was right in that thinking of it in those terms made it possible for me to finish a draft, but I wasn’t very happy with it so I put it aside and started writing another one, Sorceress, which was also horror but also had some strong Gothic moments in it. When I finished that one, again I wasn’t pleased with it so I started another–Sleeping Angel–which was the one I thought really had potential. I never finished that draft–by this time I’d discovered that gay fiction and nonfiction existed, so I started reading that and trying to write about gay characters instead.
Those manuscripts remained in my drawer for well over a decade, until a friend of mine took a job as a young adult acquisitions editor, and she wanted to work with me. I told her I’d written three (although it was technically two and a half), and gave her a brief synopsis of them. She liked Sorceress the best, so I started revising and editing it and turning it into something publishable. Once it was all done, she’d left that publisher, but started her own small press for y/a books for underrepresented teens, and she wanted to launch the press with Sorceress. I said “okay” and we were off. I eventually realized I needed to let Bold Strokes know, and when I did, I got an email back saying you know we do y/a, too? And so I sold the other two to them, and have never looked back since then.
Are there specific rules for writing YA (things you can’t do)? Does Bold Strokes add on or impose specific or additional rules?
I don’t pay too much attention to rules, frankly. There’s no graphic sex in my books, but it’s hinted at. I also try to swear less in young adult books than I do in adult fiction, which is probably not as big of a deal as I think it is? The society I grew up in was a lot more puritanical–believe it or not–that the one we live in today. So I always default to that setting, and then have to shake it off. Swearing isn’t as big of a deal as it used to be. No one thinks they’re marrying a virgin anymore, and on and on. And having been attacked for daring to accept an invitation to speak to queer high school students, I tend to tread softly. There have been a couple of times where I’ve had to change language, or how a scene went, because my editor thought it might be problematic; and frankly, I never want to be offensive, so I have no problem with it. I don’t see it as a free speech issue the way so many intentionally offensive writers claim it is. I shouldn’t take offense to someone calling me a faggot? Grow the fuck up. The so-called free speech “crusaders” are always defending hate speech as well as trying to shut up the people who find it objectionable. You do not have a constitutional freedom from consequences or getting a negative response to things you say and do, period. It’s really not hard to understand unless you want to be passive/aggressive and childish and a moron.
How do you remember back to these days, specifically how it felt or feels? (this is coming from your moderator who is much older than you are)
Well, for one thing, I’ve always kept a journal and I still have them all. (I was insufferable when I was younger, seriously.)
My sister has a theory that we forget a lot of the pleasant memories from our childhoods, but remember the traumas in great detail. I believe the truth of that, because school was a nightmare for me from the day we moved to the suburbs until I was done with it. I remember how it felt to read Greg Herren sucks cock on a desk at school. I remember how it felt to be mocked, laughed at, and bullied by assholes. I do remember the good things, though I tend to always focus on the bad.
The first thing I always do is abandon whatever “wisdom” about life I’ve theoretically learned since leaving high school, and put myself into the teenager mindset: they think they are the main characters in everyone they know’s story, and everything is the end of the world or their life is ruined and you are the most horrible parent ever! I’m not entirely sure I’ve escaped thinking that way, to be brutally honest: I am horribly selfish.
How do you come up with your characters? Your stories?
I am weird in that I inevitably always start with a title. I hear something or read something and think, that would make a good title. The next question is what story would fit that title? And it kind of goes from there. The title may change, the character names and story might change and evolve, but I can’t write anything that doesn’t have a title. Bizarre, I know. Usually with my young adult stuff it’s an idea I’ve had for a number of years and finally decide to explore whether it’s a novel or a short story, and go from there.
Dark Tide was originally called Mermaid Inn, Bury Me in Shadows was originally Ruins, but the others pretty much stayed the same from beginning to end.
I wrote #shedeservedit because I was angry about the Steubenville/Maryville rape cases, and remembered stories and gossip from when I was in high school and college…and rethinking them through a more evolved brain about women and misogyny… well, it made me angrier. I had already planned on writing a story set in the same town with the same characters and opening with the same murder (I always referred to it as “the Kansas book” for years), but the motive was something I always had trouble grounding in reality. After those cases…it clicked in my head. You need to write this story about small town misogyny, protecting the star jocks from the girls at all cost, and make that the plot. It was easy to write because I was angry. Making it a compelling read was harder, because the subject matter was sickening to me.
I needed to write that book, and I don’t regret doing it, either…but it’s not exactly a feel good story people can escape into, either.
Why do you think YA is so popular?
It’s more accessible, I think. I mentioned reading ability before, and I do think that most readers aren’t into the Great Literary Tomes, hundreds of pages of beautiful writing with no real point or story. People kind of want to escape their cares and worries, and y/a books tend to be really entertaining. We’re competing with phones and tablets and streaming, so we need to write entertaining and engaging books.
Any specific must do-s or must-haves to get your writing each day?
I’m not nearly as anal about that as I used to be, before I returned to work full-time. I am very aware that I have little time to waste when I write, and thus must seize whatever opportunities to write show up. But if pressed, coffee. I can’t write unless I’ve had coffee when I got up.
I think this is all of them, but I could be wrong.
There’s just something about cold weather that affects me emotionally in a negative way. I’m not sure what it is, or why precisely this happens, but it does and I really don’t like it. I’ve been in kind of a funk now for several days–health insurance issues aren’t helping either (Blue Cross/Blue Shield Louisiana is a garbage company, in case any of you were wondering; they haven’t gotten any better since I was able to stop using them for health care back in 2011; now I am stuck with them again and they are the same pieces of shit they’ve always been)–and I know that the anniversary of Mom’s death is coming up and having an effect on me. The holidays were tough, indeed, but the distraction of the surgery and the recovery helped get me through that somehow; I was already miserable, so being emotionally miserable on top of that seemed more manageable than just dealing with my first holidays without her by itself with no other distractions. I didn’t have a very good day yesterday, overall. I slept decently, got up and went to work, but felt sort of out of it all day, like I’d never completely woken up, and just wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything much yesterday. I couldn’t find my wallet before I left the house, and so that was bothering me all day (I did find it later in the day in my backpack, but the day was already wrecked by then); I had to leave the office early for PT, which was fine, but …more disruption of my normal routine, which always makes me feel out of sorts. I forgot my hearing aids, too, which wasn’t much of a help either. Heavy heaving sigh. But at least I wasn’t client facing with my sourness, and I did get caught up on all of my work duties yesterday. The schedule looks pretty easy for the rest of the week as well, so maybe I can coast into this weekend relatively safely and recuperate, or at least get some respite for my soul.
PT was hard (and getting harder with every visit), but at least now I feel like I’m doing something, if that makes sense? The dexterity stuff was pretty easy and thus felt like I wasn’t really doing anything to improve my arm. The scars are becoming even less noticeable the more time passes as well; Dr. O’Brien was clearly a miracle worker in the operating room. I also don’t feel sore from the PT yet, either, despite the struggle some of those exercises were yesterday. I was worn out when I finally got home–I also ran errands and made groceries afterwards–and essentially I wasted the evening cuddling with Sparky in my easy chair. I know I watched some things–Paul didn’t get home until after I went to bed–but this morning I couldn’t tell you what any of it was. My brain was a little too fried to do any reading, and the whole day just really felt off so I just kind of sat in my chair with background noise going while I let my mind wander creatively. I got groggy/sleepy around eight thirty, but stayed up for a little while longer hoping Paul would come home…to no avail. So, Sparky and I went to bed pretty early last night, and I fell asleep almost immediately.
I slept well last night and I feel good this morning–not sleepy or groggy or tired–which is a good thing. It’s not as cold as it has been–high fifties!–this morning so there’s none of that to deal with, and hopefully it’ll be a nice day hovering around the high fifties low sixties all day. I suspect there will be rain today–there was a little yesterday slightly on my way home from the errands–and that will probably make things cold again, but that’s fine. I still can’t believe parades start a week from Friday, which is going to make life challenging again as it does every year when you live inside the box. I did do some thinking about the next Scotty last night, which was nice–it’s always nice to engage your brain a little, which is also why I don’t remember much of what I was watching last night since it was working primarily as background noise for me while my mind wandered. I did get some more ideas on how to work out these two stories (“When I Die” and “Parlor Tricks”) and get drafts finished. I really need to focus on putting words down on the page. I don’t think I’ve managed to write more than 500 words of fiction at a time since the surgery? Not good, right? But now that all feels right with the world again, I think I can get back to work again.
The funny thing is I have gotten so used to my hearing aids that forgetting them makes me feel disconnected from reality. It’s nice being able to hear properly–or at least better than I was hearing before–although I generally don’t wear them around the house on the weekends so it always feels strange when I put them back in again and have to get used to listening to how my voice actually sounds rather than how I think it sounds. (And singing along to the music in the car really makes me wince. I cannot sing. At. All. Which sucks, because I love to sing and always have.) But I am happy to be heading into this new year with some of these things finally handled. My teeth have been taken care of, I have my hearing aids, and I got the needed surgery for my arm. I’ve dropped twenty pounds or so since October, I am rediscovering my joy in exercise (even if it is just PT), I am sleeping well, and I have a darling cat who loves to sit on my shoulders. Life is pretty good, really. The only thing that I need to make me feel even better about things this morning is to get some writing done tonight, you know?
The insurance stuff will work itself out somehow; things inevitably do in one way or the other. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than not having insurance and at least now I can get the meds I need and so on. I don’t know why I let things get to me the way I did over the weekend and yesterday, but it was more of a combination of things, really. Not remembering my hearing aids and not being able to put my hands on my wallet before leaving the house (I had put it in my backpack to make sure Sparky didn’t do something with it and so I would remember it; of course I immediately forgot that I did that so…yeah) didn’t help matters any, compounding the imminent anniversary of my mom’s death as well as the insurance issues…I shouldn’t let those things get to me in the future, but it was all just a bit much yesterday morning and I also didn’t feel so rested yesterday morning either.
So, here’s to a new day dawning with me in a better space emotionally and spiritually than I was yesterday, and I am going to just keep my head up and try to stay focused, happy and positive today. Wish me luck, okay?
And now I shall head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and you never know–I may be back later.
Queer and Loathing in America 