Category: revising

Destination Unknown

Tuesday and back to what passes for normality around here. My eye appointment went very well; my eyes (despite their inability to see much) are very healthy and there’s no trace of either glaucoma or Stargardt’s disease; there is some slight cataract development but “nothing you need to worry about for fifteen or twenty years.” *Whew*, am I right? I feel bad still for my sister, of course, but it’s a relief to know that I most likely will not be losing my sight as I get older.

I also have to share this piece about my friend Mark. Mark and I have been friends for well over twenty-five years. I also knew his late husband Johnny; I remember when they first became a couple. Mark was my workout partner for about ten years or so; I had to abandon our workouts when I went back to work full-time. If you’ve been around this blog since its beginning all those years ago, I helped Mark and Johnny gut their house and remove all of its water-damaged contents; Mark was the basis for Scotty’s best friend David in Bourbon Street Blues and has appeared in numerous others of the Scotty books. And yes, it is deeply ironic that the Archdiocese of New Orleans let him go for the morality clause as they try to navigate bankruptcy and financial settlements for covering up all the child rapes committed by their priests. I first saw this on Facebook when Mark posted it; it was picked up by one of the news stations here; the Guardian on-line, but I frankly enjoyed the editorializing evident here by the Friendly Atheist newsletter; imagine my surprise when it dropped into my inbox talking about what happened to my old friend Mark! Mark was the one who took me to Charity Hospital when Paul was attacked because I was too upset to drive. (I miss Mark. I don’t see him as much anymore and that is mostly my fault.) Mark is a good guy, and this pisses me off–even more so because Johnny is dead and Mark is no longer in violation of his contract. I don’t think my opinion of this Satanic archdiocese could have gone any lower–and here we are. Maybe it’s time to write a book addressing the child rape cover-ups…if it isn’t already a cliché.

I proofed my short story for Crime Ink yesterday and sent the corrections back in; which also required me to reread the story (“The Rhinestone”) again for the first time since the copy edits, and of course, I’d pretty much forgotten all of it. It’s a good story, an excerpt from Never Kiss a Stranger in which I had to fill in a lot of the background…since it’s already established in the longer piece; I winced a bit at the background before remembering oh yes, you had to add all of this in because no one would have a clue what was going on without the back story, and of course I was worried that I was “telling” too much rather than showing. I’m not sure when I am going to get back to Never Kiss a Stranger since I want to finish the Scotty and Chlorine before I can give it my full attention, if then; there are some others that are itching to be written and finished as well and I always seem to get distracted from my planned schedule…I had wanted to get The Summer of Lost Boys done this year, but I don’t think that’s going to happen…and of course, now I want to write about the cursed lake, too.

Sigh.

But no more defeatist talk around here! It’s absolutely okay to have days where you need to take care of yourself and not get as much done. I did take care of the kitchen last night, and started working on the living room again (I also found a lost remote control we looked for everywhere; it’s been awhile since the ghost played a trick on us…and now I am missing something else entirely). I also made a to-do list, picked up my mail, and made groceries. So, yeah, I should have been tired when I got home! Cheers and applause for everything else I did, thank you very much. I also went to bed early; I was falling asleep in my chair and staggered upstairs for a lovely night’s sleep. I’ll go straight home from work tonight and finish everything I started last night, and hopefully do some reading and writing. (I did write a bit yesterday–not very much, mind you, but it was something.)

I have a severe lack of motivation this week, and that’s going on the to-do list; find my motivation and reawaken my ambition and my sense I can conquer the world.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, happy July, and all that jazz. I’ll be back tomorrow.

The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles; something I’ve always wanted to see

No More Words

Monday morning and I have an ophthalmologist appointment before I head into work. I slept super-great again last night, but didn’t really want to get up this morning. The appointment is pretty far out for me in Kenner (near Clearview), and I have no idea what time I will get to work. This is to check me for Stargardt disease, which my sister has and is genetic. I also have errands to run after work tonight–post office, make some groceries–before I come home to an apartment and all my chores. I was very tired yesterday–drained from the trip and all the driving over three days or so–and was able to only get some filing and organizing done, as well as ordered groceries for delivery and put them all away. The sink has dishes in it, there are dishes in the dishwasher that need to be put away, and the floors are always the worst. If I can stand it, I can do a bit every night before really focusing on it Friday, which is a holiday I don’t feel much like celebrating or acknowledging this year, given the dismantling of everything since January. I also have to get the bills figured out–I am terribly confused about these medical bills I am getting–and have a shit load of writing to do.

We started watching Olympo, a Spanish series about an athletic training school, and it’s quite fun. Not as fun as Elité, but we’re also only three episodes in. The big mystery of season one seems to be the use of performing enhancing drugs, with a swimmer collapsing and another swimmer determined to find out what’s going on. There’s also queer content; both gay and sapphic, which is very fun. Naturally, the cast is all gorgeous young Spaniards, which makes it very pleasant to watch. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I need to finish reading my current three reads (Summerhouse, Sing Me a Death Song, The Crying Child) before moving on to my next three. I also need to get back writing again; it seems like months since I’ve worked on anything, which is silly–I worked on writing last week, but the trip makes everything seem like it all happened an eternity ago, which is one of those weird time things I’m becoming more and more aware of the longer I live. I also need to clean out my email inbox, pay some bills, and pull my life back together–I’ve not been on top of things since I got sick after Saints and Sinners, really. Definitely need to. make a to-do list and a grocery list before heading out this morning, and maybe do some things around here before leaving for the appointment.

I did go down a research rabbit hole on Youtube again yesterday, though–more 1970s research, and I was also remembering the Bicentennial and how it really started overpowering the zeitgeist after President Nixon resigned and was pardoned. Next year is the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence; I am a little surprised that it’s not as big of a deal, or even a deal at all, so far. But we were a different country in 1976 than we are now, aren’t we? I was still in high school, we’d just moved to Kansas, and the Olympics were coming up, too–Montreal and Nadia Comaneci–so that was a busy summer for me, and one of major changes for one Gregalicious. (If you think it wasn’t a major change to go from a suburban Chicago high school to a rural one in Kansas, think again.) I also have Alabama stories bouncing through my head since I drove home on Saturday.

But now I have to get back to the spice mines and make that to-do list before cleaning up for the appointment and a short day in the office. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow as the month changes and the summer ratchets everything up even hotter than it was in June.

It’s going to be a looooong summer….

For All Tomorrow’s Lies

Alabama.

I love Alabama, despite the way the state continually disappoints me. It’s such a beautiful place, with its kudzu and towering pines and broad rivers and that startlingly gorgeous red dirt. (Red dirt is often used to symbolize poverty and ignorance and bigotry…but it’s also gorgeous. I’d much rather have red dirt on my car or my shoes than regular black dirt any time.) Driving through the state I am always amazed at the strange range of country homes, everything from crumbling abandoned wrecks to expensive looking McMansions to trailers of all kinds and all conditions, the creeks and mimosa trees and hollers, sometimes filled with out of control kudzu (kudzu has fascinated me since I was a child) and sometimes just bushes and flowers and wild blackberry bushes growing out of control. It always inspires me when I go back to Alabama, reconnecting with my roots and where I am actually from, or, as we say in New Orleans, where my people are from. I also find myself spending a lot of time visiting graveyards where relatives are buried, while my father once again explains who many of them are (I love visiting the graves of my mother’s paternal grandparents; there’s a picture of them posing with four of their children and they are one of the most gorgeous couples I’ve ever seen; their daughters look just like my mother–and by extension, kind of like me–and seeing that picture always pleases me so) and stories about them, and I know he enjoys remembering the family history while passing it along to me. I enjoy the stories of the county, too; as we drive around the backroads and past places from his and my youth (“we took this road home from Auburn when you were just three months old, remember it?”–Dad humor, sure, but I love every bit of it) and I marvel at it all, hoping that it’s all being imprinted on my faded and dying memory. I really do want to write more about Alabama (which is what I say every time I get back from there, isn’t it?), and yeah, I do need to get back to writing, don’t I?

And some of that county and family history? Let’s just say the county is a lot more like Peyton Place than anyone from there would care to admit.

Dad also brought me a case of Grape Crush in bottles, which was so sweet and thoughtful (you can only get cans here, so Dad always brings me some from Kentucky and yes, I am very spoiled and always have been). We drove down to visit my aunt and uncle (another seven hours total in the car on Friday), so am very worn out this morning, now that I am back home; the drive back yesterday was nice but was very tired by the time I got home. I did listen to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors in the car (more on that later), but spent the evening watching My Mother Jayne, which was very well done (I always have been interested in Jayne Mansfield) and we really enjoyed. After that, I got started unpacking and putting things away and yes, I really do regret not thoroughly cleaning the apartment before I left on Wednesday. So instead of chilling out and relaxing today, I’ll be cleaning and making groceries (ordering them, at any rate), and hopefully reading and writing some.

It occurred to me last night that I didn’t get to all the queer books I wanted to read for Pride Month, and it also occurred to me that just because it’ll no longer be Pride Month doesn’t mean that I can’t read queer books; that’s the trap of having these celebratory months–I do not only read Black authors in February, after all, so why do I only focus on queer work in June?1 But I am glad I caught that I’d not finished Hall of Mirrors–and I know how it happened. I was reading it and about to go on a trip, and I always keep the books I am reading and the ones that are on-deck on the end table near my chair. I’d gotten down several potential books to take for the trip, and after I packed the books I decided to take I put the others back, and I must have reshelved Hall of Mirrors then; I was convinced I’d read it until before this trip, when I couldn’t remember how it ended and Audible suggested it–and when I got the book down from the shelves again there was a bookmark in it marking my place. Shamefully I downloaded it to my Audible, and decided to listen to it on this trip. There were three chapters left when I pulled up to the house; I finished it after watching My Mother Jayne…and then I fell asleep in my chair.

What a glorious night’s sleep I enjoyed last night, too! And it’s always nice to be home with Paul and Sparky. I didn’t make myself sick on the trip, either–remembering to have protein drinks and to take my pills and rehydrate properly. It was hot as fuck up there, too.

But I am going to bring this to a close, so I can get things done and groceries ordered and prepare for the week. I have an ophthalmologist appointment first thing tomorrow morning that requires me to drive out to (shudder) Kenner before I go into the office…and of course, Friday is the 4th of July so I have a three day weekend this week, too. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your Sunday, Constant Reader, as I intend to enjoy mine, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Staircase in the step pyramid of Pharaoh Djoser at Saqqarah
  1. I don’t, but it seems like I put a lot more pressure on myself to do during Pride. ↩︎

In My Dreams

Tuesday, and tomorrow I depart for Alabama and chile, I have so much to fucking do before I head out on the highway that it’s not even funny. I have to run errands after work tonight–mail, minor groceries, gas–and then I have things to do around the house all night, too, unless I want to come home to a hideous mess Saturday that I don’t want to deal with. All I am going to want to do when I get home is relax, cuddle with Sparky, and watch television. (I say that but I never ever don’t do things; I am always getting up and putting something away because I still have trouble sitting still; but it’s getting much easier now that Sparky likes to use me as a cat bed in my easy chair because I don’t want to disturb him.)

My doctor’s appointment went well. I have to do fasting labs again at some point before the next appointment (August 22), and I also got a referral for a hip X-ray. During the illness but before the hospitalization, I was losing my balance a lot and falling (or coming close to it). One day during this period, as I was walking to the gate to get a delivery I’d ordered, I lost my balance and before I could stop myself, I fell into the wooden fence hip and (bad) shoulder first. The leg has been kind of sore ever since–it felt bruised–and this weekend, noting that it still didn’t feel right, I realized that the leg wasn’t sore, but was actually numb on the outside from hip to knee. Doctor thinks when I felt against the fence I may have pinched a nerve (which is what I was thinking), or I may have an inflamed bursae (liquid filled sacs). Here’s hoping it’s nothing truly serious and can be treated simply and easily; I really don’t want to add “hip surgery” to my medical bills this year.

The great joys of getting older. Seriously, why isn’t there a handbook, for Christ’s sake?

Monday I am going to see an ophthalmologist to check me for Stargartz, a macular degeneration disease in which those who have it gradually grow blind. It’s genetic, and my sister has it, so you can see why I am a bit concerned. During the illness’ worst rampage and for a little while after, my vision was getting bad; and I’d just gotten a new prescription earlier this year…so not being able to read things on the television (most streaming apps have an image to click on for what you want to watch with very small print on it; I couldn’t read the print) or losing my corrected distance vision was concerning…but as I’ve improved physically, so has my vision, so I am not as concerned about this appointment as I was a few weeks ago. I mean, I am worried–I do not want to lose my eyesight–but it’s not as pressing as it was, if that makes sense? But…best to get it checked out. I’ll probably get my hip X-rayed on a Friday afternoon.

But last night I slept well, and am facing down everything I need to get done tonight. I definitely need to make a to-do list, for sure. I need to pack, for one thing, and make groceries and get the mail and clean up this disgusting apartment. Last night I was a bit tired when I got home, and decided to watch the last episode of The Mortician, which I’d kind of slept through on Sunday night (turns out, I only missed the last fifteen minutes). Paul came down and fell asleep on the couch, and I didn’t really want to start a new show when I am leaving tomorrow, so I just kind of let Youtube doom-play on the news and left-wing influencers, while scribbling more notes in my journal. I also went to bed relatively early as well, after doing some research on-line. It’s very weird to research a period of time when I was actually alive, and being reminded just how misogynist and racist that time was (the homophobia goes without saying because there was no gay rep, good or bad, anywhere; we were erased from the public consciousness like we didn’t exist); the commercials are almost entirely populated by white people, too. It’s nice to see how things have improved on those scores in the decades since. I suppose I should be glad that I find these things both startling and horrifying at the same time; that means I’ve retrained my brain to expect diversity, inclusion, and equity (ooooh, the DEI word!) in popular culture.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines (after getting some more coffee) for the day. I’ll check in again tomorrow, but no promises after that until I get back home!

Ephesus ruins.

Lost in the Crowd

Monday and it’s off to see my doctor this morning, woo-hoo! This is a follow-up to the blood work that said I was anemic; I don’t think it’s anything to be much worried about since I’d been sick for so long and being unable to keep much food down clearly impacted some of my vitamin and mineral levels. The bills from the illness and all of the concomitant charges have also started arriving; got a handful of them on Saturday, which was kind of staggering to see 1) how much I owed and 2) how much the original bill was. YIKES indeed. Heavy sigh. No idea how long it will take me to clear up this lovely additional financial burden, but nevertheless here we are. Dad said he’d help, so that’s a good thing for me to remember as I start trying to make financial plans for July and August.

LSU WON THE COLLEGE WORLD SERIES!!!! Woo-hoo! GEAUX TIGERS! This is their eighth championship, and their second in three years. They beat Coastal Carolina 5-3 yesterday to sweep the series and bring another trophy home to Baton Rouge. It was an interesting game–Coastal’s coach and first base coach were tossed out of the game in the first inning, which never happens–and of course, their starting pitcher was the asshole who dogged LSU in that press conference the other day. Hey, bitch, they scored five runs off your ass before you got sat down…how do you like us NOW? And you were supposed to be their star ace pitcher. Have a nice trip back to South Carolina.

The game pretty much sucked all the air out of the apartment, which is still a mess this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, but I did spend the morning working on some things and scribbling in my journal. I leave for Alabama on Wednesday afternoon, so I definitely need to be getting things done around here tonight for sure; I hate coming home from a trip to a messy house. I am going to listen to either Donna Andrews or Carol Goodman or Lisa Unger in the car on the drive over and back, which will be lovely–and I didn’t get much reading done yesterday either. I was drained after the game and the win, and we ended up watching The Mortician on HBO MAX, which was very interesting. I feel asleep during the third episode, and then went up to bed shortly thereafter, but I was intrigued by the documentary and what the actual guy had to say about dead bodies and corpses–“it’s not your loved one, they are gone”–was brutal but accurate? The death business in this country has always struck me as a little weird, but the death business isn’t for the dead, it’s for the living. Ironic to watch that show and have some thoughts about the death business when I’m getting ready to go visit a grave, isn’t it?

I’ll probably take Summerhouse with me to finish reading before bed every night, and next thing you know Pride Month will be over. I also need to get some writing done tonight when I get home, and since I don’t have any errands to run, that should be relatively easy. I am not in clinic this morning, either, which helps me to not feel so drained at the end of the day–I love my clients, but the interactions I have with them kind of wear me out by the end of the day–so I can come home and get stuff done. The apartment does look better than it did originally coming into the weekend, but it still definitely needs some work. Heavy sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for a half-day. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again tomorrow morning.

I had a crush on young Andrew Stevens in the 1970s and it’s easy to see why.

Masquerade

Sunday morning and all is quiet in the Lost Apartment. Sparky’s been fed and I am almost finished with my first cup of coffee, and it’s about time to put bread in the toaster. Sparky let me sleep later than usual this morning, which was nice, and now I am down here in the workspace waking up to face a new day and week. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning, and then of course I am heading to Alabama Wednesday afternoon (this trip has strangely snuck up on me) to see Dad for a few days before returning back here on Saturday. Paul has his trainer this afternoon, so he won’t be home, so I should be able to get chores done while I am restlessly watching LSU play today for the College World Series championship.

The Tigers did win last night (hence a shot at winning the whole thing today) over Coastal Carolina 1-0; ending the Chanticleers’ 26 game winning streak. It was, as pitchers’ duels and close games always are, intense and nerve-wracking. The Tigers scored their lone run in the first inning, and made that lead hold through all nine innings behind pitcher Kade Anderson, who played the entire game and threw the last pitch of the game. I had seen Coastal Carolina’s team’s press conference, where they mocked and dragged LSU–which is an incredibly cocky and ignorant thing to do; that’s the sort of thing that motivates your opponents to whip your ass and last night, that’s what happened. I hope it’s all over this afternoon, frankly–but if there needs to be an intense and nerve-wracking third game Monday night, I’ll be watching, GEAUX TIGERS!

I did some work yesterday, and hopefully will get some more done today. The house is a mess–I ran errands and had groceries delivered–and so I need to put everything away and I also need to do some things, like make watermelon gazpacho, and clean out the refrigerator and pick up the rugs and so forth. I also need to do some filing to clear up the clutter around my workspace; and I don’t have to go anywhere today, which should make things a lot easier around here to get done. I also spent some time with my y/a reread, Sing Me a Death Song (Jay Bennett was truly a great and under-appreciated writer), and started The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels. I’m hoping to get further into Summerhouse today as well–but that kind of depends on how much writing I am able to get done this morning before the game (I should write before the game, because I can always read during the game) and how much cleaning I am able to do this morning to set the apartment to rights. I kind of was a bit on the lazy side yesterday, in all honesty, and let things slide a bit because I was busy relaxing.

And apparently we are now involved in yet another Middle Eastern conflict. Jesus fucking Christ, how do we as a nation never learn from our mistakes? Weren’t all the LIES we were told in 2003 about Iraq bad enough? Yes, I am old enough to remember that, and all the other bullshit the Right pushed through Congress (the PATRIOT Act needs to be repealed, and clearly Homeland Security needs to be abolished) as a result of 9/11, using fear and intimidation tactics to silence any opposition. Remember the Chicks? Whenever someone on the Right bemoans “cancel culture,” I do like to remind them they invented it–and the Chicks were fucking right; have we ever as a nation collectively apologized to them? But at least the mask is completely off; the last election was all about racism and misogyny. THANK GOD we didn’t elect the biracial woman, right? Miss me with your MAGA regrets–and I hope all your sons are lining up to enlist.

I love that we have money for a war but no money for Medicaid and Medicare. Choices.

Yesterday afternoon, I watched two documentaries while doing other things, and yes, I rewatched Surviving Ohio State, which deserves its own entry (and paying more attention made me realize how much worse everything was there than I thought, even after a scattered initial watch) and one called Southern Fried Lies, about criminality in a small Arkansas town (it kind of reminded me, at the end, of Mildred Pierce), which was also kind of nuts and crazy. I do recommend it–those small, rural town tales always make me smugly thing of all the odes to idyllic small town life, and how it’s so much better than urban life…sure, Jan, sure. (I always think what fucking small town are you talking about?) I have an idea for a murder story in a small town of less than a thousand people, and yes, that small town is in Kansas. (I have a lot of Kansas and Alabama stories to write; funny how I write so little about Houston and Fresno and Tampa.)

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Sunday (we’re in yet another heat advisory), and I’ll be back tomorrow morning before I see my doctor.

Baryshnikov. Don’t really need to add anything, do I?

touch

Saturday! Sparky didn’t let me sleep as late as I would have perhaps preferred, but I am awake now and slurping down coffee and having a lovely morning thus far. I slept really well last night, which was nice, but mostly spent my evening after our Costco run (it was bizarre; we ran into two people we know there, which rarely, if ever, happens anymore) watching videos on Youtube about a) the 1970s for another project and b) World War II (for obvious reasons) before I fell asleep in my chair and had to finally go upstairs to bed. I did get a lot of chores done yesterday, which was lovely; the dishes are all done, and there’s a load of clothes in the dryer that also need to be finished and folded and put away. I have to run to the mail today, get gas, and make some groceries (while having others delivered1), and the floors need to be vacuumed, but other than that, I have a nice restful day at home planned. LSU plays game one of the National Championships tonight against Coastal Carolina at six tonight, but isn’t anything college baseball related going to seem anti-climactic after the ninth inning of the Arkansas game the other night? Probably.

I decided to read The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels as my next reread; I did some poking around on-line about Myra Breckinridge and apparently I missed a lot on my two previous reads of the book, so I am going to have to spend more time with it when I read it, and right now I am not feeling the bandwidth in my head to do that kind of critical reading of it–while trying to finish Summerhouse, which is my goal for this weekend. (Next up for my new-to-me read is going to be Mia Manansala’s y/a debut, methinks.) I am also thinking I may rewatch Surviving Ohio State–I was doing things and reading during my first watch, so wasn’t paying as much attention as perhaps I should have, and I’d like to write about it more in depth.

I missed the deadline for the short story I’ve been working on, which means I can now talk about the story and the market without jinxing anything; I was so fatigued this past week from the infusion I lost track of dates and thought the 20th, for some reason, was Monday. Nope, it was yesterday and so I missed the deadline and still didn’t finish the story. I will have to put it aside and finish it later–I think going forward, to keep from having so many story fragments, I’ll finish the story anyway rather than just putting it to the side and forgetting it. For one thing, I kind of got wrapped up in it and the main character. Anyway, the anthology was about sea monsters–anything below the surface of any water, really. When I was in the hospital, I had an idea for a new book–and realized I could use an old unfinished manuscript and its characters to graft onto the new idea (the old idea didn’t work because of its setting), which actually got me a little excited, and when I saw this submission call, I thought, oh, I can write something for this that will be an excerpt from this longer novel. So, that’s what I was trying to do with the story I called “The Lake Must Be Fed.” The original manuscript was called The Enchantress, and was set on the coast of the Florida panhandle, but it never really worked for there; the actual terrain was too different from what I imagined. I’ve also always been interested in the concept of “drowned towns,”–places that were evacuated to make way for a reservoir after a river was dammed. Scott Carsen’s last book that I read was one of these (completely different from my idea), and of course, the primary inspiration for moving it from the panhandle to northwest Alabama is Georgia’s own cursed lake, Lake Lanier. I’m sorry I didn’t finish the story, but I’m not putting it on the back-burner just yet; I have other things I need to write at the moment, but when I get stuck on the front-burner stuff I can work on “The Lake Must Be Fed,” which I think is a great title. I don’t know where it’ll get published, if ever, but it would be nice to have it finished and ready to go.

That’s the thing with short stories. I love the form, I love writing them (even as I always struggle with them), but the problem is there’s not many markets for them and you have to get really lucky with a specific submission call to say “oh, I have something for this!” and not have to write something new…which is partly why I have so many partials and unpublished stories in my files. Heavy sigh. AH, such is the writer’s lot in life, is it not?

I also managed to finish and send out another newsletter yesterday, and I also realized that I don’t have to finish and send every newsletter about my queer life during Pride, just like I don’t just read queer fiction during June, either. I do make more of an effort to talk about these things during Pride Month, when it’s more likely the straights might read it and reflect on what I’ve said (whether they agree or disagree with the points I make), but I’m not just gay during June; I’m gay all the rest of the year, too, and it’s just as important to speak out all year rather than just in June. I am writing one now about Overcompensating, and extrapolating that out to other shows/movies about queer people–and how you can pretty much tell when something queer is made to “play in Peoria” as opposed to being something authentic queer people can relate to other than just the sexualities being portrayed. (For the record, Overcompensating seemed authentic to me; but was it, or was it just something I could relate to? This is why I generally don’t do criticism–because it always feels like you’re speaking for the entire community, and I am uncomfortable with that, always having to make certain people understand I only speak for myself and not others, certainly not for the queer community as a whole.)

Well, my coffee certainly is working its magic on me this morning, isn’t it? This is fairly long already, and I don’t think I’ve covered everything that I want to as of yet? Let me get another cup of coffee and the next stage of my breakfast before I continue on here, shall I? Let’s shall.

1 do love me some honey-nut Cheerios. I started craving them when I was sick, and have been having them for breakfast almost every morning since I was able to start eating normally again. I’ve never been a breakfast person, choosing to use the time I’d spend getting breakfast together and then eating it instead staying in bed longer. That changed a bit when I started having to get up early every day, but now I eat so much breakfast that I’m really not all that hungry the rest of the day. And if I don’t eat a lot in the morning, I am starving by mid-afternoon. And I am also eating in the evenings; my dinners are usually lighter than breakfast, but I’ve been making dinner since I came home from the hospital. Again, I am generally not exhausted every night when I get home from work, and do not always repair to my easy chair to be a Sparky bed and relax from the day the way I used to; I can generally get some writing and reading and cleaning done every night, which is kind of nice. I don’t feel as defeated as I did before I got sick, either. I am suspecting that before it erupted into full-scale illness it was already affecting me physically before the lower intestine/colon went into a full revolt.

All right, I should probably bring this to a close and get to work this morning. I need to do some reading and cleaning and possibly some writing, this morning. I also need to do some editing, which I always seem to hate to do because it means more work. But I also always put it off, which is a mistake. So I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be back no later than tomorrow morning.

I always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, among other sites. Egypt has fascinated me since my childhood, and I’ve always wanted to write about Egypt.
  1. Remember the other day when I was talking about not having a day job but would have to leave the house to run errands? I forgot about having things delivered! ↩︎

Pictures of You

Yesterday was lovely, really. Sparky let me sleep a little longer than normal, and I felt good when I woke up, although unsure as to whether or not I would be fatigued and foggy-brained yet again for the day. But breakfast and morning coffee were marvelous, and I started doing some chores while watching coverage of the game from the other night. I also was basking a bit in the afterglow of that insane final two innings and the insanity of the win–going into that bottom of the ninth, and two outs from Arkansas winning? Apparently, Arkansas has never won the College World Series and is also 0-5 overall playing LSU there. That, and the fact that errors cost them this game, has got to be galling for their fans. I’m sure it doesn’t go down any easier since the Razorbacks also see LSU as one of their major rivals. It’s also kind of weird–and nice–to see LSU fans on-line congratulating and talking up the Razorbacks since the game; we all felt bad for those kids suffering through such a heartbreaking loss. I was glad to see it wasn’t just me; the finals will seem almost kind of anticlimactic now. I hope the Arkansas players–especially poor Charles Davalan–are feeling better now. And now I kind of feel like I should root for them in the future when they aren’t playing LSU. Well done, Arkansas baseball team–you’ve made Arkansas a secondary team for me to root for, which I would have never thought possible.

It’s never dull being an LSU fan. That game was intense.

Anyway.

I also watched Surviving Ohio State–Jim Jordan should be behind bars–while finishing The Dark on the Other Side, which was a lot more interesting than I remembered. All of Barbara Michaels’ work is good, but this one isn’t quite as good as the ones I consider her best (Ammie Come Home, The Crying Child, Be Buried in the Rain, House of Many Shadows, and Witch); but she is an excellent Gothic writer, and probably a much bigger influence on me as a writer mysel than I’ve probably ever realized; the Scotty books are actually kind of similar in tone to some of her Elizabeth Peters novels, which are also delightful. I am debating what my next reread will be; I was thinking about another Michaels that I’ve not revisited in a while (The Crying Child) or, since it’s Pride Month, perhaps Myra Breckinridge? I was thinking about Gore Vidal the other day, which reminded me of the book, and wondered how it would hold up to modern scrutiny. I will not lie; I’ve read it twice at different periods of my life and didn’t know what to make of it–and with the current day trans community under relentless attack, I thought maybe try it again? I do remember how it ends, and I am not entirely certain how any reading of the book could make the ending not problematic–but the thing about Vidal is he never gave a shit; I can only imagine how vitriolic he would be about modern times and social media and trigger warnings…he died before social media became the monster it did, and when someone came for him he threw acid back at them. He didn’t mind offending people, nor did he take criticism well.

Although I suppose the fact Myra Breckinridge has never appeared on any list of great and/or influential and/or important queer novels that I’ve ever seen is probably giving me my answer about whether the book has aged well or not.

Surviving Ohio State was horrifying, simply horrifying. I do not believe Jim Jordan and the head coach didn’t know what was going on, but I also can’t understand why they didn’t stop it. It was also infuriating to see how shitty people can be about male sexual assault victims (the patriarchy at work again, hand in glove with toxic masculinity), especially ones that are athletes, without taking into consideration how young and naïve so many of them were. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things we take for granted in order to function in this life and world, and one of the things is trusting medical professionals. When you’re young and have been raised to with that institutional trust (trusting doctors, and trusting that your college will take care of you and protect you from predators), and the fact that it seems like everyone knows and acts like it’s not a big deal (Narrator Voice: It was, in fact, quite a big fucking deal), what do you do? It’s horrifically corrupt, just as both Penn State and Michigan State were institutionally corrupt in how they handled their athletic staff’s predatory conduct. The documentary left me very angry, and hating Jim Jordan even more than I already did. (Of course, if I were writing the story Dr. Strauss would have been murdered, which would have uncovered his behavior–only to have the murder not be related to the abuse at all.) Unsettling, but I think everyone should watch this documentary.

Today is a work remotely day, and I feel pretty good this morning. I rested for the most part yesterday, which was nice, and slept really well last night, too. I have things to get done today–some of it very tedious, but it has to be done–for work but being at home makes it a little better for me. We’re going to go to Costco after work today, and run some other errands as well, before coming home and settling in for the weekend. I have a lot of things I need to get done this weekend, writing-wise, so hopefully today won’t wear me out too much and I can get everything done. I need to finish a short story, and I need to work on some of my other writing as well. If I miss the short story deadline it’s not the end of the world; the story is an excerpt from what I hope will turn out to be a much longer work, so if I don’t get it finished and submitted it’s not the end of the world. I didn’t anticipate the fatigue and foggy brain I’d get from Monday’s infusion, and so didn’t really plan for it.

AH, well.

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and make my breakfast before going to work. Have a great Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today or tomorrow morning. Until then…

Nureyev. Need I say more?

Dancing in Berlin

Wednesday, which is both Pay-the-Bills Day and my last day in the office for the week. Woo-hoo! Long weekend where I may not have to leave the house very much! Even bigger woo-hoo!

I sound rather curmudgeonly, don’t I? I’ve always had a bit of the curmudgeon in me–how much I am not sure, but I certainly have been feeling like I am getting more curmudgeonly with every passing year. I will be sixty four in just slightly over two months (two months Friday, to be exact), and I’ve been through some things in all those revolutions around the planet. I feel like I can be a little curmudgeonly? But if I were retired and home all day every day, I’d want to run errands and get out of the house more if I never really had to leave the Lost Apartment, you know? Since I’ve weaned back on so many other things that I was doing (which really were just all distractions that kept me away from my writing and focusing on my career more), I also don’t spend hours answering emails, which is delightful. There was nothing worse than opening my inbox and just immediately feeling overwhelmed and defeated by the amount that needed to be answered quickly–and diplomatically, even when the email didn’t deserve anything but scorn and contempt. It was exhausting, and I don’t miss it in the least.

The fatigue from Monday’s infusion–which really hit Monday evening–carried over a bit into yesterday, alas. I slept great, but was still a little foggy-brained, and my legs felt tired, which is usually an indicator that I am not as rested as I should be. Ironically, I did feel rested, just not mentally firing on all cylinders. I really could have slept longer yesterday–Sparky was not pleased when I hit the snooze button twice, and I haven’t even hit it once lately. My routine has shifted so dramatically, but at the same time the illness gave me so much new and better perspective on so many things. I do things when I get home rather than just being a vegetable in my easy chair, doom-scrolling while bingeing something on the television before staying up later than I should. It’s nice to come down to a kitchen that isn’t a disaster. It’s nice to stay current with the kitchen and the dishes and the laundry. It’s nice to run errands and read–when my mind can focus enough to read; the last two nights did not cooperate. But if this is the worst side effect from the infusions, I feel very lucky and grateful. I can plan around this next month, knowing I am going to be fatigued for the day of and the day after. Yeah, that’s something I can live with.1

I also didn’t want to get up this morning and had another great night’s sleep last night. I don’t know if I am foggy-brained for the day or not, but here’s hoping I won’t be. I think we’re very busy in the clinic today, so I won’t have a lot of time to think about it very much one way or the other, but I do have to run some errands this evening, too. But tomorrow is a holiday! Huzzah! Hopefully Sparky will let me sleep in a bit. I also have an extra day to read and write and clean, which should be a good thing, depending on how motivated I am.

In other exciting news, LSU beat UCLA 9-5 yesterday, finishing off Monday night’s game from the weather delay, and thus remain unbeaten in the College World Series so far, which is kind of exciting. GEAUX TIGERS! We have to play Arkansas again tomorrow night, which is a shame; I do think Arkansas and LSU are the two best teams there and should be playing for the title instead of so early. Should make for an exciting game, provided there’s no weather delay.

I also went over the copy edits on a story I sold to an anthology, which remains untitled but will come out in September, I think. It’s another Alabama story, “The Spirit Tree,” and rereading it…it’s not bad. I don’t really remember writing it (it’s been a rough year, okay? Don’t judge me) , but I do know where the idea came from; “spirit trees’ were mentioned in the opening of a non-fiction book about Alabama I’d read (about snake handlers), and I remembered that one of my relatives–distant and I don’t remember who it was or how they were related or on which side of the family they came from–had one, and then I thought, wouldn’t it be interesting if spirit trees actually worked? And started writing the story from there. It’s another one of my “Alabama back in the holler” stories (one of the ones I am currently working on is also one of those), which always seem to wind up being my favorites, for some reason. (This is why I am not the best judge of my own work; some of it has a personal connection of some sort for me, and that does affect how I view it…for example, Bury Me in Shadows was deeply personal for me on many levels, and so it’ll always be a favorite of mine; Murder in the Rue Dauphine was my first book contract; and so on…besides, it’s really not up to me to determine what my best work is, is it?)

I do wonder what kind of writer I would be had we never left Alabama, though.

I still haven’t made a to-do list, either, which is just shameful. I do feel a little foggy this morning, despite being on my third cup of coffee, so it may not be a terribly productive day for me again. Heavy heaving sigh. But that’s just the way things roll, isn’t it? There are definitely things that need to be done today, so maybe–just maybe, I should make two lists, one for today and one for the long weekend? Hmmm.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, hope you enjoy your holiday tomorrow, which is most likely when I shall return to the blog.

The temple of Ramses II at Abu Simbel–another site I’d love to see in person.

When We Make Love

Tuesday morning, which oddly is my halfway point of going into the office this week. It’s bizarre and will be mentally disruptive, but Thursday is a holiday and Friday my remote day, so when I leave the office tomorrow night I’ll be heading home for the weekend and not returning until Monday. Very weird, am I right?

Well, the first infusion went well. I was early (of course) but the slightly more than two hours wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad; the chair I was in while getting it was a massage chair that also heated, so I had some nice heat into my back muscles to go with the vibrating. I didn’t have any negative reaction to it, but alas and alack, there was a crisis at work and I was trying to figure out how to fix everything for everyone by communicating through the Teams app, which also helped pass the time and also counted as work; I mean, I was having a medical procedure and was working remotely, you bet your ass I am counting that as work time! I was a bit tired when it was over and throughout the rest of the day, but if that is the only side effect I feel from this, I can live with it. I also treated myself to Sonic on the way back to the office, and it was pouring rain on me from the moment I left the hospital until I got back to the office–which was the cue for every stupid New Orleans driver who can’t drive in the rain to get on the highway. The way people drive, you’d think it never rained here. (Narrator voice: It does, in fact, rain frequently in New Orleans.)

Despite having to deal with a work crisis, I was also able to spend some time reading Summerhouse, which I’m enjoying and is also making me think. It’s a very interesting take on long-term queer couples and relationships1, and the cultural differences between Turkey and the United States–they are discreetly and deeply closeted, but even that aspect of the story makes me think, and there’s also some interesting thoughts bubbling up about gender roles and gay couples that might make for an interesting essay in and of itself; the book is definitely engaging my mind. Thanks again to Kristopher Zgorski, whose review of the book brought it to my attention; I’d have probably missed it otherwise. (He is such a good source for great books!)

I also got to write a guest post over at Christa Faust’s newsletter, and the topic was Sex Workers in Crime Fiction. I wish I had done a better job, but she asked me to do it before I got sick–and then came the sickness, followed by the recovery process (still in it) and my writer brain might not have been engaged enough? I suppose I am not doing a good job convincing you to go read it, am I? But I definitely have strong opinions about sex, sexuality, and sex workers, and I do get some of those across in the guest post. Also, big thanks to Christa for inviting me–and if you’ve not read her work, what the FUCK are you waiting for? Seriously, get thee hither to your local bookseller and if they don’t have them in stock, order them and DEMAND they stock them from now on.

I also got a lovely shout out for Pride from ‘Nathan Burgoine. It’s so hard for me to register that Bourbon Street Blues came out twenty-one years ago…both Scotty and Chanse can legally drink now. Yikes, indeed. I guess I have been around long enough to be considered a sage? Ha ha ha ha, as if.

Also, I don’t know if you subscribe to Matthew Rettenmund’s Boy Crazy newsletter, but he recently wrote a great piece about Soloflex and their first model, Scott Madsen. Matthew does an excellent job of talking about celebrity culture of gay interest, and he also talks about things of gay interest from over the last four decades (he wrote an amazing piece for Esquire about Playgirl that is an absolute must-read). I may write about Madsen and Soloflex at some point myself, but more from a Gregalicious point of view rather than an overarching cultural one the way Matthew does.

Lots of links this morning, no?

The only effect to the infusion that I could tell was fatigue, which was one of the side-effects they mentioned, but not one of the serious ones. Fatigue is to be expected, so after I made groceries on the way home I was pretty wiped out. We watched some more Coyotl, which is becoming more and more fun as we go–although when our hero is the beast, he looks more silly than intimidating, which kind of spoils it a little bit. I do feel a bit tired and worn out this morning and didn’t want to get up, but my coffee seems to be kicking in right now so I am going to ride that wave, hopefully through the rest of the day. The LSU game was also rain-delayed (which is why we were able to watch Coyotl) until this morning with the Tigers up 5-3 in the fourth.

And it’s into the spice mines I go this morning! Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

I’m not sure what it says about me as an almost 64 year old gay men but my first thought every time I see this image is “Sure, he’s hot but no one is going to be fucking on that sofa because those stains will never come out.”
  1. Long term relationships are often missing from queer lit, as are gay men in their sixties as the focal point of the story. ↩︎