Category: revising

Shake

Well, yesterday was a good day for one Gregalicious. I didn’t get as much done around the house as I would have preferred, but c’est la vie. I did have football games on all day, mostly as a break from monotonous silence, but I did get to see the Florida upset of Mississippi, and surprisingly enough, LSU beat Vanderbilt last night to stop their three game losing streak…but have to play Oklahoma next, who managed to not only upset Alabama last night but beat them pretty soundly. After the LSU game I caught the end of Auburn-Texas A&M, which Auburn finally won in quadruple overtime. What a crazy year this has been in the SEC, has it not? Now the winner of Texas-Texas A&M will play Georgia for the SEC title. #madness.

But one thing I remembered finally is that I usually read during games I don’t necessarily care about, and so I finished The Reformatory by Tananarive Due at last yesterday, and what a read it was. I’d say it’s one of the best books I’ve read in a very long time, and I read a lot of really good books, so that is really saying something. I’ve added Due to my list of “must-read” writers, and she has a substantial backlist I am looking forward to exploring. It took me a very long time to get through this book, because it was so powerful and the horror in it was so completely real, but more on that later. I am going to go out on a limb and call it a masterpiece for now, and encourage you to read it if you have not. Today I am going to start reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen, whom I’ve met and found delightful, and whose career I’ve been following avidly. I’ve yet to read one of his books, but I am very excited to read one of the most acclaimed queer mysteries of the last few years. I’m also kind of thrilled to be reading fiction again. Today I am also going to read a couple of short stories a friend sent me to read, and probably will do some writing, either short story, essay, or the book, today as well. I went to get the mail and made a grocery run yesterday, so I don’t have to do anything errand-like today, but I should probably make it to the gym later this morning. The weather has been wonderful, and one thing I am determined to do this year is drive around the city taking pictures of Christmas decorations. I definitely want to write a nice essay about Christmas this year, and the essay I worked on briefly yesterday, “Recovering Christian,” is one I started working on about twenty years ago. The lovely thing about Substack is I now have a place to post those essays, and share them with the world. I do have to make more of an effort to post content there at least once a week.

I do wonder if all the readers I picked up there during my ranting about homophobia post are expecting that kind of content all the time? I don’t know, but in some ways I am thinking that the Substack (also a place to publish short stories, too, if I so choose) is kind of a good place to write about my life, and explore issues of being a queer American writer, and my thoughts and opinions about systemic bigotry, and all the things I was miseducated about as a child. (American Mythology, hello?) That way it will live up to the name it shares with this blog, “Queer and Loathing in America.” I also want to write essays about my gay life, and the lessons I learned the hard way, as well as writing. I’ve been unpacking my past ever since Mom died–the first time I’ve ever allowed myself to look back–and while I am not sorry I never did this before, I am also learning a lot more about myself and why I do things and why I react the way I do and how much of my life was controlled/driven by anxiety. I was fine at the party the other night, but too many people in spaces still makes me uncomfortable and uneasy, but that’s okay. The claustrophobia might be anxiety related, or it may be entirely it’s own thing, but the primary difference was that there was no adrenaline spike or spiraling. I was able to relax, and kind of enjoy myself more.

And that is what I meant when I said I was pulling back from the crime community and centering myself. I want to focus on myself, on Paul, and our needs and what we need to do and handle and take care of, and I don’t want to do emotional labor for anyone else anymore. I’ve been watching a lot of Youtube and TikTok videos about cutting MAGA voters out of your life, or at the very least setting boundaries, and I saw one that really made a lot of sense to me: we don’t feel safe around them, but we don’t have to cut them out entirely, we just have to stop giving them emotional labor. Go get sympathy from another MAGA voter, since you’re all so empathetic and sympathetic to the concerns, fears and rights of other people. It’s why BlueSky has been flooded by Twitter trolls, now that the genius has killed that platform (but hey, let’s put him in charge of government!). They don’t enjoy talking to each other, so they have to “pwn the libs.” But they just get blocked, so they’re the ones who wind up in a echo chamber. Hell, I block people who annoy me. It’s my space, my experience, and if I don’t want the aggravation of annoying people or giving them time or energy, well…no one can make me engage with people who steal my peace.

I also don’t think people understand how casual homophobia, so easy for straight people to slip into with their excessive privilege, makes us feel when we hear it or hear about it or (in some cases) read about it in screen shots. Not only do we no longer feel safe around you, we can’t count on you to stand up for us when the chips are literally down. There’s been some slightly viral conversation about some Jewish lesbian who voted for Trump and has been cut off from her friends and kicked off a team. “I wouldn’t do this to someone who voted for Harris,” she cries her crocodile tears, as she sits down with right-wing podcasters and plays victim and martyr. She voted for Trump because of pro-Palestine lefties…or so she claims. So she aligned herself with someone who actually had dinner with a Nazi, and has been embraced by American Nazis. Who ally themselves with the Proud Boys and other ant-Semites (who precisely are the voters who chant “Jew will not replace us” again?), and now wants everyone to feel sorry for her and pretends ignorance. Sorry not sorry, bitch–your new buddies and the Karens posting on your instagram talking about how horrible it is that queers actually can see this quisling bitch for who she is? Those bitches will be the first ones to turn you into the SS, moron. It’s especially egregious because my education in feminism and social justice was at the hands of lesbians; I’ve always thought lesbians, of all people, would know better than this bullshit. And this bitch is talking about “how we all need to have these tough conversations”–no, we don’t, honey. The time for tough conversations was before the election, and trust me, there’s not a single tough conversation I could possibly have where I’d be willing to come to an agreement or compromise with people who cheered the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s. You don’t compromise with the Klan. You don’t compromise with Nazis. You don’t compromise with people who’s starting position is “you don’t deserve any rights, and you really shouldn’t exist.”

Feel free to pound your head into that wall until it’s pulp, Benedictine Arnold. Enjoy the lonely life of celibacy you’ve set up for yourself.

The funniest thing about her is she is a butch lesbian–short hair, masculine clothes, the whole ball of wax–and you know she is going to get challenged going into the ladies’ bathroom or changing room.

Good. Enjoy what you voted for. I have no patience with queer remoras attaching themselves to the sharks circling the rest of us. I certainly have no forgiveness in my heart for the future informers and camp guards. She showed us who she is, and we believe her.

And on that note, I am going to head over to my chair to read for a bit before I get to work around here. I slept really well again last night, and feel pretty good this morning. I also want to work on my review of The Reformatory, and get some other things done. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later on.

Heart Full of Soul

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment! We’re having a cold spell here in New Orleans (yes, I know a high of sixty and a low of fifty-one is spring from most of you that live north of I-10, and you break out the tanks and shorts and sunscreen, but this is the time of year down here where you don’t feel like the climate is actively trying to kill you when you go outside, and it’s lovely), which is wonderful; I woke up feeling very well rested yesterday and had a very productive day. I wasn’t tired the way I usually am on Fridays, and managed to get all my work-at-home duties done, my blood work taken care of, picked up the mail, and made groceries. I’ll have to run out to the store again tomorrow to pick up a few things, but I don’t mind. My new watch came in the mail–I lost the Fitbit charger, and realized hey I don’t need to have one anymore since our insurance changed–so I ordered a cheap Timex on-line. I spent some more time with The Reformatory (it’s so good, so compelling and so horrifying at the same time; societal horror on top of supernatural and just breathtakingly brilliantly done), and worked on my chores whenever I needed a break from my computer duties. I also think the weather change has something to do with my energy picking up again; it might be finally healing from all the medical shit I had done last year (coming up on the one-year anniversary of my first-ever major surgery), and I always sleep better when it’s cold…although that does make it harder to get up in the mornings. I mean, I never want to get out of a comfortable bed as it is, let alone a warm comfortable bed on a chilly morning!

I got all the dishes done and did the bed linens; I also started picking up around here a bit more. I’ve really let the house slide badly since the surgery; it’s more than a little horrifying to think I’ve let it all slide for this long. I am really going to utilize the time Paul’s gone to do a real nice deep clean on the apartment. It’s long overdue. I also am trying to decide what TV show to binge while he’s gone; I’ve never watched Sex and the City (I’ve seen one episode) and I stopped watching Desperate Housewives midway through the first season when I missed one and didn’t know how to get caught up on it. (Both of these came to mind from watching a Youtube video while I was doing some quality assurance on paperwork, whose theme was “When Your Main Character Becomes The Villain,” which focused on Teri Hatcher’s character Susan (I remember getting really annoyed with her that first season), and used Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw as another. I realized I’d never watched these shows that were hugely popular with other gay men (the show-runners on both were gay men), so it would be interesting to see them now, all these years later, and perhaps even make a project out of it? I’m leaning towards Sex and the City because the episodes are shorter, and I don’t there are as many, which is a terrible reason, isn’t it?

Embrace the dark side, Gregalicious.

I slept well last night. Paul was out at an event, so I was home alone for most of the evening, and went to bed early when I started getting sleepy, around nine. It must be the cold (to us) weather. I do have to run out to get the mail and make some groceries, but for the most part I’ll be lazing around here, picking up and cleaning and moving things to clean behind or beneath them and so on (I am waiting to move the couch until Paul’s not here; there’s no telling what Sparky has under there–although he doesn’t try to squeeze his way underneath there anymore). I did cruise through my streaming services last night to see what is on there that I want to watch (I was also searching for Sex and the City and The Assassination of Gianni Versace, of which I’ve never seen more than the first episode), and I cleaned off and organized my desk–which was really nice to come down to this morning–and it’s nice to have all the dishes and laundry done. I’ll probably do some more cleaning and organizing around the kitchen/laundry room this morning, around reading more of The Reformatory. LSU will probably lose to Vanderbilt tonight, and if they do, I won’t be too mad about it. I’m enjoying Vanderbilt’s improbable season, and I can’t help but pull for them since they are always such an underdog every year. Tulane1 is also doing well again this year, which is fun–New Orleans really gets excited for Tulane when they’re doing great, and it’s fun seeing people heading for the tailgating in their green garb waiting for the streetcar along the neutral ground of St. Charles Avenue when I’m driving home from uptown. I’m working on an essay about religion, hoping to work on finishing a short story or two this weekend, and getting back to work on the book.

I also am thinking about rewatching Saltburn, so I can finish my essay about it. It’s not longer timely, of course, but it’s an interesting movie that I think bears some Gregalicious perspective on it. I still have some Imposter Syndrome (“who cares what I think? I never studied film as art.”) when it comes to expressing my opinions on art outside of my own form (literary arts), but reviews are basically what you liked and didn’t like, and I really enjoyed Saltburn, and want to dig through its multiple layers to get down to the heart of the matter. I think I’m going to read a queer mystery next, probably The Lavender House by Lev Rosen, which I’ve been wanting to dig my teeth into for quite some time. I am feeling so much better these days, and I have to say during this lengthy recovery from a major trauma to my body I was beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get back to normal, and if that exhaustion I felt almost constantly was something I was just going to have to live with and teach myself some work-arounds2 that I no longer need to do anymore. I don’t need to be constantly efficient when I am doing errands, planning and mapping out the route and order in which I do them to save a few minutes here and there, which is dumb. I also know it’s not going to kill me to leave the house again for something I’ve forgotten as it really isn’t a hassle to do so, or stop on the way home, and so forth. Tomorrow I most likely won’t leave the house at all, other than walking to the gym in the late morning–I need to get back into that routine, since I should be focused on getting into the best shape possible for what is coming3 under this new regime of horrors. My hopes aren’t high…when you have to depend on Republicans to save democracy…I just can’t believe more people didn’t think January 6th was disqualifying.4

So much for the “land of the free.”

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to have breakfast and get another cup of coffee prepared before I repair to my easy chair with Tananarive’s amazing book–I really need to exhaust her backlist–and I suppose I’ll have the television on for games today that I won’t pay a lot of attention to for background noise–probably Mississippi-Florida, Kentucky-Texas, and LSU-Vanderbilt tonight. But I hope you do have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later.

It’s a mystery!

What are the odds Facebook will want to take this down as a sexual image? After all, everyone knows butts are for sodomy.
  1. It’s also weird for Tulane to be doing better than either LSU or the Saints. ↩︎
  2. Since getting properly diagnosed and medicated for generalized anxiety disorder, I have begun to realize just how many things I do are workarounds to lessen the anxiety–which I am noticing now because the anxiety is (mostly) gone. ↩︎
  3. I’m hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. Project 2025 is coming, thanks again, MAGA trash. ↩︎
  4. Then again, look how long emancipation took here, and how long Jim Crow lasted. The USA has been one long history of atrocity after atrocity, truly something for fragile white cishet people to truly take pride in as their heritage. ↩︎

Count Me In

Work at home Friday! I have to go have blood work done at noon, so I am going to do my errands then–get the mail, hit the grocery store, wash and clean out the car–before coming back home to finish my work-at-home duties for the day. It shouldn’t take long, methinks; Wednesday night I managed to do my errands and make groceries in under an hour after I got off work. I left the office that night just after five, and figured it would take me about two hours to do everything and get home. I walked into the apartment at six, which was pretty impressive efficiency. Well, I was impressed.

I was tired yesterday when I got off work, but had committed to the party so when I left the office, dragging and really just wanting to hang out in my chair with Sparky, I forced myself to get up and go get cleaned up and ready. I always dread these things, always, but inevitably always have a good time once I actually am there. I hate getting ready and getting there, in all honesty. I did some chores before I left the apartment, and Sparky got some sleepy time in my lap before I got ready. But sadly I was dragging a bit, and knew I wouldn’t last long once I got to the party. I haven’t left the house at night in the car to go anywhere in a very long time, and I did go to the Marigny the way I always used to (side note: while I often regret and miss our old office on Frenchmen Street, taking the way I always used to go to work made me very glad I no longer work on Frenchmen and have to deal with negotiating the CBD and the Quarter every evening to come home)–yeesh, what a horror it was driving–so much so that when I came home I went to Claiborne and got ont the highway. The party itself was really nice–the house, which used to be a Satanic temple, I think, was also very interesting. John Cameron Mitchell’s residence is the very top floor, and I am actually kind of curious about the house now, which is called the Temple1. (side note: I can’ believe how much the Marigny has changed in the years since we moved to the Elysian Fields office, but it’s been a very long time since I have driven to the other side of Elysian Fields and gone into the Marigny.) I saw some people I wanted to see, got to see the house, and of course didn’t take any pictures. I stayed for an hour, which is an accomplishment. The live music was amazing, and the food was terrific. I was driving so I didn’t have anything to drink, and came home to change into something comfortable and to relax (and watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City) before going to bed. I slept later this morning than I usually do, too, but feel pretty good and will be ready to dive into the work-at-home spice mines relatively soon. The apartment is also a terrible mess; the stacks of dirty dishes here in the kitchen, not to mention the general disarray of the entire apartment, needs to be worked on today.

I never did make a to-do list, either–which means I need to make one today, one for the weekend and one through Thanksgiving (Paul is leaving on Tuesday), and start crossing things off. I want to get more writing done this weekend–I want to finish that short story and start editing Scotty, maybe even finish another essay and perhaps even dive into some other writing, too. I also know it’s an ambitious plan for the weekend and I may just decide meh, let me vegetate in my easy chair with Sparky and blow off a day, as I so often do. That’s also fine, too.

More lighter fluid keeps getting squirted on the dumpster fire that is the country/world now, and I am veering between optimism and pessimism about the future–I often descend into gallows humor, as is my wont–as a method of dealing with the existential nightmare we are being unwillingly dragged into. I’m not sure what it says about me that I always deal with these sorts of things by laughing at them, even when they truly aren’t funny; but that’s what happens when you grow up gay in a homophobic society. Legacy media continues to swirl around the toilet bowl, capitulating in advance as their ratings and subscription rates continue to fall deservedly. Their corporate masters decided that it was better for their ratings to be Leaders of the Opposition to get those monster ratings they had during the first term again, so they betrayed their viewers by doing everything they could to throw the election to the Right, rubbing their monstrous little hands with glee while they watched their potential ratings and advertising revenue shoot up again. We’re the Resistance and we’re here for you! Alas, they severely overestimated their importance and the ignorance of their viewers/readers. We saw them betray us, again and again, playing a long game that wasn’t actually a game for many of their audience. When they shivved Biden this past summer, starting with that faux-liberal piece of shit George Clooney (who lives in fucking Italy) in his “I’m so much smarter than anyone else with progressive credentials” arrogance writing that disgusting editorial in the New Yuck Times and has been completely invisible since he accepted his thirty pieces of silver. (I laugh every time Apple TV tries to push his latest film on me. No thanks, never thought he was very talented or handsome, and still think he did his best work on The Facts of Life and Roseanne.) But Paul and I have our exit plan if it comes to that. I know, man plans and God laughs, but it makes me feel better.

I cannot believe the fall/winter holidays are upon us already. Madness! But it has been a year, hasn’t it? Heavy heaving sigh. I should go fold those clothes, so on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and get some more coffee, too. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and who knows if I’ll be back again before tomorrow morning? It’s a mystery!

  1. There are so many cool and interesting places in New Orleans! I’ve lived her for almost thirty years now and still find new to me cool spots all the time. ↩︎

All Day and All of the Night

Monday morning and back to the office today. I had a really nice lovely weekend, to be honest. The weather has changed here in New Orleans and has become what would pass for early fall everywhere else, but here? The lack of humidity and the bright sunshine, along with cool breezes, make all the difference. It’s nice being able to wear sleeves and pants outside of the house or work, you know? And I do sleep better. I just don’t like that it gets dark so early. That’s always felt kind of oppressive to me for some reason. but while I am certain it makes no sense in any logical or rational way, it does. I also can’t believe Thanksgiving is next week. Paul is going to visit his family this year, so I’ll be by myself–well I’ll have Sparky, and he will be needy. But it’s fine, don’t worry about me. Last Thanksgiving was the week of my biceps surgery, so this year will definitely be better than last. Thanksgiving was always Mom’s holiday, you know, which is why I scheduled the surgery when I did last year. This year will be the first time I really have to deal with that, but I’ll do fine. I can get things done around here that I usually can’t, and four lovely days off in a row? I have no excuse.

We watched Caddo Lake this weekend (we watched after LSU lost yet again), which was really well done and very interesting. Shot in location at actual Caddo Lake in western Louisiana, it’s staggeringly beautiful (Louisiana is so beautiful) and it was an interesting movie focusing on following two people while some strange things are going on around the lake. Dylan O’Brien (of TV’s Teen Wolf, aka the gayest show ever on television) is terrific as the male lead. It reminded me of the German television show Dark, which was one of the smartest shows I’ve ever streamed. To talk about anything else would be a spoiler, but I recommend it. It’s a slow burn, but it’s absolutely worth watching.

I also was able to spend some more time with The Reformatory, which brought a huge surprise twist over halfway through the book–always a pleasure when something unexpected happens–and the writing continues to enthrall. Tananarive Due is the real deal, y’all, and I need to read more of her work. I have no idea where this story is going, either, which is always fantastic. Yay! I should be able to finish the book this week, which is very cool. I’ve not picked out my next read, but I think it’s going to be potentially either Angie Kim, Amina Akhtar, Lori Roy, or Kellye Garrett. I also have the latest Celeste Ng and Ann Hood books on my shelves. I did do some more pruning this weekend, pulling out books for the library pile–hey, the authors have my money, even if I didn’t read the book–and I am also sending it out into the world to find a new reader, and a potential new fan for that author, so there is that. I need to get back to writing. I did do some yesterday, a very small bit, but I am taking that as I swing back into author mode. Continuing to put off writing is going to bite me in the ass one of these days, and so, reluctant as I am to get back on it, I am going to have to. This week I am going to edit what I have written on Scotty and work on some of the short stories on hand, and then I am going to dive into writing the book again. But I do feel like I’ve reset myself. I am continuing to limit social media and the news–which I am not getting from any legacy media company, may they all burn to the ground–for my own mental health. I feel pretty good this morning, but I also didn’t check the news except to see if the Saints won (they did), and I don’t think I am going to be doing that hardly at all anymore. The sad reality that we have to depend on Republicans (!!!) in the Senate to protect our democracy when they’ve spent the last thirty years trying to dismantle it is a bit much for me, and I’m no longer enjoying the vote-regrets as I used to–and even that was a grim smirk more than anything else. Sorry, folks, I know we’re all going to suffer, but my concerns are for the marginalized. The ability to imagine the worst possible outcomes isn’t a gift, it’s more of a curse…I always thought the most tragic figure in the Trojan War was Cassandra, driven mad by being able to see the future only to not be believed. I’ve always wanted to read that story from her perspective, as she was the most interesting character in the whole tragedy.

That’s me, always wanting the woman’s perspective–and willing to believe it, too1.

I also am not sure I completely believe the “vote regret” videos, either–although I think the lesson that should have been learned this time out is that voting matters and is too important to not be informed. I don’t think anyone really learned that lesson, and many will simply find a way to blame Democrats for their problems (it is their default) and keep voting (if we can vote) against their own interests. I don’t think I can trust any election results going forward, either–I’m not certain about this last one, and wasn’t that the entire point of 2020, to make us all not believe election results aren’t to be trusted. The entire plan behind all of this, I believe, came from Moscow; what better way to undermine a democracy than making the citizens not trust or believe our institutions? The legacy media is already tainted and cannot be trusted. I worry that people can’t see how dire things actually are right now in this country, and this is just the prelude; we’re not even to the opening credits of this horror show yet.

I’ve also not taken the time to talk about the grievous loss of Dorothy Allison after the election. It’s been lovely seeing everyone’s tributes to her, and how much she mattered to queer people. Paul and I knew Dorothy long before anyone knew who either one of us were; we met her the first spring we lived in New Orleans and volunteered for the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival, which was almost thirty years ago. Dorothy was many things to many people, but we just thought of her as a supportive friend who was always there for us whenever we needed her to be. She adored Paul, and the feeling was mutual. Dorothy called us the morning we evacuated for Katrina, told us to come stay with her for as long as we needed to, and was kind of bummed when we decided not to drive across the country. She checked in on Paul when he was hospitalized. We tried not to make any demands on her, because she was a bottomless well of kindness and consideration, and a lot of people leaned on her. I’ll miss her, terribly, and I know Paul will. I’m not going to write a lengthy tribute to her because I’ll leave that to the people who were closer and her family, but she will be missed. Part of her charm was her ability to flirt with anyone and everyone; I’ve not seen that mentioned yet. She even flirted with me and I’d flirt back, even though obviously it was just in good fun. I think her first words to me were “who is this tall, dark and handsome gay man? I might just have to take you home with me.”

I’ll miss you, Dorothy.

I also get to have some glamour this week. I’m going to the Tennessee Williams Festival gala this Thursday night, and it’s at the home of John Cameron Mitchell of Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame. (He was also terrific in The Sandman) I’ll have to go home and get cleaned up after work, and put on fancier clothes first, but how cool is that? I do sometimes have a glamorous life, don’t I? I never really think about that very much–it’s one of the many reasons I try not to complain about anything, ever; I kind of take that sort of thing for granted. This will also be my first experience going to an event of any sort since I started taking anxiety medication, so maybe I’ll be able to enjoy it more? I will report back on Friday morning, and perhaps I’ll even remember to take some pictures.

I also have decided to try harder to separate the blog from the Substack. The Substack posts are things I’ve spent more time on, thinking about and revising and editing; this stuff is always going to be what’s on my mind when I write it, unvarnished and unpolished; exactly as it comes to me, forgotten words and typos and incomplete sentences and all. Yesterday morning’s post actually gave me the opening to an essay I’ve been struggling to write since last summer, about masculinity and my outsider’s point of view from what society considers traditional–and the masculinity that I was raised to believe in was actually a perpetuation of toxic masculinity. I may mention something on here briefly, or a paragraph about it, but the crux of the conversation will eventually be posted on Substack. I’ve also been thinking about posting essays I’ve written for other places there, so people can access them if they so choose. I’d wanted to collect them into a book, but…I’m not a big enough name to sell copies of an essay collection when none of them were ever in places like the New York Times or The Atlantic or McSweeney’s–not good enough for those markets, alas. The “Words” entry on Substack, about some of the homophobia I’ve faced in the crime fiction community at conferences and within writers’ organizations, bled over into some entries here last week, as I burned some bridges (that were never there in the first place) and came back more into myself. Fasten your seatbelts, as someone else can be Mr. Nice Gay from now on.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I have some errands to run after work and a delivery is coming tonight; and I have some chores to complete once I am home. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and stay tuned for more spicy content.

I can’t be the only person who has noticed that all underwear/bikini style models now have enormous bulges–all of them looking relatively the same–in every photo?
  1. Despite the fact that some homophobic white women, who have no other reason than my sexuality and politics to not like me, claimed “Greg doesn’t listen to women.” Yeah. that’s me, dismissive of, and always talking over, women. Then why do I have more woman friends than you do, bitch? ↩︎

Wonderful World

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I don’t have to leave the house today if I choose that option. I did take the car in for the oil change (only to discover the car needs about another $1500 in maintenance–it is almost eight years old. The battery needs replacing, I need new tires, etc. etc.etc. Woo-hoo for more debt! I’ll take it back when I figure out how to pay for the rest), and then made groceries on the way home, which I’d originally planned to do this morning. Instead, I am going to stay here, maybe run to the gym a little later, and get some work done. I am going to write today if it kills me–I’ve not written any fiction since before I went to Kentucky, and that needs to stop–and I want to spend a few hours reading this morning, too. I am behind on writing, I am behind on reading, and definitely behind on cleaning the house. It’s been a time since the election, hasn’t it?

This blog is approaching it’s twentieth birthday; yes, I’ve been doing this since December of 2004, only I started on Livejournal, where I stayed for the first twelve years or so before finally ditching the site because of many reasons. I stayed longer than most people; I even got teased originally for still being on the site, which had become déclassé; I still use my AOL email address, too, for that matter–which often is the subject of occasional mockery there, too. I hate gmail, and AOL works for me, so I still use it. Anyway, while I was in Kentucky I realized/remembered, on election night, how old this blog is and how long I’ve been doing it–and how and why it first started. I started reflecting on that, and thinking about it, and when I started censoring the content on it to make it more palatable and less offensive to the people I thought might be reading it. I started writing the blog in the wake of what happened to Paul in the spring of 2004, which derailed everything in my life and started what I call the Time of Troubles. Over the course of more than a year–spanning from Memorial Day through August of 2005–it was literally one blow after another. Paul spent two weeks in the hospital after that Memorial Day, and my primary focus in life became taking care of him, and making sure he was okay. I postponed finishing Mardi Gras Mambo for over a year, and was too damaged and laser-focused on dealing with the aftermath and being there for him that I stopped writing entirely.

People were very kind to me during that time, to us both, actually, and extended book deadlines and so forth were enormously helpful. Paul and I didn’t really venture out much from our cocoon, other than going to work and the gym (me) and running errands. Paul focused on his job, and I focused mostly on my editorial work as I couldn’t write fiction. I wasn’t really in a place to write a funny Scotty book, and by December of that year I was already getting to the point where I was worried if I could continue writing. I had dinner and drinks with a writer friend in early December who actually had a great blog that I read every morning, and he recommended that I try writing a blog, just writing the things that I was thinking about or experiencing, to get back into the habit of writing every day. I scoffed, “who would ever read such a thing?” and he replied, “You’re not doing it for other people, you’re doing it for yourself” and that kind of became the blog mantra: it’s really just for me, to talk about things that are going on, my perspective on things no one would ever pay me to write about or have an opinion on but did want to write about and have an opinion on. It was kind of a diary for me at first, and I wrote about things I was interested in–like figure skating and football and New Orleans life–and it was something I enjoyed. I was really getting into the swing of it when the next “trouble” came along–what I call the “Virginia thing.” And of course, later that year, we had Hurricane Katrina, and I blogged about my anger; how cruel people could be (Republicans, it’s always Republicans) and I was defiant. We’d just gone through an election earlier that year in which the Republicans’ entire campaign centered the evils of same-sex marriage, with all the expected homophobia and cruelty they’ve perfected. (This is who they’ve always been, and the cruelty is nothing new.)

I started dialing back on talking about politics and homophobia and the world a lot after I started working full-time for a non-profit, and started volunteering and serving on others having to do with writers’ groups. I didn’t want anything I said to affect negatively on either where I was working or any place I was volunteering; the rules on what we could do or say or talk about at work were very strict, and while we were always allowed to have personal lives and opinions, I thought why take the chance? It‘s an HIV/AIDS non-profit, and we’re in Louisiana, and it won’t take much to set off some evangelical idiot outside of New Orleans and make them target our funding or our non-profit status so I stopped. I’m a gay man; everyone should know what my politics and values are and what political party comes closest to working for the world I want to live in.

But when I was in Kentucky, I started thinking about these things again. I no longer do volunteer work for writers’ organizations and/or events. My day job is no longer a red flag to Louisiana conservatives–we’re no longer the NO/AID Task Force, and we have an even more innocuous name now that sets off no alarms. We also no longer merely focus on gay men; we are open to everyone up on the third floor (my department primarily still works with my community–people at risk for HIV infection) and so I don’t think I need to concern myself about doing or saying anything that might trigger the Louisiana Fascist Party. I’m free to be myself again on here, and I am very opinionated. I know my blog and Substack have picked up a lot of new readers since I ran out of fucks. I don’t know if I am actually making people think, or if people are coming here to watch what they think is me having a very public mental breakdown so they can point and laugh. I’m not, for the record. I’m not even angry or hurt. I’m just fed up, and tired of letting people get away with this shit. You’re either an ally or not, but I don’t think most people know what that actually means. And when you make it clear to me that you’re not, that you actually think people like me are gross or repulsive or whatever demeaning default your privilege allows you to fall back on–why on earth would you think I like you and want to be around you? Someone dares to call out the entire community, so he’s clearly having some sort of mental break? Yeah, that’s it. That puts it on me so y’all can sleep better at night, right? Whatever.

And yes, I know when I write about these things I write passionately and emotionally. The hurt has long ago passed–I dealt with those feelings when the things actually happened, you know1? Sure, my anger and hurt comes out when I do, because I am reliving the experience in order to write it about it properly. If I wrote about it when it happened, it would be even more raw and painful and expletive filled than what you’ve been reading this past week. This is me, after the fact, recounting horrible experiences far more calmly now than I might have at the time. Think about it–this is me being calm and rational about being demeaned and dehumanized.

I also do want to thank everyone for not gaslighting me this past week, either–for not pulling some “#notallstraightmen #notallstraightwhitewomen” shit on me. I spoke in generalities despite knowing that nothing is a monolith. There are some good straight people out there, and there are some amazing straight white women. I do have friends in this community, people I love and would take a bullet for. My friends, the people I actually really know and love and trust? I would do anything for, and they also knew I wasn’t talking about them. One of my most dogged, OCD-like tendencies is absolute devotion to the people I love. I will always come to their defense, I will not allow anyone to treat them badly, and I will fucking come for you if you make the mistake of coming for them. They also know who they are. That devotion over the years has worn out in some cases–but I always remember people who were kind to me, helped me in any way, or ever did something for me without being asked.

I’ve primarily written about all of this to begin with for two reasons: so people won’t ask me about going to conferences any more, and to let everyone know about my experience so you won’t allow people to pull this shit with the other queer crime writers. The fact this stuff still happens–look at how surprised people are at these revelations I’ve been making–in this day and age has me concerned for the queer crime writers. They are all feeling despondent, betrayed, and more than a little scared about what MAGA has up their sleeves for queer people and their art, and their futures. Christian Germany murdered twelve million people for being different, after all, and set the world on fire.

And you wonder why we are so concerned about people who hate us in the name of religion being in control here? We see good little Germans everywhere, the news media capitulated in advance, and it looks like the entire government is falling into lockstep. Nazis now feel empowered to go out in public with swastika flags in progressive cities. Nazis targeted Communists–what have Republicans been calling Democrats since the 1930’s? Communists. We also know straight people will abandon us to save themselves 999 times out of 1000. Sad, but true and even a little understandable. Who is willing to put themselves and their families in danger for strangers? Not many.

That’s why we ironically celebrate heroes who take stands against inhumanity. Because they are rare.

Paul walked to Walgreens for a prescription yesterday, and then had to go to the corner liquor store at Jackson Avenue for cigarettes. I’ve gone there myself for things like bread and milk when I didn’t feel like driving anywhere. It was a nice store, owned and operated by a Pakistani family. Always clean, neat, and organized; the family members who worked there always fell over themselves to be polite, friendly, and courteous. I generally don’t like to go into liquor stores in New Orleans for any number of reasons, so I don’t. You can literally buy liquor at gas stations here, and the grocery stores (which used to have bars in them here); pretty much anywhere that sells anything sells liquor so you don’t need to go to a liquor store here. When he got back, he said, “Have you noticed that since the election bro culture is back on the rise? Loud, obnoxious bros, everywhere. I guess the Pakistani family sold the liquor store, because there was a bro working there–and you know he’s not checking anyone’s IDs. I guess they sold the business and got out. I hope they got good money because that’s a prime location.”

GREG: I hope they sold the business. We don’t know that for sure, do we?

We just looked at each other grimly for a few moments.

Over dramatic? Maybe. I’d certainly like to think so, but as my mother used to say, “You can never go wrong imagining the worst.”

I don’t speak for my entire community; I certainly don’t speak for Paul. My experiences are my experiences, and no demographic is a monolith. There are MAGA queers, for example, and they are even worse than the inbred mouth-breathers we usually think of when we think MAGA–who clearly have a humiliation fetish. I always wonder if the Log Cabins shoot a load into their shorts every time they are barred from some Republican/conservative conclave, or if straight men start dripping when they make queer jokes. I will never cease laughing at the arrogance of straight men who think every gay man is out here trying to get into their pants.

Louder, for those in the back: just because straight women settle, doesn’t mean gay men will. There’s always a hotter gay man than any straight man I’ve ever seen. The reason you straight men go to the gym now and get in better shape than straight men ever have been before in history is entirely because of gay men. Calvin Klein did more for male body culture with his advertisements than Charles Atlas ever did with the cartoon ads in comic books–remember those? “Hey, you kicked sand in my face!”

Funny how Charles Atlas advertised getting big and strong as a way to stand up to bullies, isn’t it? Male insecurity and not being manly enough?

And there is the opening to my essay about being a man. Well done, blog!

I also want to give a shout out to the Crime Writers of Color, who have always been amazing and supportive of this tired old white queen. Kellye Garrett is a national treasure who should be protected at all costs. You fuck with her at your own peril, do you hear me?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to make a to-do list, and I need to write and read and do chores.

Screenshot
  1. And it doesn’t even hurt that much anymore in the moment, either. Ultimately, I am rarely surprised when those who should know better don’t. I do get caught off guard sometimes, but after the initial shock it’s more of a world-weary are you really surprised? ↩︎

Blowin’ in the Wind

Wednesday morning and the middle of the week! We’ve made it this far, Constant Reader, even though this week hasn’t quite gone the way I would have liked.

The decision to limit social media consumption isn’t going as well this week as I would have liked; I hadn’t anticipated the pull of my phone while I am at work. And getting home from work every night this week, after I finish whatever I need to do (errands and so forth) I’ve repaired to my easy chair and watched some “MAGA voter regrets” videos on Youtube before my eyes started to glaze over and I kind of zoned out for the rest of the night. I don’t like the part of me that enjoys their pain; it is not my instinct to default for sympathy for people who want to harm everyone else. You can never go wrong not having any faith in the decency of the majority of Americans, because they have no decency or shame.1

But, I am not going to be hard on myself. I am trying, at long last, to break all the programming/grooming that I don’t deserve anything or even a writing career. I am going to keep writing–make no mistake about that–and i have to figure out ways to market them and get the word out there. Going to mystery conferences was clearly a mistake; why bother pitching readers on books that are not in the booksellers’ room2? I finally got resigned to them never having my books–or only one copy–and hoped people would possibly enjoy listening to me on panels and maybe take a chance; and now I am wondering if my presence also gaslit queer writers into feeling safe at conferences? I guess that will be on my conscience till the day I die. (Ironically, the substack posts about homophobia get way more than ten times the views that my other essays get, which means one of two things, or both. I was either wrong about scaring people off by being honest about how much it sucks to be queer in this modern time, or people enjoy reading about queer pain. I don’t think I want to know which one is right, to be honest, or even consider that the two are linked.)

But what I need to do is get back to writing my books and stories; I need to put all this shit aside and focus on my work. I was able to get through the first forty-two years of my life with my sexuality and my love life against the law in every one of the fifty states (and the territories! Can’t forget those bigots either!). I lived through the Reagan administration and the George W. Bush years, both of which callously didn’t care whether we lived or died (in fairness, Reagan and his people thought AIDS was an excellent way to get rid of us). My country was willing to let us all die. Remind me again why I should be a patriot, or a conservative? All our equality movement did was make people realize if they were openly homophobic, some people they cared about would think they were bad people.

And I’ll keep writing about the bad shit, of course. It won’t change any hearts or minds, of course, but I need to get that poison (and anger) out of my system before it festers and makes me as bad a person as everyone else is. I don’t want to be a bad person. I don’t want to give into the darkness; I don’t want to feel bitter about the crime fiction community. I know I have friends, actual friends, in this community, and I do cherish them because they love and support me. But I need to stop thinking well of people who I’ve met and have been nice to me because I always forget the vast majority of people default to polite when confronted with someone/something they are revolted by. I don’t think most straight people realize what it’s like to be viewed with revulsion, like you’re some disgusting thing, some abomination. But it’s also much easier to go through life assuming people aren’t bigots until proven otherwise. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be someone we’ve racialized as a society. I kind of get it, but am still white privileged so will never understand completely; even my imagination is too limited.

The good news is a federal judge struck down Louisiana’s Ten Commandments in Every Classroom law as unconstitutional, but an immune from prosecution or consequence executive order from the White House will overrule that. And this Supreme Court already is on its back with their legs up in the air and their ass lubed, ready for some serious Constitution fucking. The Federalist Society is about to get their wishlist for the country for Christmas, isn’t that great? I, for one, look forward to not paying income taxes to educate other people’s children anymore. Wonder how my MAGA nieces and nephews are going to educate their kids, but hey–they voted for it.

I’m so tired of being ignored like Cassandra on the walls of Troy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day. Constant Reader, and we will soon be returning to our regular content. I’ll go back to ignoring the slings and arrows of “allies” and enemies, like a good little gay, back in his corner–and no worries, folks. I wouldn’t go to a conference even if they asked me to be a special guest–and that is never going to happen anyway. Not as long as a straight white man has written a first novel, anyway.

  1. And even as this administration destroys their lives, the government-controlled media will help convince them it’s someone else’s fault, because it always is. Is anyone ever surprised about how horrible people after all the genocides? The gleeful bigotry and the embrace of hatred? ↩︎
  2. This is something I left out of my Substack essay yesterday about homophobic booksellers: they are also never to be criticized, no matter how bigoted and horrible they are. “They work so hard on conferences,” is always the response, “you can’t even question their bigotry.” If you want to read it, this link should take you there. ↩︎

Just a Little

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be nice we need their support.

No more fucks.

Have a great day, Constant Reader.

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

Catch Us If You Can

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

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

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

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

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

Baby the Rain Must Fall

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

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

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

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

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

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

Down in the Boondocks

What exactly are boondocks, anyway?1

Monday morning and back to work with me today, which is fine. Yesterday was nice–despite the Saints losing; not a good weekend for Louisiana football outside of Tulane–and I feel rested and relaxed this morning, which is great. I have a lot to do today, and am really looking forward to having a good day. I did work on the book; I got the outlining of the first seven chapters done; I made a character list (a good start); and also recognized in the rereading what needs fixing and what needs adding and what needs redoing. I also outlined the rest of a short story I am working on, and figured out how to solve the problem of another one, too, which is very cool. I also read for a while, and really am enjoying House of Rain and Bone. I also figured out why it’s taking me so long to read, which I am puzzling over, and it hit me this morning–I am reading it slowly because I am savoring it, and because it’s making me think as I engage with it, and that’s not an easy thing for any writer to do with their work. The book is also a lot of things I generally don’t care for or like–lots of violence–but the language is very beautiful yet raw, the emotion is like an exposed nerve, but I am enjoying it very much, and it’s very intense…but takes me a while to process and digest what I read, so it’s not going very quickly. This is not a bad thing. Most readers will take this ride and not be able to put it down–it moves very quickly, the characters are remarkably likable, the main character is a relatable guy–but as a fellow author, I want to savor the language, the structure, the pacing, all the things that make the book so stunningly brilliant.

And that’s a good thing.

I feel pretty good this morning, actually. I slept really well last night, and feel rested and relaxed as I face the day. It’s my Admin day at work, so I have no pressures or stress and no interactions with clients, unless I see one by chance as I walk around doing other things this morning. I love my clients–I really do, and the long-termers are lovely to see every quarter–but interacting with people all day as someone who is, at heart, an introvert despite being a Leo (I like attention but it also makes me uncomfortable2), wears me out a bit.

I also worked on the Scotty Bible some this weekend. I marked up the final volume that wasn’t (Royal Street Reveillon) and then took down the notes from those pages, and will need to get that typed up. The last step of finishing the Bible includes reorganizing the notes into book order, before sorting them all into categories and so forth. I also need to do a synopsis of each book, detailing not only the case but developments in Scotty’s personal life, the family tree, and so on. Also going through the books to do this–even just pulling the notes out–has given me the opportunity (without the anxiety and all the little naysaying voices in my head, banished by my new medications) to reread (a bit) and reacquaint myself with the work with fresh eyes. As you probably already know, I am very hard of myself and was always dismissive of any achievements or recognition I may have received, and have forgotten a lot of the stories and what happened and why and where the idea came from and why I wanted to tell this story…but this revisitation without the usual Greg-crazy has made me appreciate the stories and the writing all the more, which is lovely and incredibly cool. I also realized yesterday while making the notes that while a Scotty Bible is needed and necessary, that an overall Greg Multiverse of New Orleans Bible is necessary; I’ve crossed over all my New Orleans writing (short stories and novels), using the same fictitious spaces and minor characters. (For example, Cooper Construction from A Streetcar Named Murder is also the construction company Scotty is using to renovate the building on Decatur Street.) So, yes, it needs to be more encompassing. I realized that Paige–Chanse’s best friend–whom I’ve also used in the Scotty series–most of her background is in the Chanse books, and yes, I should probably do one for him, too….sigh. It’s like pulling a string from something knit.

I’m kind of going to miss the Swifties, to be honest. We’re used to tourism here–non-stop conventions, the big events, and so on–but there was a marked difference between the Swifties and other big groups that take over New Orleans. For one thing, they were incredibly friendly and nice! So much good energy that I didn’t mind the crowds of them I had to pass through, and the outfits and everything. They were here to have a good time, of course, and the city welcomed them (and their wallets) with open arms so that it became almost a symbiotic pairing. Hospitality workers marveled at their kindness and their generous tipping; store owners and workers didn’t mind being busy because everyone was nice and polite and didn’t complain about anything. I loved the friendship bracelets adorning the Superdome. I loved the endless karaoke of Taylor’s songs that went on as they took over Bourbon Street. Every bar and every shop was playing her music. Her economic impact on the city was undeniable, and I can’t wait to hear about her local charity giving, which she always does–usually food banks and homeless shelters, bless her.

It’s no wonder MAGA hates her. They hate anyone who is kind and giving–they certainly do not recognize Jesus’ messages in her (which goes to show you how they would react to Jesus’ return, doesn’t it? I find it very interesting that his followers are the ones most likely to reject and crucify him). I won’t talk about the Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden yesterday because what else is there to say, other than “we’ve not seen anything like this since the Nuremburg rallies” but we did have one in MSG back in 1939, didn’t we? (And it should come as no surprise that it was conservatives who were pro-Hitler in 1939 America, does it? They hated FDR with the same kind of passion Trump ignites in his acolytes, and since they smeared him as a socialist/communist, naturally they got into bed with Nazis.)

Everything old is new again.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back later or tomorrow, we’ll see!

  1. So, turns out it means “rough, isolated country”–and has come to mean, in slang, a remote place with little to no civilization. Interesting. ↩︎
  2. And yes, that is on the list of issues to unpack and make peace with. ↩︎