Category: revising

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.

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  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. ↩︎

Go Now

Ah, Sunday morning and the last day of relaxation before I return to work tomorrow, and of course next weekend I am driving up to Kentucky. That’ll be nice, if exhausting–I never sleep enough when I travel–but I’ll get to see my sister and spend time with Dad, which is always nice. I’ll get to listen to books in the car, and read some while I am up there. I doubt I’ll write anything; or even edit much. I should just accept that in advance since it never happens, and I’ll have my journal with me and the laptop if the urge should strike. That should be enough, don’t you think? I know I certainly do.

Yesterday was kind of a flat day. I ran my errands and came home to watch football games, and was pretty tired. I did end up getting some chores done around watching games, but not much of anything. I did read some, too, between games. About the best game of the day was Texas-Vanderbilt; Alabama seems to have righted their ship at last, Auburn finally notched a win, and LSU lost last night at Texas A&M. They played great in the first half and then just crumbled in the second, and it was mostly the offense and the kicking team that cost the Tigers the game. But good for you, Aggies–your rivalry renewal game with Texas over Thanksgiving just became super-important. We don’t play again until November 9th, when Alabama comes to Baton Rouge, and we’ll see how and if the ship gets righted that night. I can’t remember the last time the two played where both had two losses coming into the game…I cooked out last night and that turned out well, and I did get some things done yesterday. There’s a few dishes in the sink and of course, the floors…but mostly today I think I am going to focus on writing and reading the most. I want to work on the Scotty Bible today and I want to revisit the manuscript completely, and of course there are short stories and essays to be worked on, as always. So, once I finish this I’m going to go read for a while with my coffee, and then get cleaned up and get to work on writing. Exciting!

I do want to start the week with the apartment cleaned, for one thing.

Yesterday I was thinking–during the dull Alabama-Missouri game–about projects I want to work on and the things I want to get done over the course of the next year, until 2026. It’s an ambitious slate, to be sure, and does require me to actually focus and work rather than blow everything off and spent time with Sparky, who gets sweeter and sweeter every day. He’s finally started cuddling and sleeping with us downstairs while we watch television–he’ll sleep on Paul before moving over to me in the chair–and of course, every morning he gets into bed with me (because he’s hungry) and is kind of a snooze button/alarm that I much prefer to the clanging of the actual one. I need to research hurricanes, too, because I am writing about one, so it doesn’t hurt to actually research and find out a basic overview of them so I can write about it in the book. I do think this Scotty could easily turn out to be the best of the bunch, frankly. Which is a nice feeling to have, I don’t remember feeling that way with the last two, but at the same time I also wrote the last two maybe five years apart? That’s kind of crazy, because I really should at most space them a year and a half apart, which I’ve not done in well over a decade. Kind of nuts, isn’t it? I’d say so. That’s no way to write a series, is it? I don’t know. I probably don’t care all that much, either. I’ve never been terribly smart about my writing career, mainly because my primary driver is the writing itself. I love writing, even when I complain about it, but it’s my primary source of joy in this life.

This week I have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday, with a podiatrist to see about my pronating feet and what is up with the pain in my big toes. It’s not always and it’s not bad enough to make me limp, but it is noticeable. I also noticed when I was pushing the cart around the grocery store yesterday that my hips were sore and hurting, which means time for a new pair of shoes. I should probably get that checked out as well, but it is most likely a side effect from my feet and their pronation. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’d need to have them (the hips, not my feet) replaced at some point over the next five years or so. My new glasses should come in as well, which will be great. I’m hoping they come in before I leave for Kentucky, because I got transition lenses because bright light and glare have become really painful for me, and that will help me on the drive up. I also think I am going to be brave and go up a different way, skipping Chattanooga by going north on I-65 at Birmingham to go through Nashville instead. That’s a better route for me; there’s a lot more places to eat and get gas between Birmingham and Nashville than there are between Birmingham and Chattanooga. I can always come back the normal way–I do want to get a look at the rest stops on 75 for a short story that I think I’ve finally figured out–which never seems to be as bad as going, you know?

And on that note, I need to get another cup of coffee and have breakfast and get cleaned up this morning so I can have a good, productive day. I hope you have a marvelous Sunday, too, Constant Reader, and I’ll chat with you again probably a little later.

Back In My Arms Again

Yesterday I walked to City Hall after work (at home) duties and voted early1, as I won’t be home on election day. It was a lovely day–cool in the shade, but rather warm in direct sunlight–and an even lovelier one for a walk. I believed that walking rather than driving (although I also noticed once I got there, they had set up one-hour free parking spots for early voters, well done, Orleans Parish!) was better for me, and I also wanted to see how the Swiftie takeover of the city was going. It was really nice, actually. I was wearing my LSU joe Burrow #9 jersey, and I’d forgotten (or just didn’t think about) the pleasant reactions I would get (people would say Geaux Tigers to me, or would thump their chests and point at the number and give me a thumbs-up), which was lovely. The Swifties also made me smile. I didn’t see as many as I would have thought I would, but every bar/restaurant I passed was playing Taylor Swift songs (there was a LOT of “Love Story” and “You Belong with Me”) and the Swifties were easy to spot. It was such a pleasant experience being around them, to be honest, and they were of all ages, too. I saw teens and kids and moms and dads and grandmothers–the groups that were three generations of women, dressed alike in bright colors with their arms covered in bracelets and glitter on their faces and I couldn’t help but think how lovely a bonding experience this is for families. Has any artist crossed generations the way Taylor Swift has? And even the dads made me smile. Again, what better way for fathers to bond with their daughters than over Taylor Swift? I loved the GIRL DAD shirts, to be honest, and I also loved the T-shirts with lyrics on them. I recognized all the quotes, too, so maybe I’m not a lower level Swiftie after all? I took pictures of the Superdome with the friendship bracelets on it, too.

But the sun was bright and hot and by the time I’d walked home all my leg joints were aching as were my feet, and I was very sweaty and uncomfortable. By the time I managed to slip into my easy chair, I was bone tired and exhausted–which just tells me that the walk was necessary and important, and I need to start taking more walks regularly. I bought a pair of ten pound dumbbells to keep in the house for my arm rehab exercises, and hopefully by the end of the year I will have started getting more of my strength and endurance back–it would be very easy to just not do any of this and remain feeble, but aI don’t really want to be feeble. I also think the steroid shots on Thursday (and having my eyes dilated) probably wore me out for yesterday too; I went to bed last night at ten and slept until almost nine this morning–Sparky even cuddled with me some in the bed before I got up, which isn’t like him–which tells me I needed the sleep. Today I am going to wash the car, run some errands and make some groceries so I can get home to watch the football games today and read some more. I also want to work on the Scotty Bible today, too–I’ve been trying to find the marked up copy of Royal Street Reveillon, but finally gave up on that yesterday and decided to make up another one today.

I also stupidly walked over there and back without a hat or some kind of head covering, which was terrible. The dermatologist had frozen some “suspicious looking” scaly spots on my scalp that were early skin cancer indicators, and Dr. Claiborne *did* tell me to always wear a hat outside…which means I am going to have to buy some hats. I used to have a ton of them but threw them away to make space2, since I didn’t wear them hardly at all. Now I have to rebuild my collection–although I really only need a few, and of course I am going to get LSU caps, maybe a Saints one, and definitely a Louisiana one.

We also got caught up on our shows, and I have to say I absolutely am loving both Grotesquerie and Agatha All Along.

I feel rested this morning, but also a bit worn out still–that weird feeling where you feel rested but know if you went back to bed I’d fall right back asleep. The coffee is hitting magnificently this morning, and tastes even better. There is some picking up around here that needs doing, and there are boxes of books I’ve been meaning to take to the library sale for quite some time now, which will help clean out that corner of the living room. I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to read, write or edit today, but I know when I finish this and eat something I will probably go to my chair and read some more of Gabino’s book, which I am hoping to finish reading this weekend. I think I am going to allow my Halloween Horror Month to spill over into November, so I can read some more of these horror novels collecting dust in my TBR pile. I also think when I get back from that trip I will probably read some classics I’ve not read, dipping more into the Ross Macdonald/John D. MacDonald/Margaret Millar/Dorothy Hughes well, before circling back to the more recent releases. I’ve managed to get very far behind on all of my favorite authors, and am really looking forward to getting all caught up with them relatively soon.

I also got a royalty statement this morning, and I have to say it’s really lovely having that passive income of a robust backlist.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to make another cup of coffee and eat something before I dig into the day. GEAUX TIGERS! Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again at some point!

  1. I understood the assignment. ↩︎
  2. It was a collection; I always bought a ball cap every where I traveled. ↩︎

Baby I’m Yours

Remote Friday, in which I get to work at home! Woo-hoo! I kind of slept later this morning than usual, but I was also very tired yesterday. I went to my appointments, and by the time I got home from that running around I was worn down. I got a new prescription for my glasses, ordered a new pair which should arrive next week, and also saw the dermatologist. I have two more appointments to go over the next week before those are all out of the way (I’ll also have to fast and do labs before I leave for Kentucky.) I have on-line trainings to do for working at home today–I’ll start on those once I finish this and a second cup of coffee, and maybe eat some breakfast, and I also have a lot of cleaning up to do around here after I finish working. I also am planning on walking to city hall this afternoon to vote, because I understand the assignment. I also read more of Gabino’s book, which I am enjoying and savoring, and hope to get that finished this weekend. I also found my paperback of Shadowland, so I can go ahead and listen to it on my way north week after next. That is exciting, even if it will be after Halloween and Halloween Horror Month will technically be complete…but I also didn’t get to read as much this month as I would have liked, so I don’t have a problem with my horror reading spilling over into November. I think after that I am going to make an effort to read for at least an hour every night when I get home from work; I really need to get back into my love of reading, which has always sustained me for most of my life.

I also like my dermatologist, and we’re going to explore more treatment options for my psoriasis. He also shot up my elbows with some steroids to try to clear up those nasty patches of it that never go away. He did say I had minor psoriasis–which was another shot at my egocentrism; the four or five small patches on my body are nothing, really; most people have even more than that, and it’s not really considered a major problem if it’s less than fifty percent of your skin? I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids, so I’m not entirely certain I heard everything correctly. I also have to go back in a month to see how the steroid shots (some were nothing, some hurt like a motherfucker) worked, and possibly get more of them. Now that I’m older and somewhat smarter, I am using my health insurance instead of “saving” it for some ungodly reason. I was thinking about this very thing last night–how little of my adult life I’ve actually had health insurance, and how little I’ve used it once I secured it–and needing to get all of these things checked out. I am seeing a podiatrist this coming week to see if there’s anything that can be done about my feet’s pronation and the collapsed arches and so forth. I don’t want ankle replacements–knees or hips, either–but this is to see also whether I have arthritis in my big toes, too. (I have ignored my feet for far too long as an adult as well, but that’s more of a story for an essay about insurance and its importance and how it really needs more regulation than it currently has, along with insurance horror stories.)

Better late than never, right?

Paul was also late getting home last night, so I spent some quality time as a kitty bed last night in my chair for Sparky, who is getting more and more cuddly as he gets older. I spent most of the evening alternating between college football coverage and news clips; I am so much happier now that I’ve blocked the legacy media from my socials and deleted Twitter from my life. I don’t spend as much time on social media as I used to, and that maybe is the best thing that has come from the murder of Twitter; my social media addiction is far less urgent and far less important and much easier to think meh why bother? It’s really not a bad thing, and blocking everyone who is ignorant or trolling on the social media I have left is a godsend. I don’t need to know what the right is saying or doing; there’s no cellar for them to reach in their race to the bottom. Do I need to know Tucker Carlson’s creepy child spanking fantasies? No. I don’t need to know what he or his team are saying or doing to know that he’s a threat to the country and to the Republic, and the cognitive dissonance from the ‘patriots’ who also seem to hate their country–how can you be a patriot and have such flagrant contempt for your government and country? They want to elect a dictator, but they’re the real Americans. That kind of stupidity should hurt, you know?

And yes, part of the reason I want to walk to City Hall to vote today is because the Swifties have taken over New Orleans for the Eras Tour, which has three (!) shows this weekend at the Superdome. Friendship bracelets are draped over the Dome, which is totally amazing, and the Swifties have such good energy, can you blame me for wanting to be in the midst of this, and see how the CBD has done itself up for the weekend to welcome them? There were a lot of them posting about their trips down here for the shows on social media and how excited they were to not only see her but to do it during Halloween season in New Orleans? Chef’s kiss, no notes. The walk will undoubtedly wear me out, but that’s fine and I definitely could use the exercise as I try to will myself back into better physical condition. Tomorrow I’ll make groceries and clean and read and watch football games. I did get most of the dishes done last night, and need to clean out the refrigerator today at some point. I’m kind of looking forward to this last weekend of peace and quiet and writing and reading and college football–and getting caught up on our shows tonight. Huzzah!

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

There really is nothing sexier than black underwear.

I’m Telling You Now

Wednesday morning of Pay-the-Bills day, which is always a pleasant day, much as I loathe paying the bills I am just grateful that I can pay the bills; I’ll never not be grateful for that. I remember all too well the days when paying the bills was a nightmare, there wasn’t enough to cover everything and buy groceries…and there were late fees and so on and ugh, you never could ever just breathe easy and catch up. Once you get behind financially, it becomes exponentially harder to ever get caught up. One of the reasons I never address financial concerns in my work is because it’s too hauntingly familiar for me, and I don’t really like remembering those days very much. That’s not good–and not really true entirely; I have written about working class/the working poor in short stories, which is about as long as I can handle it. Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’m thinking I do need to write about someone poor or working class in a book sometime, so I can process the shame of my poverty-stricken past. I’ve also been thinking about this because I am writing an essay about my first job (McDonald’s; can’t imagine why I’ve been thinking about that lately, can you?), and that has also brought back the memories of being one of the working poor for so long, and all the money worries, and everything else that went along with it1. I’ve had some pretty awful jobs…but the only thing worse than having an awful job was looking for another awful job I would grow to hate.

Ugh, those low wage job years were the worst. It’s no wonder I had so little self-esteem. Scrounging in the couch for change to get a burger at McDonald’s. Going through the car looking for change. Nothing in the cupboards to eat, no money in my wallet and no money in the bank, but super hungry. Lots of eating macaroni and cheese in the blue box, any flavor of ramen, and buying store brand deodorants and shampoos and shaving cream. Not being able to afford an oil change for the car, or a new tire should one go flat. To this day, I have food anxiety, where I’m scared there won’t be anything in the house for us to eat and nothing in the cupboards and no money. This led to a small scale hoarding situation with me and food; in which I am always stocking up on dried stuff so there’s always something I can make to eat. I have canned baked beans and boxes and boxes of Lipton’s Double Noodle Soup and all sorts of things that I hoard…but I’ve managed to stop buying more of these things, and have cut back on buying more than we need. There’s still more than needs to be done in the kitchen cabinets and in the grocery stores, and I am still working on the food anxiety. There are also any number of Asian vinegars and wines and sauces for cooking in there that had probably gone bad over the years.

Sigh.

I slept well again last night, which feels great this morning. I have tomorrow off because I have appointments during the day, which is going to be weird–especially since Friday is my work-at-home day; my weekend is going to be all messed up and potentially my week next week, too. I have some errands to run tonight after work, too. I didn’t do much of anything once I was home last night–big plans often come to naught in the Lost Apartment on weekday nights–but today I am planning, again, to get some things done. I need to finish working on the Scotty Bible, which is the plan for this weekend. I also need to get started revising the first seven chapters and fixing them for the continuation of the book next week before I leave for Kentucky. Funny how I always have big plans for the evening in the morning that so rarely come to fruition, isn’t it? But by the time I negotiate traffic on the way home, I am usually a bit tired when I get home to begin with–and then when Sparky keeps insisting on needing a lap (like Scooter used to) I’ll sit down for a moment and then am down for the evening because he’s so deeply asleep and so cute–he sometimes purrs in his sleep–that I don’t want to disturb him. Last night he was back to normal completely and over his sulks; he pounced on me several times and wanted to play with some Big Kitten Energy after he was done napping. I have a busy morning at the office today, but it’s not that terrible, and of course I have to make two stops on the way home today, which isn’t a big deal but also might be an issue about being tired when I finally park and go inside.

I also decided that I am going to Kentucky the first week of November, so I don’t have to listen to horror on the way there or back. I think I will listen to Shadowland on the way home from up there, because it’s thirteen or so hours long and I have the ebook on my iPad so I can finish it when I get back to New Orleans. (I thought I had a paperback copy, but can’t seem to find it.) But since October and Halloween will be over by then, I am not bound by my “only horror reading in October” rule. I want to finish reading Gabino’s book this weekend, too. I think there are some good games on this weekend; LSU is playing Texas A&M at night to see who will be alone on top of the conference standings. The day games are not the greatest, but there’s Missouri at Alabama and Texas at Vanderbilt (!!!) and Oklahoma at Mississippi, so not anything terribly involving unless they turn out to be great games…and there have been a lot of those this season. I didn’t know what to expect from this season of new everything and big changes, but so far it’s been a lot of fun.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Pay-the-Bills Day, and I might be back later, one never can be sure!

  1. The only luxury item I never did without was books. I would always spend money on books because that was something just for me, and for me alone. I also really resented having jobs where I had to consider books as luxury items I technically should have done without. ↩︎