Category: revising

Open Your Heart

Monday after Easter Sunday, and I hope everyone had the kind of Sunday/holiday they needed to prepare them to head into this week full bore ahead.

The good news is that I reread Mississippi River Mischief yesterday and it most definitely is not the shitty mess I originally thought it was. It needs work, to be sure, but not nearly as much as I had feared, thank you Jesus, pass the ammunition, amen. The work isn’t going to be easy, either, but the framework can remain primarily intact with some reorganization and changing. (It didn’t help that I was rereading my manuscript after spending some time with Margot Douaihy’s brilliant debut, Scorched Grace, which is so good I am making notes of some of the sentences because they are so fucking smart; but I also wasn’t thinking rank amateur God how bad you suck at writing when there are people like Margot turning out such amazing work, which is saying something for me.) I also reread Festival of the Redeemer and Never Kiss a Stranger yesterday, and they aren’t bad, either. Maybe I don’t completely suck at this writing thing, who knows?

We spent most of yesterday bingeing The Last of Us, which is a really good show. I was reluctant for a long time–I’ve kind of had my fill of dystopian tales, although my fellow Americans don’t seem to feel the same way. But one can never go wrong with Pedro Pascal, and there was an episode where I said out loud, “this show is basically the same as The Mandalorian” and felt really smart. It’s very well done, though, and we’re obviously sucked heavily into it. The gay couple episode almost broke us both–so beautifully written and acted; so heart-wrenching and beautiful at the same time, maybe one of the most well done gay romance/love stories I’ve seen on either film or television–and I was sad last night when we had to turn it off because I had to go to bed. There are, of course, similarities to other dystopian stories like The Walking Dead and The Stand, but that’s only to be expected. I also was reminded of my own ideas for a dystopia, and reminded somewhat of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (I have not read McCarthy, and felt a disclaimer was needed; but everyone knows the story of The Road).

I’ve always found it interesting that dystopic fiction is so popular, and have always wondered what precisely that says about our culture and society. I think my first dystopic fiction was the Planet of the Apes film series (I also read Pierre Boulle’s book, which the first film was very loosely based on), and the next was Richard Matheson’s novel I Am Legend and the movie loosely based on it, The Omega Man (interesting that the former and the latter both starred Charlton Heston). (I am a big fan of Matheson’s, who isn’t as known as he should be in my opinion; I feel the same way about Robert Bloch as well.) I myself have had ideas for dystopic fiction, as I mentioned before; I have several ideas about that I would love to try to write some time, but I am not so good at fantasy and science fiction (or at least it’s outside of my comfort zone because I don’t know anything much about science and especially not physics); which is why they were futuristic ones set in North America after the fall of the United States (which is the kind of alternative future story I love).

So. Many. Ideas.

But, basically I came away from the weekend feeling like I can get everything under control again; whether that is true or not remains to be seen. But I do know that I need to get back to work on the book, and work hard for a while. I need to get my taxes done and I need to get my emails answered. I’m looking forward to finishing Scorched Grace, which is absolutely amazing, and there’s still some cleaning that needs to be done around here. I managed to get most of the filing done so my desk area doesn’t look like a tornado zone, which is always a plus; just a few more things to file and put away and it’ll be almost completely under control. And the way things are going, I should even have a couple more completed manuscripts by the end of the summer! Woo-hoo!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. You have a great day, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

True Blue

Easter Sunday, which I keep forgetting about. Last year the day job changed holidays; we used to get Good Friday off (New Orleans is very Catholic) but they changed it to Juneteenth, which is better. That was how I always knew when Easter was because it was a three day weekend. Now that it’s isn’t, it’s just another religious holiday I don’t give two shits about. Even when I was a child, I wondered, how does the anniversary of the crucifixion and resurrection fall on different dates every year? It’s just another example of the falsity of the bedrock of Christianity, and really was just the Catholic Church absorbing and rebranding pagan spring celebrations and fertility rites–which is where the Easter Bunny and easter eggs come from.

Granted, these Christian fertility celebrations aren’t nearly as weird or frightening as say the ones in Thomas Tryon’s classic Harvest Home (which I need to reread), but still.

Now that I’m thinking about it, has there ever been a horror book or film written/made focused on how creepy Easter can be?

I’m feeling lazy today–not really a surprise, really, is it? I feel lazy every day, and always feel laziest on days when I have to do things I’d rather not do. I have to run out and make groceries at some point–probably this morning, while most everyone is celebrating Easter mass and so forth–and I also have to get to work on ordering my taxes for my accountant, which I keep forgetting to do. I slept really well last night–feel very rested and relaxed this morning–and I managed to get some things done yesterday. I got my desk area cleaned up somewhat; filing and putting things away and so forth. My electronic files are still a horrifying mess, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon because what I really need to do is go through everything, file by file, eliminating duplicates and so forth. Maybe when I have enough time accrued I can take a week long staycation and just work on things around the house like that and the storage attic.

I started reading Margot Douaihy’s debut Scorched Grace, and while I am only a couple of chapters in, I am already in awe of everything about the book. The writing, the characterization, the setting, the way the sentences and paragraphs are rhythmically drawn, like the best poetry–and the voice itself! Oh my God, Sister Holiday’s voice is so refreshingly different, vital, and new. The tone is very hard-boiled; imagine Chandler or Cain writing about a lesbian nun in New Orleans. I cannot wait to spend some more time with it today–even if it does make me feel like I am a rank amateur; truly great writers have that kind of power over me. It’s hypnotic and compulsively readable. The fact that the book opens with arson and a possible murder is even more genius; few things are feared more in New Orleans than fire. This book is a fine addition to the annals of New Orleans crime fiction, which is always exciting when you find a new such author.

We also watched Jordan Peele’s Nope last night, and it was really quite excellent. It was more suspenseful than scary, although that can sometimes be much worse and more intense. Who knew Peele would go from sketch comedy to being one of our best and more creative filmmakers with a strong focus on horror? I’m sure a film critic and/or academic can talk about Nope in a much more intellectual style than me; I don’t look for symbolic meanings in images and so forth. But I think what he was trying to do with Nope was not only to show how dangerous it can be to live isolated from the rest of the world (the vast emptiness was beautifully shot and displayed; the most terrifying thing about the entire movie was that feeling–which reminded me so much of Kansas). I’d like to watch A Knock at the Cabin tonight, or The Pale Blue Eye, or perhaps even both; I guess it depends on how much work I can get done during the day today. I honestly don’t want to do any, but that really isn’t an option.

Yesterday was kind of like that, too–I really didn’t want to do much, so I wasn’t motivated enough to get as much done as I would have liked or had hoped. Part of it was being on social media yesterday morning as I tried to wake-up and get my brain jump-started; people really are horrible on social media, aren’t they? The misogyny, the homophobia, the racism, and the transphobia can be a bit hard to take sometimes (most times, let’s be honest); it fills me with rage, which then triggers adrenaline, and when that passes, I’m tired and in no mood anymore to be productive. Social media is the enemy of all that is good and productive. I have always wondered why and how people have so much time to spend on social media. What isn’t getting done while you’re being a bitch on-line to people you don’t know, will never know, and will probably never interact with again? Who wins in that situation anyway? I know people say there are bot-farms and troll farms, where people in eastern Europe (Romania?) are paid to troll on-line? I can’t imagine that being a great job, although I would imagine any number of people would leap at the chance to be get paid to be an asshole on line; there certainly are plenty of people who’ll do it on a volunteer basis, for sure.

I posted the other day that, in wake of their state’s anti-queer legislation and since the racist conduct of said state legislature was on full display this past week, I had made the personal decision not to go to Nashville Bouchercon in 2024. I didn’t ask anyone to join me in not going; I didn’t proselytize or ask anyone to write to Bouchercon and ask for it to be moved; or anything else: I simply said I had decided that I personally cannot support any event in the state of Tennessee, nor would I feel safe if I did attend. That was it. Period. I don’t think that’s terribly controversial, really. I’ve always believed that it’s up to everyone to make their own personal choices, and the reasons for those choices are none of my fucking business (see how easy it is, evangelicals, to mind your own fucking business?). I also don’t judge people for those choices because I don’t know–or want to know, or need to know–the reasons they made them. Everyone is on their own path, and my path often veers away from the paths of others; I don’t want or need or owe anyone an explanation for my choices and decisions. If things change in Tennessee in the meantime I also have the ability to change my mind and attend. But I am not asking anyone to straight-splain to me why I should go, or try to change my mind. It’s kind of insulting and condescending, actually, for anyone straight to try to talk a gay man into attending a conference (or anything, really) when they have already stated they’ve thought about it and decided not to go because they may not feel safe. I am a sixty-one year old adult gay man. I think I have enough life experience to make my own decisions, and I don’t need anyone to tell me my thought and decision-making processes–thoroughly grounded in my life experience–are wrong.

Fuck. All. The. Way. Off.

I was also thinking a lot about my writing future yesterday, so the whole day wasn’t a total waste of not-writing. I’ve had an idea for a New Orleans crime novel for quite some time, but always thought it had to be told from the point of view of, well, Venus Casanova, and I didn’t think I had the right to write from the point of view of a Black female police detective. Well, maybe not the right, but the experience and emotional intelligence to tell it properly. But yesterday that story popped into my head again, and I realized I could tell it from Blaine’s point of view, her partner, who would and could have his own doubts about Venus and her personal stakes in the case. I even took it further and thought maybe Venus could bring the case to Blaine after she’s retired; because of her personal relationship with the victim’s family, and then my mind started spinning round and round and following the paths branching out from this re-centering of the point of view, which definitely seems workable. And I’ve always liked my character of Blaine, wanting to delve more deeply into who he is and his own history and path.

And on that note, I am going to read some more Scorched Grace in my chair until it’s time to go make groceries this morning. Have a lovely Easter if you celebrate, and if you don’t, have a lovely Sunday.

Papa Don’t Preach

And now Saturday comes sliding into my life like a long-lost friend. Hello, Saturday! So glad to see you back and in such good spirits! Yay for Saturday!

Yesterday was an odd one. I did my work-at-home stuff, whilst doing picking up and random acts of cleaning and organizing whenever I needed to get up from the computer. We also went to Costco–it was crowded, but I am always amazed at how swift, polite, and efficient their employees are–got the mail and picked up a prescription. Today is the Crescent City Classic 10k, and I don’t know what streets are open or closed, so today is going to be my “don’t leave the house” day and I will make groceries tomorrow. There’s more of that to do around here today as well; but at least the laundry is caught up and it should be somewhat easier to organize, clean and file after the work I did yesterday. We finished watching Unstable on Netflix, the show starring Rob Lowe and his son John Owen Lowe, who I think created the show and may be the showrunner? It’s gotten some terrible reviews (I just looked because I couldn’t remember if it was Owen John or John Owen) but we liked it. It’s not anything serious–it’s just a workplace comedy with the added dynamic of father/son–but it has its funny moments and the cast is likable (I kept thinking, how does Rob Lowe still look so fucking amazing? And how is he still so likable?); it was a pleasant entertainment that didn’t aspire to be anything more than that.

Today I imagine Paul will be out all afternoon–trainer and then he likes to ride the bike for an hour or so after–so I will be home alone today, which is good. I want to start reading Scorched Grace–I don’t know why I have had so much trouble lately picking up a book and reading–and I also have to start the revision of Mississippi River Mischief this weekend, primarily by reading it again and seeing just how bad it is. (I suspect it’s pretty bad, actually) But it’s okay, as long as I remained focused I’ll be okay. I managed to get all of my day job work caught up yesterday (yay!), so my primary get caught up thing is this Scotty manuscript, which I think I can get finished by the end of the month if I’m lucky. I also have to work on my taxes at some point this weekend (ugh; that may be a job for tomorrow morning before I make groceries…yes, that actually makes the most sense) and ugh ugh ugh. (I also got caught up on Real Housewives Ultimate Girls’ Trip, which…the less said the better.)

Wow, my coffee is really tasting good this morning.

I slept really well last night (woke up at six yet again though) and feel marvelously rested and relaxed this morning. Scooter cuddled with me last night when I went to bed again, which was lovely (he wants attention even as I type this) and I am going to go sit in my easy chair when I finish this and read so. he can sleep in my lap (until I need to get up for more coffee). I also want to use the back roller on my back (not the same as a massage, but close enough) and stretch this morning. I think a regular daily stretching routine will do me some good–and of course, I need to use the back roller more regularly as well. Maybe even add some push-ups and crunches after a week, even. Who knows? The world is my oyster, as it were.

I made the decision to not go to Nashville Bouchercon yesterday. Tennessee is, sadly, a hate state, which they have shown abundantly this past week. They are, simply stated, Christofascists, homophobes, and racists, and I have no desire to go spend my money any place where the government thinks I am not worthy of my rights as an American citizen. Unless that dramatically changes–it won’t; there’s no one more stubborn than a Southern white supremacist who feels aggrieved–I won’t be going. I love Bouchercon, and I also know it’s not the local committee’s fault, or even the national board’s, that they picked such a backward place to have the event (and to be fair to them, when this location was picked Tennessee hadn’t gone down the path of state fascism they are having such a lovely time on now), and I also know that they can’t cancel or move it as contracts and so forth have already been signed and it would essentially be like starting over; I know it’s too late for that as well. I do feel slightly hypocritical about not going to Nashville when the event is coming to New Orleans the next year; as I have said before, our next gubernatorial election could easily set us on the same path as Florida, Texas, and Tennessee; my city always is defiant in those instances. I am sure Nashville is more progressive than their state legislature, just as New Orleans is more progressive than Louisiana’s legislature (a very low bar indeed). These kinds of things are tough, you know? From a moral and ethical standpoint, it’s not always easy to know what the right thing to do is, and as someone who is married to a conference organizer, I know how hard that job is and how so many things–like a state legislature–is beyond your control.

I have to say the recent “backlash” against Anheuser-Busch, over their relationship was a trans influencer, is fucking hilarious because the boycotters (has-beens like Kid Rock and Travis Tritt) have apparently never noticed that Anheuser-Busch has been queer-friendly and sponsoring queer events like Pride sicne at least the early 1990s, if not sooner. Even funnier are the tweets and social media posts about how “the company is about to find out how wrong they are to piss off the majority of their customers”–um, they are an international multi-billion dollar corporation who employ a lot of really smart people, and if you think they hadn’t researched and come to the conclusion that they will gain more customers by being inclusive than they will lose–and they don’t care about the ones they lose, than you’re an even bigger fool than previously thought. Anheuser-Busch, in fact, stepped up when Colorado went full-bore homophobic and the Coors family was outed for supporting homophobic legislation. This triggered a nation-wide queer-led boycott of Coors that lasted for ten years, and did the company irreparable harm. Budweiser, in fact, because the beer of choice for queers at that time, and I would be willing to be that outside of Colorado it would be incredibly difficult to find a queer bar with Coors on tap. I myself haven’t had a Coors since then, and even though the company backtracked and is fully supportive of the queer community now…I still will ask for a Bud Lite rather than a Coors Light when I’m in a bar and wanting something on tap. Major corporations who’ve been supportive and triggered a conservative backlash always chooses the queers, because most people oppose oppression and prefer fairness. How many times has the religious right come for Disney only to be soundly and humiliatingly defeated in their attempts to bring down the Mouse? (Ask Ron DeSantis how easy it is to defeat Disney.) The fact that Travis Tritt says he is going to put it in his rider that venues he plays cannot serve AB products is hilarious and going to backfire; the venues have contracts in place. The Superdome (not that Tritt would ever play there as he is incapable of filling it) has a contract with their beer supplier and they can’t just book an act and sign a one-event contract for another beer supplier so they just won’t book the act.

What’s even funnier is watching the right-wing snowflakes so butt-hurt about inclusion proudly switching to other beers…which all run Pride promotions and have gone out of their way to pursue queer dollars. Miller Lite, Coors, Michelob, Corona–good luck finding a beer that doesn’t.

Also, the Tennessee ordinance that prohibits men from performing for an audience in make-up? You do realize you just banned all theater. Even musicians–like Travis Tritt–wear stage make-up when they perform. But of course they’re never going to arrest the good ole boys, or stop a high production of Oklahoma! in its tracks (oh no! Teenagers being groomed to wear make-up!). Because the purpose of these laws is to target an already marginalized population because it makes bigots uncomfortable.

Your comfort level isn’t our fucking problem.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines.

Live to Tell

Work at home Friday, and all kinds of stuff to do and I simply have to stay focused today and all weekend in order to get everything finished that I need to get finished this weekend. It’s been a strange week, overall; the way the week after I turn in the final version of a book always is. I’ve also not had much down time for quite some time without something weighing on me; I’ve written two books since around 12/15 and of course, losing Mom. (I always worry about mentioning that every time I do; but I’m not really sure how and what I am supposed to feel or behave in this situation, so am working my way through it, okay?) I also worked on a short story during that time–two, actually; one I abandoned and another I revised and overhauled–and of course, I write this every morning. Some days I even do two entries. There are any number of saved drafts, too; ones about things I find outrageous, disgusting and deplorable, but want to be able to write more concisely and insightfully on those topics, primarily because I’m usually a bit foggy every morning when I start writing these; and while the drafts get written when I think about the subject (it can be any time of day), I generally don’t have the time to finish those drafts the way I want. Sometimes I go back to them and think, you are a whiny little bitch, aren’t you? And being whiny doesn’t move hearts and minds, does it? If anything, it hardens them more.

But it’s been a hot minute since I went what some of my friends call “full-on Julia Sugarbaker.” Don’t think that there haven’t been times I’ve wanted to, but I simply didn’t have the time to make certain that everyone I was saying was correct and sourced properly and so figured it was better to do nothing than do something wrong. Almost every day something happens or I see something that makes me apoplectic with rage–whether its the unabashed and unashamed racism, misogyny, transphobia or homophobia I see with far greater regularity than I should, quite frankly; there’s no excuse in 2023 for not knowing better than that; you choose to be a bigoted piece of shit asshole–but I try to calm myself and walk away from the computer or sign out of the infected social medium I am using and go do something else. There were other reasons, too; my day job is dependent on federal funding, after all, and I was also heavily involved in a national non-profit for a very long time. And while I feel no shame nor disgrace nor embarrassment about my beliefs and values, there was always the possibility that there could be fallout for the day job or my volunteer work. So I dialed myself back a bit–not completely, that could never happen in a million years; who I am is so deeply engrained in me that I can’t ever totally stop myself from making pointed observations about bigotry, hypocrisy, stupidity, ignorance, and false prophets. I also try to combat my innate natural selfishness every day, without as much success as I would like.

What happened in Tennessee yesterday was a disgrace and reeked of the end of Reconstruction and the rise of Jim Crow. Oh, look, another Southern legislature violated their oaths of office and their vow to defend and uphold the Constitution by expelling two Black men who disagreed with them. (The white woman, of course, got to stay,) It’s disgusting, and highly indicative of a political party with no ideas, no ethics, and no morals. All they have is an addictive thirst for power and a Fascistic mentality, a disgust for the Constitution and every principle this country was founded upon, and a need to tear down anyone who isn’t a cisgender white male in order to maintain white supremacy. The great irony is they consider themselves to be a “christian” party, when everything they do is not in the least Christ-like. I guess I missed the part of the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus beseeched everyone to give their money to the rich and powerful? To not help the poor and sick because their situation is their own fault?

Yeah, I missed that part, just like I missed the part where we should all give money to Joel Osteen the apostate, because he shouldn’t have to fly commercial. Let people starve and live under highway underpasses! Joel needs a plane! And if you send him money and pray hard enough, God will shower you with riches!

Um, isn’t the whole point of Christianity is that your reward comes in the afterlife?

But empathy and compassion have no apparent place in organized right-wing Christianity; they made a religion in their own image and it’s so hateful, disgusting, and abhorrent no one outside of Margaret Atwood could imagined its end game back in the 1980’s (and sadly, she was right). People today still don’t see the hypocrisy, the greed, and the amorality that many sects of Christianity have come to follow. How is Joel Osteen or any of his co-horts any different than the Renaissance popes? At least they patronized artists. (Barbara Tuchman’s The March of Folly is perhaps one of the best books about how the stupidity, venality, and short-sightedness of incredibly fail men leads to disaster, the section called “The Renaissance Popes Trigger The Protestant Reformation” is particularly apt.) Just as the billionaires of our time (Bezos, Musk, the Koch family, Zuckerberg, Gates) are nothing more than the modern versions of the Robber Barons of the so-called Gilded Age. It’s always the same thing, cycling over and over again with us as a society and culture refusing to learn the lessons the past is crying out for us to learn.

The truth, which my community has been screaming at the Democratic party, progressives, and liberals for decades, is that the far-Right is just as Fascist as Hitler and Mussolini and their end game much the same: do we really think they’ll stop at banning books and “don’t say gay” bills and erasing transpeople? Of course not. It never ends. They want to purge this country of anyone who doesn’t see the United States as a paradise for straight white men. Are there parallels between our modern times and oh, say the 1920’s and early 1930’s in Germany? There absolutely are; I started noticing this in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s; can we not forget that as recently as thirty years ago the Republican party was more than happy to let everyone infected with HIV just die? (Their reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic wasn’t much different, really.) They thought it was a good thing–and laughed about it–that gay men were dying.

They haven’t changed in thirty years. If anything, they’ve gotten worse.

They impeached Bill Clinton for lying about a blow job; but will defend the high crimes of the Trump family to the death. They claimed Bill Clinton didn’t have the “moral character” to be president, but voted for a lying con-artist who is not only a narcissist but a sociopath, who went through wives and mistresses and rape victims like Tom Brady carving up a defense in the Super Bowl. It always amazes me that the so-called party of family values is also the party of child rape, divorce, and adultery. The same people screaming about “groomers” to scapegoat drag queens and transwomen are actually the party filled with child rapists and kiddie porn enthusiasts. (Dennis Hastert, anyone?)

So, yeah, I’m probably going to start talking about these things a bit more. I am now sixty-one and I am sick and tired of right-wing garbage and trash and the Christian dystopia they seem to want us all to live in; where they decide what is sin and what isn’t (they of course can do as they please), who we can love and how to live our lives, all the while screaming about their fucking freedoms. It’s always funny to me that the progressive idea of freedom is live and let live, while the right’s is you have to do what we say and we’ll decide what’s right and wrong for you.

Kind of like a Renaissance pope.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Good Friday (I didn’t forget) and a nice Easter if that’s your jam; otherwise have a great day, okay?

Gambler

And we have again made it to Thursday, Constant Reader. Huzzah for us! For a few days there I was wondering if we would, indeed, get this far. It’s funny; one of the things that are almost stereotype level for older people is that we all seem to think that time just flew past and the next thing we know, we’re old.

That is certainly not the case in my life.

I will be sixty-two years old this year (four more shopping months; plan ahead to beat the shopping crowds!), and sometimes it seems like I’ve been alive for well over a hundred years. My childhood was so long ago it feels like it happened to someone else and I watched the movie or read the book or something. High school? An eternity ago. So, no, I don’t feel like time flew past and my life went by too quickly or anything like that. I lived every day of my sixty-one years, and they did not pass quickly. Od sure, I’ve had time fly but it’s primarily because I wasn’t paying attention to the dates or anything, then realized oh this weekend is Easter? Where did March go? but that’s the illusion that time went quickly because I wasn’t paying attention to dates or anything like that. That is why time seems to pass by quickly–it does when you aren’t paying attention, so yes, there are times when it does happen, but overall in the scope of my life, not so much.

Last night I was very tired when I got home from work, and of course, Scooter was whining for a lap. We got caught up on The Mandalorian (I’m not really enjoying this season, to be honest.) and then tried a new animated show on HBO that was terrible and we stopped; then we watched the first episode of the new Rob Lowe show. At first, I thought it was going to be rough–it’s about the relationship of a father and son who are slightly estranged having to come together to deal with the loss of their wife/mother. At first I thought the parallels might hit too close to home, but I didn’t find myself getting upset or sad or anything; it’s actually kind of a cute little show. We watched the pilot last night, and will probably keep going with it tonight.

I also pulled together all the stuff I need to do to start rereading and revising Mississippi River Mischief, which is going to be a terribly all consuming task once started; I also have to get my tax stuff done and turned into my accountant rather quickly; I also started pulling all of that together last night as well. The house is still a mess, and we have to take Scooter in for his senior panel and I have to go to Costco this weekend as well. Tomorrow is Good Friday, which used to be a work holiday for us; now we get Juneteenth instead, which is fine with me. I’m not Catholic so Good Friday isn’t important to me; although New Orleans is very Catholic and so it’s kind of a thing here (it’s all tied to Carnival and Lent, you see; the third part of that Holy Trinity is Easter weekend). I know there are parades on Sunday–there are always parades for a holiday, although with the passing of local legend and icon Chris Owens (who sponsored and put on one of them in the Quarter), we may be a parade down this year. I wrote about Easter and New Orleans in Vieux Carré Voodoo, all those years ago, when I was tying Scotty books to holidays and events in the city (to date, I have never written a word about Jazz Fest because I don’t go). I also pulled the short stories together into one document to get an idea of how close I am to a complete collection and was stunned, startled, and delighted to see that I have about 73,000 words of This Town and Other Stories. That’s actually enough for a collection, but I’d rather it came in between 90 and 100k words. I can either write more short stories or I can finish one of the novellas; in either case, that’s very exciting for me, needless to say. (It will, of course, have to wait until some of the anthologies that some of the stories appear in are published.)

This weekend I have to make a Costco run and take Scooter in for his senior panel; I hate the thought of my kitty getting old. We’ve had Scooter now for nearly thirteen years, and he was supposedly a full grown two year old when we got him; I swear that he’s grown since we got him and not because we overfeed him. Do cats age in dog years? That would make Scooter 105! I don’t even want to think about that in terms of how little time we have left with our orange sweetheart. It’ll break Paul’s heart when he goes, and it’s not like I’ll be a barrel of laughs, either. (We’d definitely get another cat, though; maybe even a bonded pair.) I also miss having outdoor kitties come running when they hear my car pulling up outside. Tiger is still living in the carriage house, but Buddy was declining and had to finally be put down last weekend. We used to have as many as five or six strays we fed and played with; I miss that. It does,, however, make me wonder about where all the strays in the city have gone, or even the indoor/outdoor ones who come begging like they don’t have food at home.

I kind of am worrying about how miserable this summer is going to be down here. It’s already hot and humid–yesterday when I got into the car after work it felt like climbing into an oven–which means the Gulf is heating up and it’s a la nina year, which means good conditions for hurricane formation in the Atlantic. Hurray. I’m really glad, though, we have that new HVAC system, which really works in the summer.

And on that note, Constant Reader, I am going to head into the mines for spice. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will talk to you again tomorrow morning.

Into the Groove

And you can dance.

For inspiration.

And we made it to Wednesday once again, Constant Reader. Huzzah!!!! I’m a bit groggy this morning, despite having woken at four, five and then again at six, which was a good thing as I had apparently forgotten to switch on the alarm when I tumbled into bed last evening.

We finished watching The Night Agent last night, which was bonkers/crazy, with gaping holes in the plot and a lot of “really?” being asked as the main characters did or said something completely insane. But it was entertaining, mindlessly, and that’s kind of nice as well. After we finished that we watched this week’s Ted Lasso, which was a bridge episode of a kind; I’ll have to watch again. But the redemption arc I was pretty certain was coming this season was glimpsed last night; which I was also pleased with. And then of course it was off to bed so I could get up this morning, and so well trained at it now that I woke up at six without the alarm going off. Not sure how I feel about automatically getting up at six without an alarm, but it was a plus this morning as I now won’t be late to work.

I am in a post-book malaise again, which I need to be snapping the fuck out of as soon as possible as I have to get this Scotty book finished. I don’t have time for malaise! I’d intended to reread the manuscript last night, but of course Scooter was needy when I got home and once I surrendered to the “I need a lap bed” whines, I was in the chair for the night and it was all over. I know what needs to be done to this manuscript, of course–which is a step in the right direction–but I am terrified about how much work it’s actually going to be. I don’t know why I psych myself out of writing and editing like this all the time, but I’m going to chalk it up to the malaise and be done with it all. I’ve also not been up for reading, either, which is not helping with the TBR pile in the least. I did finally put my hands on a book I’ve been trying to lay my hands on for months now, and when I finally spotted it and pulled it out of the bookcase, I decided to move it to the top of the pile and I am bringing it to work with me to read at my lunch hour. Maybe if I start reading for pleasure, it will motivate me to write for pleasure again…and the truth is, the overhaul of this book is going to be an incredible pleasure, if a bit on the nightmare side as well. I had already outlined the first half; I need to do the second half (after rereading the first half) and I also need to make a character list and timeline.

And then I can get back to Chlorine at long last. Woo-hoo!

I was also thinking last night I want to spend some more time with short stories this year. I got a lovely email forwarded to me (sent to Paul originally) from a new writer whom I greatly admire and whose debut novel is at the top of the pile to get to (if I ever get out of this fucking malaise), who’d attended my reading session and Saints & Sinners and wanted to know how “This Town” ended. I sent her a copy and she was very kind in her response; she loved it. I have always been proud of “This Town,” and is one of my favorite things I’ve ever written; I really felt like I got Callie’s voice down perfectly. It’s also one of the few stories I’ve written that I can reread and be satisfied, rather than making mental corrections and chastising myself for missing something in the process of writing it (this happens a lot for me, alas); but I’ve also noticed over the last few years that I am getting better at writing the short stories; and have been getting lovely compliments from people on them. I should really write more of them but the primary problem here is that there are so few markets (a submission from September is still pending) to sell them to that the time spent on them doesn’t ever seem to be worth it, other from the sense of satisfaction, which often is enough in and of itself. I think when I finish the revision of this Scotty book, I am going to spend a month on Chlorine to get the first draft finished, and then spend a month working on short stories, and then spend another month getting my pro wrestling noir’s first draft finished. And after that, who knows? My suburban serial killer in the 70’s book? Perhaps a new series? A short story collection? Finishing one of the novellas? The future is rife with possibilities.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have yourself a lovely Wednesday. Constant Reader, and I”ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Dress You Up

Tuesday and we made it through Monday. Hurray for small victories!

I sent the book in last night. I would have done it yesterday on my lunch break, but unfortunately I hadn’t saved the final chapter, so when I tried to open it at work and load it into the main file of the entire manuscript I didn’t have the right version, so it had to wait until I got home. But that’s done, I have a few more things I need to get done right away, and then I can dig into the revision of Mississippi River Mischief, which is going to be more vexing and harder work. But I know how to fix it; the problem is going to be timing because there’s a lot to fix. But it should be okay. It’s not like I’m not used to producing quickly on a deadline or anything. I’d like to be finished before I leave for Malice, but I don’t think that’s going to happen; I know myself far too well.

We binged another three episodes of The Night Agent last night and I have to say, as bonkers as this show as, as little as the plot makes sense when you think about it, and as wooden as the male lead is (he is super hot, though), the show is very entertaining and keeps us curious to see what happens next. I won’t even attempt to explain the basics of the plot; just know that it all kicks off because the main character is assigned to work the night shift in a windowless room in the basement of the White House, and his only job is to answer the phone if it rings. It never does, and then one night it finally does and the “night agent” gets dragged into an incredibly complicated plot built around a national security threat and possible treason by an insider at the White House. Like I said, it’s entertaining enough and if you don’t think about the plot too much you can overlook the plot holes and everything else that is campy and silly about the show. We aren’t taking it terribly seriously; it’s just kind of addictively fun to watch but won’t be winning any awards any time soon.

I also stopped and made groceries on the way home from work yesterday–I’d forgotten a few things when I went over the weekend–and started the dishes and a load of laundry that I’ll need to finish both tonight; Paul came down to watch television while I was doing the dishes and so I didn’t finish. I also was dragging a little bit this morning; it was hard to get out of bed and get going this morning. I feel fine and not tired or sleepy or groggy at all, but I do believe I was in the grip of the “finished the draft malaise’ that always comes about when I turn in a manuscript. Tonight I need to run by the post office on my way home from work; and I also made a to-do list yesterday that hopefully I will consult and stick to…I am not sure when I stopped making the lists (or paying attention to them if I did make one), but one of the reasons I was always able to get so much done was–you guessed it–because I made to-do lists regularly and worked my way through them. At some point, probably around the start of the pandemic, I stopped making lists and started trying to rely on my memory, which doesn’t exactly work the way it should anymore. (The reason I started making lists in the first place was to prevent me forgetting to do something that needed doing.) I started this because my memory was getting bad and stopped when it got the worst its ever been.

I am, indeed, such a Greg.

Sigh.

But I have made just such a to-do list, and while it may not be as comprehensive as I would like–the other problem with making a to-do list is you have to remember what you have to do, or add things as it comes up; like the Constitution my to-do list need to be a living, breathing document–it is there, it is in place, and I need to, every time I sit down at a desk, at work or at him, pull out my spiral notebook and open it to that page and place it prominently in my sight-line. No point to having a to-do list if you aren’t going to be looking at it.

Ah, well.

And on that note I am going to bring this entry to a close and head into the spice mines because I’m boring myself. Have a lovely day, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Angel

LSU! LSU! LSU! LSU!

The Lady Tigers dominated Iowa yesterday to the point of it being embarrassing. They scored over a hundred points–a first for a NCAA women’s title game–and won LSU’s first national title in an NCAA championship tournament in program history.

PAUL: When LSU wins it’s going to bring all the racists out because Iowa is all white and LSU is all Black.

He wasn’t wrong. All the racists who watched to see the white girls win were out in force on Twitter, and like all racists, the hypocrisy and idiocy was strong. Then again, you have to be both hypocritical and idiotic to be a racist in the first place.

And later that evening, LSU Gymnastics qualified (thanks to a tie-breaker) for Nationals as well. All in all, it was a good day for women’s athletics down here in bayou country.

LSU! LSU! LSU! LSU! So proud of our young women!

Well, I finished the revision yesterday. I just need to go over it one last time to make sure there are no screaming, glaring errors (like a chapter missing, that sort of thing) and will send it off today. I am rather pleased with it; it wasn’t nearly the enormous mess that I thought it was originally, and it didn’t need nearly as much work as I had originally feared. One of the primary problems with being older and having had COVID-related memory issues as a writer is I can’t remember sometimes what I’ve already written. As someone who has a very bad habit of writing the same scene twice at different spaces in the book, or sometimes will make a change to the story in the middle of a later chapter that needs correcting or being set up earlier in the book…yes, it’s a serious problem for me. But its done, finished and completed and now I can move on to fixing the mess that is the Scotty book, Mississippi River Mischief, which might not be as easy as this one was–the problem with it is systemic and runs through the entire book, from beginning to end–but I am getting there. Hopefully by the end of April it will be completed and I can move on from both of these, other than copy edits and proofing.

It feels like I’ve been working on these two manuscripts forever.

I also went down a bit of a rabbit hole I’ve visited before on the web; Princess Alice of Monaco, the first American-born Monegasque princess and was from New Orleans: Alice Heine. She fascinates me, and it’s amazing how little she is known in the United States, let alone New Orleans. There are no biographies of her and her colorful life, which included an early marriage to the Duc deRichelieu and a second marriage to the prince of Monaco. She built the Monte Carlo opera house and I believe she also founded the Monegasque ballet as well. She and the prince were unhappy, and she left him, moving to Paris where she was a patroness of the arts, was known for her fabulous salons, and took lots of lovers. The only book I found by looking her up was Anne Edwards’ The Grimaldis of Monaco, and it’s really a history of the 800 year old royal family. I bought the ebook of it, and look forward to reading about Princess Alice. Were I a biographer and/or a historian, I would probably do a biography of her. She fascinates me. For a little while I even thought she’d make an interesting heroine for a period series about an amateur sleuth; the Princess of Monaco as an amateur sleuth in Paris around the turn of the century? The Dreyfus affair? The trial of Oscar Wilde, whom I am sure was a friend of hers?

I also finished reading Robert Caro’s immense opus The Power Broker this weekend. It was a fascinating study of Robert Moses, an incredibly driven and smart man who rose to great power without ever being elected–by building highways, bridges and parks, not just in New York City but the entire state. I did note something during the course of the 1100+ pages; something I’d also noticed with in-depth biographies of Lyndon Johnson (also Caro) and Huey Long: these men were all forward-thinking and progressive, and tried to effect change only to be thwarted by those in power…so the three men out-thunk their enemies, outplayed them, and amassed enormous power in order to get the things they wanted accomplished. They fought dirty, certainly weren’t opposed to corruption in order to get what they needed/wanted, but eventually…as in every case, overplayed their hands. Johnson left office a tattered old man with his reputation in ruins; Moses lost all his power and control; and Long of course was murdered. My next non-fiction read will be David McCullough’s The Johnstown Flood, methinks.

I’m a bit sleepy and groggy this morning; I didn’t sleep great or deeply last night but it was restful physically; more of a mental thing, really; it felt like my mind never really went into the sleep mode. But that’s fine. I have a mentally challenging day at the office ahead of me today, so hopefully sleep will come tonight. We also watched a couple more episodes of The Night Agent, which is getting better and more interesting. Hong Chau is fantastic in it (as she is in everything) and the male lead is certainly good-looking and hot enough to make up for his wooden delivery of his lines–but it actually works for his character, who is supposed to be an unemotional do-your-job kind of guy; though there are times when it’s just cringy.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning.

Crazy for You

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and feeling fine. I did get sucker-punched yesterday morning; I got an email about Mother’s Day gifts already (isn’t it in MAY, for Christ’s sake?) and yeah, wasn’t expecting that tidal wave of sadness and overwhelming grief. However, I took that as a sign to walk away from my computer and get my errands run, which is precisely what I did. Sigh. I guess I have Mother’s Day and the holidays without Mom to look forward to this year. Yay? Sigh again.

Ah, well, it’s not like I’m the first person to go through this. Just because it’s new to me doesn’t mean anything profound, really.

Yesterday was a good day. I made some excellent progress on the book–the revision should be finished today, praise Jesus–and did get some things done. I made groceries and went to get the mail. I also dropped off two boxes of books to the library sale. I did some of the dishes and made some progress on the apartment, which was lovely. We got caught up on Yellowjackets and started watching The Night Agent on Netflix, which isn’t bad. It’s not great, either–it’s a spy show, involving skullduggery probably within the government structure–but it’s entertaining enough, and the lead actor (whose name I cannot recall) is handsome enough. And then I had a very lovely night’s sleep to top everything off. This morning I feel rested and relaxed–which is always a good thing–while for some reason Scooter wants to sleep in my lap while I am sitting here working this morning. I don’t mind, of course–he’s such a sweet thing, really; and he’s getting older, so I know that a day will come where I will regret not cuddling with him every time he wanted me to.

I’m not feeling burnt out, which is also a good thing. It’s hard to believe it’s April already–I’ve got to get my taxes ready–and already I am way behind on all of my plans for this year. That was to be expected–even under the best of circumstances I will always tend to get lazy and put things off–and of course I hadn’t counted on a death in the family, which has impacted me far more than I ever could have realized (I guess there’s no way of knowing until you actually experience it). I was thinking last night that now all of my surviving aunts and uncles, with one exception, are all widowed now; and the only one where both are still alive…well one probably won’t last much longer. I guess I am now understanding how my dad felt after his mother, the last in her generation, went; the time will come far sooner than I would like when my generation will be the oldest surviving one in the family. It’s a somber thought, and I guess I should also realize how lucky we are as a family that my generation is still intact.

Today LSU’s women’s basketball team plays Iowa for the national title. I probably won’t watch–I haven’t really enjoyed basketball much since the advent of the three point shot and the shot clock (which should give you an indication of how long ago that was), so it’s unlikely. I have to finish the revision today anyway, and the game is this afternoon, I think. I doubt I’ll be finished with the manuscript by then, either, and that’s the most important thing. Much as I would love to go read a book this morning as I rev up to write and revise, I’m not going to because of the danger of getting deeply involved in reading and I won’t want to put the book down and get back to work. Instead, I am going to finish the dishes and do some filing–gah, my computer files will take weeks to get organized, not to mention how bad I am with the paper files. I’d hoped to take a week off this summer to clean out the storage attic, divest myself of a lot of these paper files, and get rid of a lot more books, while also working to get my electronic storage straightened up. But I am going to probably have to use at least part of that week going to see Dad up north; I’ll just have to be a lot more efficient with my time than I usually am when I take time off, I suppose (good luck with that, right?). But I also plan to start being better about some other things in the meantime. I want to reactivate my gym membership for May, and in the meantime I want to start stretching several times a week as well as using that back-roller thing to loosen the muscles in my back (which are tight and knotted, imagine that). I also am going to have to baby myself when I go back because of this issue with my left arm, which is irritating, although I suppose all of this is part-and-parcel of getting older and the slow, steady slide into the grave.

LSU Gymnastics is also in the regional final tonight, too.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow–before I head to work.

Material Girl

Saturday and all is well within the Lost Apartment. I slept really well last night, and woke up early this morning. I guess I slept in yesterday till eight so today my body was all “what the hell, dude? GET UP”so I did. My coffee is brewing, and I have a lot to do today. I have errands to run later, cleaning to do, and writing to do as well. Paul has his trainer later this morning and will probably go to the gym after; he’s been really good about that since the Festivals are now over. As soon as my toe is fine again, I plan on starting up again. It’s been over a year, and I think I can hang with returning to the gym again, testing out my left biceps, and seeing how long it takes me to get back into the groove. I need to lose some weight–I’ve not weighed in months–but my shorts are getting to the point where they don’t really fit comfortably anymore and same with my jeans; getting back into shape and starting to eat a more healthy diet can’t hurt, either.

I got some good work done on the revision yesterday; my goal is to get it finished this weekend and turned back in so I can get back to work on another revision I have to get done quickly. This one will require a lot more work than the other, so here’s hoping I can get it all done in April. I really do want to get these out of the way so I can go back to the ones I really want to be working on. I went down a Michelangelo wormhole this week, thanks to the stupidity of the David statue controversy, and I really want to write that book at some point–not quite yet, I don’t think; it’s also going to require another trip to Italy. Paul and I are thinking about doing an Amsterdam-Berlin jaunt at some point; I’ve always wanted to see both cities. I’d also like to do Greece and Spain before I die, too; Egypt is probably never going to happen (Mom always wanted to see the pyramids), but that’s also fine. Who knows? I could die in my sleep tonight, too. And of course, I have always wanted to go to France, too. Heavy heaving sigh. Ah, well. As little as I enjoy traveling domestically, not so sure how I will do on another international flight.

We finished watching season three of Outer Banks last night and it was terribly disappointing. I’m not entirely sure what went wrong with this season, but it was nowhere near as fun as the first two. Without giving spoilers, the treasure hunt that has been the basis of the first three seasons ends with the third; with a potential set up for a fourth season that’s a whole new treasure hunt coming at the very end. I’m not sure if the magic will return, but I suspect the writers ran into the problem that so many do; you have to keep going bigger, and eventually it becomes farcical. The writing was particularly bad in this third season; so much that didn’t make sense, and of course they wasted the first half of the season setting up the second half, which then felt incredibly rushed and nonsensical and stupid. It was disappointing, of course–we’d been looking forward to its return, too. Ah, well. Now that A Knock at the Cabin is streaming, we’ll probably just watch movies tonight; The Pale Blue Eye is also something I’d like to watch.

And what a night for LSU yesterday, as the women’s basketball team won to make it to the National Championship game for the first time in school history, where they will be facing Iowa. That game is tomorrow–I also think it’s Iowa’s first time playing for the national title–but I am not sure that I’ll watch. I used to love basketball, but stopped watching when they kept changing the rules to try to make it more exciting. LSU’s Gymnastics team is competing for a shot in the final four in that sport as well; not sure if they’ll make it out of the group of eight, but you never know. GEAUX TIGERS! And the baseball team is kicking ass this year, too. Looks like that athletic director that replaced the idiot one who went along with all the program abuses (I also like to remind people he was the same guy who blew the Duke lacrosse case) knows what he’s doing.

I also want to spend some time with Margot Douaihy’s Scorched Grace this morning (her last name is pronounced like Hawaii–only with a d. Doo-wa-eee), which looks fantastic. I am taking books to the library sale this morning, and want to do some more purging over the weekend, too. I’m starting to feel. like i have my life back again–the gym is the last piece of the puzzle to snap back into place–and I’m kind of enjoying myself again. It’s been quite a ride since Mom’s initial stroke–the grief still sneaks up on me every once in a while–but I also hadn’t realized what a subconscious weight her health had put on my shoulders. I don’t clench up and my stomach doesn’t knot when I get a text message anymore. I guess with all the other weight I was carrying around from other things I didn’t really notice? I think my compartmentalization is probably not as healthy as I would have liked to believe. But you know, you live and you learn. I’m realizing a lot of things now about life (mine in particular) and seeing things I couldn’t see before. I think the past few months, with everything going on with Mom and all the writing I had to do and the readjustments at my day job, was just so much that I just was kind of coasting along, doing what I needed to get by and trying not to get overwhelmed by focusing on one thing at a time. I also think, hard as it was to be a Festival widow this year, that it was probably good for me to have all that time in the evenings to myself. I could have been a lot more productive, but I think that was also part of the grieving process?

I just feel sort of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and have finally woken up.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader; I certainly intend to!