Category: shopping

Erotica

Work at home Friday, woo-hoo! The excitement really never stops, does it? Ah, well.

Yesterday was a pleasant enough day, despite my complete exhaustion by the time the afternoon rolled around. I was fine in the morning, focused and getting things done, but once I went back to seeing clients after my lunch break, I was physically and mentally fatigued. I also had to pick up the mail on my way home–the traffic wasn’t nearly as terrible as it had been the day before; I do NOT know what that was all about, nor do I want to know, frankly. I came home, did some things, and then collapsed into my easy chair. We started watching that new HBO MAX show about the Watergate burglars starring Woody Harrelson and Justin Theroux (and if you would have told me in 1989 that Woody from Cheers would become one of our best character actors, I wouldn’t have stopped laughing until 1992), but while it’s exceptionally well done, E. Howard Hunt and G. Gordon Liddy aren’t the kind of people I want to know better or see anything about as the lead characters of anything. It was eerie how well they reproduced suburban life in that period (also having Cersei Lannister playing Mrs. Hunt was an interesting twist), but again…I couldn’t get a sense of whether this was parody or striving for accuracy (which shows how insane Hunt and Liddy both are/were), so after one episode we tapped out and switched over to The Diplomat, which is amazing. I fell asleep during the second episode (I’ll rewatch it to get caught up at some point) because I was, simply stated, completely exhausted from a week of working and not sleeping well and emotional upset, I suppose. Last night I slept like a rock–completely dead to the world all night, and even slept for nearly ten hours before rising this morning rested and refreshed. It is quite lovely, frankly, and I feel terrific for the first time all week. Of course tomorrow I have to drive to Alabama (and back again on Sunday) but I have already selected Carol Goodman’s The Ghost Orchid to listen to on the ride to and fro, and I am kind of excited at the chance to listen to yet another brilliant book by one of my current favorite authors.

I’ve not had a chance to pick up Lori Roy’s brilliant Let Me Die in His Footsteps, which I was reading on the way home from Malice last Sunday and loving every word. Despite the fact she has two Edgars and another nomination from her first three books (which is pretty amazing on every level), I think her more recent work is even better than her earlier work. This book is also pretty fantastic, and I can see why it did win the Best Novel Edgar. Roy has a very hypnotic writing style, and is a master of voice; this story is told by two very different and very distinct voices with an alternating dual time-line, which is also something I love, love, love. The pity is that when I finally do finish this book, there will only be one Lori Roy novel left that I’ve not read, When She Comes Home, and I’ll have to hold onto that one until she publishes another book unless I want to (sigh) finish her entire published canon thus far.

I dread the day when I run out of Carol Goodman novels to read, for example.

It’s been a tough week, and I think that its my subconscious dealing with the issues of what this weekend means, really. Over the course of my life I’ve become really good at compartmentalizing my life into different rooms in my brain and shutting and locking the door on things, thinking I can’t deal with that now, I’ll deal with it later but some things are too big to be locked away, and they seep out through the cracks around the door in its frame and drag like a heavy stone at my being and emotions. I hit a major wall when I got home from work on Wednesday; I just got overwhelmed out of nowhere with grief and collapsed into my easy chair for some purring cat therapy. I also find that my moods can easily be shifted with essentially a snap of the fingers this week. I am unused to this kind of grief, and periodically wonder–with a sense of dread and horror–how much worse this will be when I lose Dad, as he is the only parent I have left. I know I am lucky. I had my mom for nearly sixty-two years; most people don’t get that long with one parent, let alone two. How much harder would this have been to deal with when I was younger and more immature?

But that is the kind of thing I always dismiss when it comes to mind–the path of regret is one of futility, wasted time and energy and emotion. You cannot change anything, so what is the point of trying to figure out or thinking about how different things might have been had you chosen A instead of B at this point, or D instead of Y then? The ripple effect of every choice we make reaches people we don’t know in ways we’ll never know, so maybe different choices made by me could have resulted in horrible things happening to other people, and why on earth would I wish bad things for people I don’t even know? That sounds terrible, frankly, and nothing I would ever want.

In some ways, this morning I am kind of looking forward to the drive north. I mean, yes, the destination is grim and sad, but it’s a beautiful drive; I have a great novel to listen to, and I really am looking forward to seeing my father. I want to get a good look at him, you know, and listen to him and see how he is doing. It’s so hard to tell via email or text, you know? Nothing like having eyes on someone for a proper assessment. I’ve decided to go up there this summer for a while, keep him company and spend some more time with him. (And yes, hateful little voice inside my head, I am very aware that I should have been doing this when Mom was alive. No sense in regrets, but I don’t want to feel this way when I lose Dad, so…changes in mentality and thinking are necessary going forward. I do wish it were easier to get up there than it is, though. I don’t think anyone can fault me for thinking that, either.)

Ah well, I have work-at-home duties to take care of as well as chores, so I am going to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines. I’ll check in with you again tomorrow before I leave, Constant Reader, and have a lovely day.

You’ll See

And somehow, here we are at Thursday again. It is kind of annoying and irritating how quickly time is slipping through my fingers; but then this was a short work week because I was off on Monday. I’ve felt a bit out of sorts and off-balance this week, which I think is because of the Malice come-down plus knowing that I have to go to Alabama this weekend. It’s hard for me to focus and get settled with that journey ahead of me, and while I am not necessarily dreading it, I also know it’s going to be emotionally draining and exhausting so there’s some trepidation, to be sure. It’s also Mother’s Day the next weekend, so that’s going to probably be a bit rough (note to self: text your sister). Yay?

But in cool news, the anthology This Fresh Hell now has a release date of June and can be ordered here: https://improbablepress.com/products/this-fresh-hell

(Apologies, for some reason I can’t substitute text for links anymore. Fucking updates.)

Anyway, this anthology has my story “Solace in a Dying Hour” in it, and this is a story I am really proud of. It’s one where I went to rural Louisiana/bayou country yet again, which also meant navigating stereotypes, tropes, and clichés. I had originally intended to write a story about the grunch (a mythical creature sighted occasionally out in old New Orleans East, but I think his old stomping grounds now are neighborhoods) but in looking up information about that particular Louisiana legend I stumbled over a bunch more that I’d never heard of, and one in particular–le feu follet–really struck my fancy. These are fairy lights seen out in the swamp or along a bayou, kind of like a will-o’-the-wisp. Usually no larger than a candle flame, these lights have been said to be many things, but the definition I went with–the souls of the unshriven dead, come to claim other souls–worked for what I was trying to do, and the more I thought about it, the more the story began to come together in my mind. I think it’s a lovely piece of writing, frankly, and it really must be if I am going to say it publicly. It turned out exactly the way I wanted it to, and I had some expert editorial help from Katya de Becerra and Narrelle M. Harris (who worked with me on my Sherlock story; I really love working with Narrelle) that made it even better than I thought it could be while still remaining what I wanted the story to be; their input was invaluable. Good editors, y’all, are worth their weight in gold. As you can imagine, I am very excited about the story and the anthology.

I slept decently last night; I was again very tired when I got home. It took me an hour because of traffic–I stopped at the Rouses’s in the CBD on the way home, but was only there for fifteen minutes. I left the office at straight-up four thirty and got home after five thirty. It was the worst I’ve seen traffic in the CBD since before the pandemic. Not sure what there was about yesterday that brought horrendous pre-pandemic traffic back to New Orleans, but here we are, right? Heavy sigh. Tonight I am going to swing uptown on my way home to get the mail, so hopefully Claiborne traffic won’t be hellish tonight. And tomorrow is my work-at-homeday, before getting up Saturday and driving north. It was odd; yesterday morning on the way to work the traffic was also heavy. It’s been a hot minute, but I always used to drive here before the pandemic at off times so I never had to deal with traffic very much. I am beginning to think my working in the evenings is a thing of the past I may never see again, doomed to a life of getting up at six a.m. Monday thru Thursday for the rest of my working life. That sounds incredibly tiresome, doesn’t it? But I imagine I’ll be tired all of next week, too, and won’t get caught up on rest until the following weekend. Not loving this, for sure.

But in other weird developments, I discovered that Tuscaloosa–where I will be turning north to head to the home country–has WHATABURGER. It is almost sad how excited finding that out made me; I am definitely scheduling my trip to stop there for lunch on my way up. How cool is that? Usually when I drive north I tend to stop at Hardee’s, since we don’t have them in New Orleans and they’re basically Carl’s Jr, which I loved when I lived in California (and yes, I know the family that owns them is homophobic right-wing trash) so I always see that as a bit of a ‘treat’ for me when I go on long drives. I do love fast food hamburgers, although the old classics (McDonalds, Burger King, and Wendy’s) all are kind of disgusting to me now. Give me Whataburger, Five Guys, or Sonic. (I am starting to not like Hardee’s; the last few times it was just kind of meh)

Fascinating stuff, am I right?

What can I say? I’m a little bleary this morning, so maybe it’s best to head into the spice mines and be done with it. Talk to you tomorrow, Constant Reader!

Secret

Well, it’s back to the office with me today. It seems like it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been to work; last Wednesday seems like it was a very long time ago. I am going to be undoubtedly terribly behind on everything once I get there, but that’s the hard-knock life I suppose. I didn’t sleep great last night, and I am a little tired this morning–groggy–but hopeful the coffee will take care of that. I didn’t want to get up either, and now that I am up I am uninspired to do anything. I think I might be a little stressed about everything I have to get done this month but there’s naught to do but place nose on grindstone and move forward.

I had my hearing test yesterday and it’s official; I am hard of hearing. When I am speaking to someone one on one with no ambient noise, I only hear 80% of what people are saying to me. Start adding ambient noise and the percentage of hearing drops dramatically; basically she told me what I already knew: I cannot hear in restaurants and bars. Apparently operating through insurance to get the hearing aids I clearly need is going to require effort, as well. (I also had a co-pay at the office, which was odd; the deductible was paid off earlier this year and he’s in network–so I need to look into that as well. Fucking insurance shouldn’t be this difficult.) I wasn’t thrilled to get this diagnosis, but at the same time was kind of like well, at least it’s not my imagination or something I am doing on purpose. I have an eye appointment a week from Saturday, too, so yes, getting new appointments and taking care of basic maintenance all over the place. I also have a dental appointment at some point too; I stopped procrastinating about everything and tried to get it all taken care of in one day, calling and making appointments all over the place. It was most impressive for me, especially given how much I hate doing that sort of thing.

It was a beautiful day in New Orleans yesterday; eighty-eight degrees but not humid at all, which is heavenly. To me, that just feels pleasantly warm and comfortable; it’s amazing what a difference dry air makes in this case. I did manage to get all of my errands done, the laundry taken care of, and other chores around the house. I was tired most of the day, despite the good night’s sleep I had Sunday, and last night Paul and I finished watching The Watchful Eye, so you don’t have to. It’s not very good; the plot is full of holes, the writing and acting are kind of bad, and the dialogue is outright laughable at times, but it was entertaining enough in that train wreck kind of way that can be fun to watch at times. I started reading Lori Roy’s marvelous Let Me Die in His Footsteps on the flight home Sunday, and I really need to get back to it because it really is remarkable.

God, I have so much to do! The mind literally reels. And this weekend I have to go meet Dad in Alabama, and of course it’s also Mother’s Day, which is going to make it that much more difficult to deal with. It’s not an ordeal by any means; it’s a relatively easy drive and I have a Carol Goodman to listen to in the car both directions, but it’s going to be emotionally draining and means my weekend is gone and cannot be used to get caught up. Yay. But I just need to buckle down this week, ignore the cat’s whining when I get home, and focus focus focus on getting the manuscript revised as well as start editing another one. Heavy heaving sigh. But if I can make it through May…everything should be out of the way at the end of the month and so I can spring into June with nothing due anywhere, which would be absolutely lovely and am not quite sure on how I will process that? LOL. It’s not like I don’t have a million things in progress that need to be finished, either.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

I’ll Remember

Monday morning and I got home from Malice Domestic yesterday afternoon after a rather odd but interesting time at the airport–more on that later. I was very tired–exhausted would not be hyperbole–but also very glad I was home. I had a lovely, wonderful, splendid time; the only regrets I have are that there were times when I was tired and had to go rest in my room for a while and take a break rather than spend that time catching up with old friends while getting to know the new ones. I had trouble sleeping the entire trip, which was unfortunate; even going two days without having any Coke didn’t do the trick (and once it didn’t work, why continue depriving myself?). But what a marvelous, friendly event Malice Domestic turned out to be this year! I also got to thank some people in person for their kindnesses over the last year which was also lovely. I read Ellen Byron’s marvelous Wined and Died in New Orleans on the trip up, so didn’t mind the flight delay or the rush hour traffic my cab from the airport was unfortunately timed to cross paths with. But because of the delay I went for a long time without eating–nothing from my yogurt before I left for the airport until about eight o’clock that evening–so my blood sugar dropped and I never really caught up on it over the course of the weekend. That and the no sleep resulted in a very tired Gregalicious who arrived at the Lost Apartment much later than scheduled–which was yet another life lesson.

On my way to the airport in a Lyft (wonderful, friendly driver named Tyrone who got a 25% tip), just as he dropped me off Southwest texted me of a half hour delay on my flight. No worries–I got to the airport about two hours before the flight, so…an extra half hour, no big deal. Of course, it’s Washington National…small, cramped, overcrowded, and not many options for food once you’re past security. And then it seem like every half hour there was another text with another hour delay. Tired and uncomfortable, I started getting annoyed. But as the delays continued to pile up–along with gate changes, which meant moving and trying to find another place to sit–I moved from irritation to acceptance to amusement, along with a lot of empathy for the airline employees. While they never said what the problem was, I’d assumed it was weather–but now this morning, I am beginning to think it was a mechanical issue. The last text I got extending the delay to make it another two and a half hours after the airport was followed shortly thereafter by another text changing the gate and now moving the flight up from its previous 3:45 departure (originally scheduled for 12:45) to 2:00 pm, which clearly meant they’d exchanged an aircraft and crew for the original one I was supposed to be on. So, that was cool, and the flight was two-thirds empty, so I got an entire row to myself just as I did on the way up to DC. I also hadn’t eaten, and there was nowhere to eat during the delay other than a pizza place (and I wasn’t in the mood for pizza) so was starving by the time I retrieved my bag and car and headed for home. I stopped and got Paul and I dinner–I knew there wouldn’t be anything in the Lost Apartment to eat–and then came home, exhausted and happy to be back home. I love conferences; I love seeing my people and my friends and making new ones and discovering new books and writers to enjoy. My Agatha nominees panel was marvelous, and excellently moderated by Alan Orloff. I was fun being on a panel with Elizabeth Bunce again (and her Myrtle series is marvelous; check it out) and Frances Schoonmaker was an absolute delight. We also somehow all three wound up wearing red and black to the banquet, which was a delightful surprise. I got to sit next to Valona Jones (aka Maggie Toussaint) at the table–she’s lovely– as was everyone else at my table. Didn’t win–so, as per my post the other day, it now seems real to me, and I got my nominees’ certificate which I am going to proudly hang somewhere in the my office space. But there’s also no disgrace in losing to Nancy Springer and Enola Holmes, either. I got to talk about my book, which was nice-–when you’re as prolific as I am, sometimes conferences fall in such a way that I’ve had two out since the last conference, so sometimes I don’t get to talk about a book that I’ve written anywhere publicly other than here and social media. I also loved the questions Alan asked us on the panel; I’m thinking I may answer them at length on here because they were that great kind of question that you could literally spend an hour talking about instead of just the limited time we had for the panel. (I was also thinking I should maybe talk more about the book again? I don’t know. It was lovely. I had a lot of people tell me they’d read it and even more telling me it was a great title…so maybe I should talk about it some more? I don’t know.) I got to sit next to Mariah Fredericks at the signing, so I got to meet and talk to her a bit and she’s delightful (her latest, The Lindbergh Nanny, sounds amazing). I am glad I got to spend some time with friends, too–there was lots of laughter, which was wonderful–and I never got over-served, which was also a first for me at a mystery conference! Maybe that was why I couldn’t sleep? Nah, definitely not that. I also got to talk about being banned for the first time in years; for one thing, it’s hard to believe it happened eighteen years ago and now everyone is dealing with the shit I dealt with back then, too….so it occurs to me that in light of the return of the banning, I should probably write about it again from the perspective of how things are now. I also was thinking I should write about how much I love Elizabeth Peters/Barbara Michaels after going to the appreciation panel; she helped found Malice, which always puts Malice into a special place in my heart already because I loved her work.

Anyway, I got home while it was still light out, unloaded my suitcase into the washing machine and got that started; put my dress clothes in a pile to take to the dry cleaner’s; and then spent the evening relaxing with Paul and Scooter while we watched Ghosted (the new Chris Evans/Ana de Armas action/adventure rom-com which was actually kind of cute and fun–the two stars are likable and charming and have good chemistry) and then more episodes of The Watchful Eye, which is quite strange and oddly entertaining. We’ll probably finish off the series tonight. I do have a lot to do today–I took the day off, and am very glad I did, as I was exhausted and OMG, I slept so good; there’s nothing like your own bed, seriously–and then we’ll need to find something new, although I think there are some shows we watch dropping new seasons this month. I have to get the mail, pick up a prescription, gas up the car, have a doctor’s appointment, need to get groceries, and have a ZOOM meeting tonight. I also have to dig back into the book; I am so horribly behind on this revision it’s not even funny. ANd it’s May already. Jesus. I also started reading Lori Roy’s marvelous Edgar winning Let Me Die in His Footsteps from 2015; Constant Reader, it is quite wonderful and I honestly can’t wait to finish reading it. Lori Roy is one of my favorite current authors, and doesn’t get nearly the attention she should. (She’s also one of those rare authors who hit the ultimate dual–Edgars for Best First Novel and later for Best Novel.) The kitchen is a mess, as always, but I’m glad I spent some time before the trip trying to get that shit caught up because it isn’t nearly as bad as it could be (and was).

And now I have a day to get caught up on life after being in my author bubble for a few days to ease my reentry into my regular life. I won’t get to be AUTHOR again until Bouchercon in San Diego. But that’s okay, you know. I like the balance of the two different parts of my life, and there’s nothing like working in an STI clinic to keep you not only humble but grounded in the real world.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and thanks again to everyone at Malice Domestic for a simply marvelous weekend.

This Used To Be My Playground

Monday morning of Malice week. Ugh, all the little things one has to do to get ready for traveling. Make a list of what to pack, take inventory of the kitchen to make sure Paul has what he needs while I’m gone, and so on and so forth. Heavy heaving sigh. But my flight Thursday isn’t super early; eleven-ish, if I recall correctly, which means I don’t have to be at the airport until around nine, which isn’t bad. I’m going to take some books with me to read for pleasure at the airports and while in flight; I will be editing when I can in my room periodically trying to get this revision finished by the end of the month. The weekend wasn’t nearly as productive as it could have been–there was another wave of depression and grief to be gotten through this weekend, unfortunately–but I did make some progress, which I am taking as a win. I did also make a to-do list for the week; that should help in some ways.

We watched A Knock at the Cabin last night, which I enjoyed; a lot more than I usually enjoy an M. Night Shyamalan movie. I had also enjoyed the book on which it was based, The Cabin at the End of the World by Paul Tremblay, who is one of our best horror writers today; I’ve enjoyed everything of his I’ve read thus far. The film follows the book very closely; it’s one of those claustrophobic horror stories where some city folk take a vacation in the country at a remote cabin–but remote and country are very much staples of horror; someone really should do a look at the trope of “city folk in the country” horror–and things of course go very south. The film is very well cast; Jonathan Groff and Ben Aldridge play Eric and Andrew, a gay couple who’ve adopted a young Asian girl they’ve named Wen and they make an adorable little family group. The location of the cabin is idyllic and tranquil and beautiful; the perfect spot for some city folk who want to get away from the every day and rest and relax. Wen collects grasshoppers in a jar because she wants to study them; the movie opens with her catching grasshoppers and then catching a glimpse of a very big man coming through the woods to talk to her. This is Leonard, played very well by Dave Bautista, who is the leader of a group of four people who have seen visions and have concluded that in order to stop the apocalyptic end of the world, they must come to this cabin and present the family with a horrible choice: they have to sacrifice one of their own in order to stop the end of the world. Are they crazy? They sound like it, as they try to reason with the family…but what if they aren’t? The movie’s ending is different than the book’s–there was no way they could film the book’s ending, really–but I do prefer the book’s ending than the film’s; it seemed like the inevitable outcome, and made the most sense. It’s a good movie, I do recommend it, but one thing I’ve always been curious about since reading the book and was only heightened by viewing the film: why a gay family? I gave Tremblay props when I read the book, because they were very real and didn’t seem forced or stereotypical at all; I thought it should stand as an excellent example of someone who is not gay writing gay characters. The politics of the representation–gays in peril–is one I am not going to give any time to; sure, the gay family was in danger almost from the minute the credits rolled, and it was nice having a gay couple to root for in a horror film. Horror by its very nature is disturbing and tragic; you cannot have gay representation in horror and then not expect the gay people to go through some things, you know? And having gay characters also adds another dimension to the home invasion situation–are they crazy, are they telling the truth, or did they target a gay family purposely? There’s an essay to be written about the book and the movie from a sociopolitical and sociocultural perspective, but I don’t know that I am the right person to write such a thing; I’m not an academic, after all, and have very little desire to ever be an academic.,.although that sometimes can explain my insecurities about thinking deep and heavy thoughts and wanting to write deep and heavy essays picking apart and deconstructing gay representation in modern fiction, with an emphasis on horror and crime.

I also read some academic treatises this weekend, one about being gay and the gay rights movement’s intersectionality and how it got away from that in the beginning only to circle back around to it in the present day, and the other about the television show Dark Shadows, which probably had more influence on me, my writing, and my preferences when it comes to reading, film, and television than anything else I’ve watched or read in my life. I know I used to watch classic black and white films with my grandmother (she was a big fan of the gay icons, ironically: Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck, and Katharine Hepburn; she also liked horror and noir, and she was a fan of Dark Shadows, as was our babysitter down the street, Mrs. Harris), so pretty much my course was set when I was a little boy–gay writer was my future. I should write more about Dark Shadows–I was actually thinking last night that I should write a memoir of being a writer; my influences and how they shaped my creativity and what I actually write–not that anyone would be interested in reading such a thing, of course; which is partly why I don’t write more personal essays. Just as I’ve never really been interested in writing a writing manual, or one of those Greg Herren teaches you how to write a novel things. I always feel like a fraud when I talk about writing; never does my Imposter Syndrome strike as hard as it does when I am talking about writing or teaching a workshop. I don’t know.

It’s back into the office with me today. It’s a light day for me; mostly busy work, like data entry, filing, resupplying testing rooms, that sort of thing. It’s always nice to ease back into the week with an easy day in the office. It’s also weird to know that I am leaving on Thursday morning; the trip doesn’t seem real to me yet even though I’ve already made plans to meet up with people while I am there. Looks like I’m going to have to take a Lyft or an Uber from the airport once there, which is fine. And then of course when I get home I have to make up for lost time with the manuscript. Heavy heaving sigh. It wasn’t a good weekend for working, really; I kept spiraling and had to finally, on both days, remind myself that my mental health was more important than a deadline and so focused on positivity and and worked when I was able to get things done. The house isn’t nearly in the kind of shape I would like for it to be in when I am leaving for a weekend (two in a row; the next weekend I am off to Alabama) but seriously–when is it ever? I just need to make sure everything is in order before I go away on Thursday morning. Heavy heaving sigh.

And my books that I’ll be taking to read with me are going to be That Summer Night on Frenchmen Street, Wined and Died in La,, Let Me Die in His Footsteps, and Monday’s Lie. I am not going to get through all of these, of course; I may even cut it down to two–like I won’t be buying books in the book room, please–and I will also be working on the revision while I am there, too. (I so wanted to be finished before I leave…)

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the office. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Cherish

Give me faith, give me joy, my boy, I will always cherish you!

In case you didn’t notice, I am working my way through Madonna’s lengthy discography for my entry titles, and it’s actually kind of fun revisiting old Madonna music. She’s been a force in pop culture for nearly forty years now, which is a pretty amazing run when you think about it–not quite the Cher/Bette Midler mark yet, but still, pretty amazing. My first Madonna song (that I remember hearing, or taking notice of) was “Borderline,” and I bought that first album. And while I liked it a lot, I figured Madonna wasn’t going to be around for very long; artists who focused on dance music, especially white women, tended to not stick around the business for very long. But then came the Like a Virgin album (which is my least favorite of hers, in all honesty), and she turned into a phenomenon that wasn’t going away any time soon. “Cherish” I remember primarily because it was a light pop confection, nothing too deep but fun to listen to and bop along with, but the video, shot by Herb Ritts with all the hot mermen? (for the record, my two favorite Madonna albums as Like a Prayer and Ray of Light, neither of which should come as a big surprise)

Michael Denneny passed away over the weekend. I never had the occasion to meet him, but he was a hugely important figure in the development of queer art and literature back in the day, not the least for founding Christopher Street magazine. He was also important in the 1990’s, with his Stonewall Inn imprint at St. Martin’s, which eventually shuttered around the turn of the century. It’s possible I may have met him back in the days when I worked for Lambda; it’s very likely, in fact, but my memories have grown faded to sepia with time and there’s a lot I don’t remember from back then (it’s always mortifying when someone reminds me of us meeting back then and I don’t recall anything about it; there’s usually an amusing story that goes with it that makes it even more mortifying that I don’t remember). But hat’s off to you, Michael; you discovered and published a lot of authors who brought me hours of reading joy. Thank you for your life’s work.

I didn’t sleep well last night, which was something I was worried about happening. I woke up every hour or so, never really felt like I went in a deep sleep at all, and feel fried and tired today. Yay. But its okay, I can deal, and hopefully I’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight and feel great tomorrow. Heavy heaving sigh.

We finished season one of P-Valley and started season two–but weren’t too crazy about the second season. They are dealing with the pandemic, and I have to confess it never occurred to me what strippers would do during a pandemic; I did wonder, while watching, why none of them had an Onlyfans? Especially since one of them is attracting a large following on Instagram? Paul and I agreed to give the second season a second chance, but unless there’s a dramatic pick-up on the story, we’ll probably stop watching and may come back to it at another time. Which then begs the question what will we watch in the meantime? I have some things on my list, so maybe we can check out some of them tonight. And of course, if we don’t like something we can always stop watching it.

I did finish reading Margot Douaihy’s Scorched Grace yesterday, and it was quite a ride. The voice, the tone, the word choices and sentence structures…all of it unique and if not, then a fresh new way of doing something shopworn. Sister Holiday is a fascinating character with an equally fascinating back story; we glimpsed some of it in this first book (of three), and I like the idea of a hardboiled cozy with a lesbian chain-smoking nun as the main character. The book certainly subverts your expectations, and there’s a hypnotic quality to the writing, that pulls you in and makes you keep turning the page. I started marking pages that had sentences I really liked for when I do a post focusing on said book; I want to let the book sit in my head for a while before I devote an entire entry to it. It’s one of the best books I’ve read this year so far–and this year I’ve read some truly phenomenal books already and it’s only mid-April, with even more exciting books dropping throughout the course of the rest of this year.

And I really need to get more progress done on the book. The problem is not sleeping well during the week (see last night) and being too tired when I get home from work to do any more work on it. But tonight, after I get home from running errands on the way from work, I am hoping that I can start pulling some of the strings of the story without unraveling the entire thing. One can hope, at any rate, right?

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. I thought about calling out for the day but would rather go in and gut it out. You have a great Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Express Yourself

Sunday morning and I am feeling good, I think. I stretched yesterday a little bit and used the back roller thingee, which made me feel a lot less tense and tight and may have helped me sleep better. I feel good this morning, after a very deep and relaxing night’s sleep. If that was a result of a brief time stretching and using the back roller, well, I am more than willing to spend five or so minutes every morning doing just that. I don’t feel tense this morning, and I feel like a lot of stress stored up in tight muscles that have been ignored for far too long. Regardless, I will be doing some stretching again this morning once I’ve finished this.

LSU’s Gymnastics team didn’t do so great at the Nationals–fourth out of four– but hey, just the fact they made it to Nationals was a victory; they lost one of their major stars to injury, a secondary star to another injury, and several other solid performers were out for the season as well from a team that didn’t make it out of Semi-Finals last year. LSU is killing it in sports right now, and with football season just a few months away, this is a very exciting time to be an LSU fan, to be honest. GEAUX TIGERS! And next year’s team will be even better and stronger than this year’s. A very good time to be a Tiger fan.

I ran errands yesterday, mostly to the post office and to make a little groceries. I came home and spent some time rereading MRM until it was time for the Gymnastics. I also spend some more time yesterday morning with Scorched Grace, which I am taking my time with to savor every word and sentence; it’s that kind of amazing book with such extraordinary language choices and structuring and style. It’s hard to believe this amazing work is a debut, and more than a little humbling for someone who’s working on book forty-something. I really look forward to finishing it and sharing my thoughts and impressions with you, Constant Reader. After the Gymnastics and dinner, we started watching something new, since we’d finished our last show already, and Paul chose P-Valley, from Starz; which I remember hearing about when it debuted, but not much since. A strip club in the Mississippi Delta area–known for its poverty–wasn’t something I’d usually be interested in. But I’d also heard good things about it–what little I’d heard, that is–and so we started watching. At first it reminded me a bit of Showgirls, in its rawness, its insane dialogue and story-lines, but the second episode really pulled us into it and now we’re all about Mercedes, Uncle Clifford (the gender non-conforming club owner), and Autumn.

The plan for today is to put away some things in the kitchen (I got a little lazy about put away the sundries when I got home from the store yesterday) and then most likely spend some time with Scorched Grace this morning before getting cleaned up and diving headfirst into the book. I am, of course, as always terribly behind, which isn’t a good thing at all. But focus and a strong push should get me through this revision. Fingers crossed I stay not only motivated but rested, what do you think? It rained a lot yesterday–it even rained over night–so there’s this damp chill in the air this morning which makes me, frankly, want to get back into bed under the covers. But I am going to resist my natural inclination to laziness and get back to reading and writing and getting things done and taken care of and tearing through the rest of my to-do list. (And if I feel this good after some minor stretching yesterday, imagine how good I’ll feel once I start lifting weights again…)

So yes, I am behind on everything as always, but this morning I feel like life is full of infinite possibilities, and I am feeling very optimistic about everything and my capacity and capability of getting everything done that I need to get done. It’s amazing what a difference a really good night’s sleep can make, isn’t it?

And on that note, I am heading to my chair with Margot, my coffee, and Scorched Grace. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader.

The Look of Love

Saturday morning. I was incorrect about the department meeting; it’s later this month (when I’ll be in Bethesda, actually) so I went to the health fair, was told I should increase my exercise (duh, since I do none now) and other than that, I appear to be perfectly healthy–or at least per my vitals and blood work, at any rate.

How fortunate they weren’t testing for mental stability, eh?

But it was a lovely day to work-at-home. It was still cold overnight, but the high yesterday hovered in the high seventies, topping out at a solid, spring-like eighty degrees at one point in the afternoon, which was also nice. I filed and cleaned when taking breaks from work; laundered the bed linens, finished off the dishes, and straightened the rugs as well as sweeping and vacuuming. We got caught up on Yellowjackets and The Mandalorian, and while I was waiting for Paul to come home from the gym, I rewatched this week’s Ted Lasso with the captions on so I could catch things I missed on first viewing (something I do with every episode, as I did with Schitt’s Creek), and I have to say I enjoyed it a lot more on the second viewing than I did on the first. I am very curious to see where the show is going and how it’s going to end–but unlike everyone else, I’ve decided to not theorize about it or jump to conclusions predicated on my interpretation of what I’ve seen; instead I just want to enjoy the ride and trust the writers to do their jobs, which they’ve done superbly on every step of the journey thus far.

I slept really well last night and feel very rested this morning. I have to get the mail today and I should make a small grocery run while I am out, but ugh, how I hate the grocery store lately. It saps my strength and will and makes me want to curl up with Scooter and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore out there. There’s not much we really need, to be completely honest; but I need to know what I want to make for dinner this weekend and what I am going to be taking for lunch next week. Decisions, decisions–but it feels good to be rested and clear-headed this morning. I don’t know that I feel particularly inspired this morning, but that’s okay. Once I finish this, I am taking my coffee and repairing to my easy chair to read Scorched Grace, which I hope to finish this weekend.

Anne Perry, a very successful author, died this week. She had an unfortunate past, having committed the crime that Peter Jackson’s film Beautiful Creatures was based on (also known as the film that gave us Kate Winslet and Melanie Lynskey) as a teenager, and served her time. I didn’t know Ms. Perry, nor have I ever read any of her work. This wasn’t out of any sense of oh I can’t possible be supportive of her! She killed someone! but more because they weren’t the kind of stories I particularly enjoy. I did ride in an elevator with her once at a Bouchercon, and she was polite, reservedly friendly (understandable), and seemed kind. I’ve been thinking lately that I’d like to read more historical crime fiction, particularly around the first World War (looking at you, Charles Todd!), but that TBR stack is already way too deep and tall and wide. However, Ms. Perry’s death has, of course, brought all that about her teenaged crime back into the news and onto social media to be rehashed and discussed and, well, frankly beaten into the ground. Ms. Perry’s situation also is key to a broader discussion about criminal justice, and our criminal justice system and how it operates. (Ms. Perry’s crime was committed in Australia, I believe.) I see a lot of people talking about how they don’t believe in redemption, and how they could never bring themselves to support someone who’d done something so terrible, etc. etc. etc. And it’s very true; we as a society tend to look askance at people who’ve served time in prison–and tend to judge them harshly.

How can you believe in a criminal justice system if you don’t believe in the potential of human redemption? I’m not an expert on any of this stuff, let me make that very clear at this point. I am merely examining this from a layman’s perspective and coming from a logical place to try to dissect all of this with nuance and rationality; what can I say, I took Geometry in high school and was on the debate team. I don’t think you can believe in our criminal justice system if you don’t believe in redemption, which seems kind of Old Testament to me; once a criminal always a criminal is what that boils down to, and if there is never even the slightest possibility that someone can be redeemed, what is the point of jailing them? Punishment? That seems kind of draconian and not very humanist, frankly. The odds are stacked against convicts as it is when they are released; as most of us will always keep an eye at them in askance, just waiting for them to commit another crime to prove that they belong in jail and should never be released. I understand the sex-offender registry–women and children are vulnerable and should be aware someone who may be a predator is living in their area now–but at the same time, it feels….punitive. Sex crimes are horrible, to be sure, but if they are so horrible and the offender is statistically going to commit the same kind of crime again–why let them out in the first place? Getting one of those flyers back when we lived on Camp Street is what inspired me to write my short story “Neighborhood Alert,” which is one of my favorite stories that I’ve done, and tried to use the story to illustrate the potential consequences that can come from such alerts.

I also think it’s interesting that people are so unforgiving in real life while they will read–and root for–characters like Tom Ripley or Hannibal Lector or Dexter. But that’s fiction, they say in response, to which I say so you would be repulsed by them if they were real, but you root for them in fiction? Make it make sense to me.

Ultimately, she did her time for her crime, and then spent the rest of her life writing crime novels successfully. Enough people either didn’t know about her past, or didn’t care enough to make them give up the pleasure of reading her work. As I said, I’ve not read her work but it’s not out of any sense of moral outrage or superiority, but because they aren’t the kind of books I ordinarily read–although now I kind of want to read one, to see how good she was. If you don’t want to read her, or didn’t, because of her past that’s your choice and your decision. But please don’t think for one moment you have the right to tell me what I can or cannot read, or what I can or cannot enjoy–because then you are no better than right-wingers trying to ban books and close libraries, and that is something I will not, do not, and cannot, support on any level.

I also kind of believe that redemption is possible, but not unless there is atonement and a desire to change. If I didn’t believe that, well, I don’t know how I could live with myself. This is a question I explored in my nasty little story “This Thing of Darkness”–can you atone for something terrible you did as a teenager? Especially if you are never punished for the crime itself? How do you live with yourself with such a thing on your conscience? (This is also the theme for one of my favorite books of all times, Thomas Thompson’s Celebrity)

And on that note, I am making another cup of coffee and heading to the chair with Margot Douaily. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back here again tomorrow, as always.

Causing a Commotion

Good morning, Thursday, how are you doing today?

We’ve been having a bit of a cold spell this week–cold for New Orleans in April, at any rate; the temperature has not gone over seventy this week. It’s also not gone below sixty, either–but these are unusual temperatures for this time of year here. April is usually our spring, with mid-seventies and no humidity–that doesn’t start until May and builds daily until September. I am a little worried about this hurricane season and how hot it’s going to be here this summer., but…don’t stress over things that you can’t control, Gregalicious. It’s not going to even make it out of the sixties and into the seventies today.

I was thinking the other night about how many wonderful books I’ve read this year, and was trying to remember the last time I read one I didn’t really like or enjoy very much (Nelson Algren’s A Walk on the Wild Side, absolutely hated it, but kept reading because I felt like I should). There’s so much good work out there from phenomenal writers that it’s kind of a good time to be a mystery reader. I mean, Bobby Mathews’ Living the Gimmick, Cheryl A. Head’s Time’s Undoing, and this Margot Douaihy debut alone are some amazing stories with terrific, mind-blowing language use. And that’s only three; I’ve read so many others that are great this year–and one can never go wrong with Carol Goodman.

The other day when I was driving home from work down Howard Avenue down to Harmony Circle, I was stopped at the light at Carondelet. Usually, I just keep my eyes on the light waiting for it to change, but this time I wanted to see who was driving the car beside me in the right lane (because they’d been driving erratically ever since we merged onto Howard off Loyola). I don’t remember anything about the driver or the car now (it was of no import, really) but I noticed something I’d never seen before: The Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience (https://msje.org/)! Over the years, studying and reading up on New Orleans history, I was always struck by how important the Jewish community in New Orleans was, and by the fact that there were very few books (if any) I could find about the rich and varied history; the first King of Rex was Jewish (Rex restricted the Jewish community from membership shortly thereafter), and there were so many that were philanthropists and did a lot of good for the city–and the Jewish experience in New Orleans had to be vastly different than that of those who settled in New York; most of the Jewish community here (I believe) were Alsatian or German in heritage. But it was very exciting to discover that there’s a new museum about that very thing! Tickets are only $15; so I think once this revision is finished and off my desk I might spend fifteen bucks to go check it out–it’s also walking distance, so even better. What better way to start looking into the history of the Jewish community in New Orleans than a visit to a museum that focuses on that very thing?

And I should also check out the World War II museum, which is also a short walk. And twice as expensive! But I could also make a day of it and have lunch there at the restaurant, which is obviously 1940’s themed. That would make a lovely day, wouldn’t it? And World War II just fascinates me so much. I should reread Christopher Bram’s debut novel, Hold Tight–it’s been a hot minute and I of course don’t remember anything about it except undercover gay man looking for spies in the queer underground in San Francisco during the war.

Despite my good night’s sleep, I started flagging a bit in the afternoon, and was terribly tired after I ran the errands and did some chores once I got home before collapsing into my chair to provide a lap for Scooter to sleep in. (Never ever underestimate the power of a cat purring in his sleep in your lap for relaxation and comfort.) My sleep was continually interrupted by having to get up to go to the bathroom several times in the first few hours of sleep–not entirely sure what that was all about, to be honest–but was able to get up out of the comfort of bed gradually (I do feel like the bed and the blankets are kind of calling to me now to come back). Tomorrow instead of getting to sleep later than usual, I still have to get up to go in for a health fair (required for our health insurance) and then have a staff meeting before getting to come back home. I did manage to buy early check-in for my flight to Malice Domestic in a couple of weeks, and made the parking reservation at my preferred off-airport lot. So that’s all taken care of, huzzah! And and it’s kind of Thursday already, isn’t it? I don’t feel like I got as much done this week as I should have, but that just means I really have to dive into the book this weekend–which is fine, really. I’ve been super productive on weekends lately, which is actually a very good thing, and I am already falling behind on this one as it is. I don’t think I have to go make groceries this weekend, either; I probably should anyway, just to get some odds and ends that we’ll probably need to replenish.

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

Who’s that Girl?

Wednesday and it’s Pay the Bills day again! Woo-hoo!

I didn’t sleep all that great Monday night, so felt a little tired all day. Mentally I was fine, but it was another one of those oh you’re body feels tired and wants to curl up and go back to sleep–which was what I’d avoided all day Monday only to have the night be restless for me. It’s okay, of course; there are always worse things that could have happened (like not sleeping at all) but it wasn’t exactly terribly motivating, you know? I got all my day job work caught up, which was great, but had a ZOOM meeting last night at six pm after I got home, so didn’t get a whole lot done other than that. But I did get all my tax stuff turned over to my accountant–we may need to file an extension, which is fine; this is all my fault for blanking on my income taxes–which was a lovely and much needed thing.

That was a very close call, frankly.

I slept much better last night. I feel very rested this morning, both physically and mentally, so here’s hoping for high productivity day, shall we? I stopped on my way home last night to pick up more ink for my printer–it’s weird how I go through the other colors much faster than black; I have two black cartridges I’ve not used yet from having to replace the colored ink; yesterday I discovered I can simply buy the colored ink separately without a black cartridge–which means it happens more frequently than i would have thought–that black and the other colors never run out at the same time. I suppose you can also buy them individually; I just always bought the more expensive all colors pack. Live and learn, things are getting a bit easier, wouldn’t you say?

I have all the background materials prepared so tonight will begin the official revision of the final draft of the new Scotty book. I have to admit, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about ending the Scotty series. What? I know, I know, I figured I’d be writing about Scotty until the day I die. But I am beginning to think the series is a bit played out; what else is there for him to do, explore, realize about himself and the world? I don’t know. The writing has been very difficult–not just for Scotty–ever since the pandemic started. Not that it’s over by any means–looks like there’s yet another new strain out there, at least I saw some news reports yesterday about it, at any rate. But I think and hope that once I get this one finished and out of my hair, going back to writing something new from scratch will be a lot more fun than writing has been since 2020.

We watched Yellowjackets last night–I really love Melanie Lynskey–and this week’s episode of Ted Lasso, which feels like it’s getting back to what it really is after an interesting start to this final season. I do love the show, just as I did Schitt’s Creek, but I’m not completely obsessed by it, the way some people on Twitter appear to be; they seem to have watched every episode shot by shot, frame by frame, and then indexed it all so they can refer to it with each new episode that drops? I mean, it’s cool–I used to be obsessed with television shows (soaps in particular) but maybe not to this extent? I think streaming makes these kinds of obsessions easier than it used to be; you used to have to record everything on a videotape, which would gradually wear out with repeated watchings and before that–well, I don’t know what people used to do before the Internet other than watched shows as they aired and took voluminous notes? I suspect people didn’t used to get as obsessed with television shows and films the way they do now because it wasn’t possible–although I suppose Star Trek was the first show to really get people obsessed. Not an expert on television history, I’m afraid, nor of its impact and influence on culture and our society as a whole.

It really is amazing how much better I feel this morning. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for you, isn’t it? I’m hoping I’m not tired when I run my errands after work tonight–I need to make some groceries and get the mail, then come home and do some chores (finishing the laundry, emptying the dishwasher in order to reload it again–before I can sit down and work on the book some more and then we need to find something new to watch; but I have found a bunch of shows that look interesting–crime stories, natch–so we can start giving those a try. I also want to prune down the books a bit more, and see if I can’t get some of this junk out of the living room. I’ve always preferred open space in my home, to give the illusion of it being a larger space, so of course the living room is completely cluttered and has stuff shoved into every crack, crevice, and space where something can possibly go, and I don’t like that feeling, frankly. (It’s also why I worry about moving into a bigger space–more space to fill with clutter and things.)

Heavy heaving sigh.

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