Category: true crime

Killer Queen

Ah, my lord the Duke of Buckingham; probably one of the most successful fuckboys in history.

Contemporaries wrote of his physical beauty constantly when he was a young man, and first coming to the attention of his King; and while I’ve certainly never read any biographies of George Villiers, I have always been vaguely aware of him–primarily because of his role in The Three Musketeers, which is, of course, a marvelous fiction. While I have no doubt that George may have become enamored of the French Queen (the Hapsburg Spanish princess Anne of Austria) while in France arranging the marriage of Charles I to the French Bourbon princess Henrietta Maria (which, despite the success of the marriage, was a big mistake in the macro sense; the Stuart penchant in the seventeenth century of marrying Catholic princesses eventually led to their fall and the extinction of their direct line); without reading more into the history of the period, it’s hard to say whether that fiction of Dumas’ was based in rumor or was simply his own creation–but George was definitely a fuckboy, so anything is possible.

It took me until I was a bit older to realize the relationship between my lord Buckingham and his king was a bit more than just “best buddies.”

And even then, it took me a little while longer to recognize that the Buckingham of The Three Musketeers was also the same favorite of King James’. It was his son that was the bosom buddy of Charles II; he also was the cousin of Barbara Villiers, Lady Castlemaine, one of that king’s longest running and most notorious mistresses (I named Chanse’s landlady after her, actually), so there were a lot of noble Villiers entwined with the destiny of the royal house of Stuart during the seventeenth century. Of course, given how language was blurred about Kings and their favorites in the histories I read, it never crossed my mind to read more into them until I was in my thirties (also, reading Cashelmara by Susan Howatch made me realize Edward II’s favorites also shared his bed…and then all the other pieces, about James I and Henri III of France began falling into place, even if their sexuality was determinedly erased from history.

So, when I saw the first preview for Mary and George, I was very excited. A series that actually isn’t afraid to address James Stuart’s actual sexuality, and that of his fuckboy, my lord George Villiers, the Duke of Buckingham? Starring Julianne Moore and Nicholas Galitzine? Julianne Moore was clearly relishing playing the hell out of the ambitious let-nothing-get-in-her-way mother?

I was so in.

And in all honesty, I knew Galitzine was becoming a heartthrob/sex symbol, but with blond hair he reminded me too much of Macauley Culkin and I just didn’t really see it.

But as a brunette? Beautiful, and perfectly cast.

See what I mean? Sex on a stick, just like Buckingham’s contemporaries said.

I can see why historians tried so hard to erase the truth about the rise of the Villiers family, from lower nobility to a dukedom; the fact that Mary groomed her gorgeous son to seduce the king as a way to riches and power is not something you encounter frequently in the pages of history; especially in the modern age…but this was very common throughout history with beautiful girls…they were groomed and educated with an eye to seducing a powerful man for money, prestige, and power, and if the man was a king, even better.

Mary and George is pretty historically accurate, too–more so than many of these kinds of series, where things are changed for the sake of story, but the rise of George Villiers is dramatic enough, as well as all the court intrigue behind the scenes, but…the final episode to me was the only failure in the series. Even though I knew how it would all end, I kept thinking they’d come up with some way to make the end more dramatic, but that last episode felt rushed to me, didn’t have enough set-up to work as a finale and it just then kind of….ended. But the show is gorgeously produced; the costumes, the sets, and the acting is all excellent…until the last episode. In that episode, George has already been raised to duke…yet his clothes are the most drab of the entire season other than the first episode, when his preparations to be a fuckboy get underway. George was very famous for his splendid, ornate and opulent style of dress; he was always covered in jewels from head to toe, but for some reason they tried to make him look as drab and unattractive as possible. That certainly wouldn’t have been the case when he visited the Spanish court with the Prince of Wales (excellent casting; he looked just like the paintings of Charles I); it would have undermined English prestige to show up at the court of Philip IV so underdressed.

There’s also frontal male nudity, and lots of gay sex scenes. Buckingham was undoubtedly, at best, in modern terms a bisexual; the best quote of the show about sex partners was “bodies are just bodies”–which both mother and son say any number of times as they bed both genders happily.

I highly recommend it, and would love to see more of these shows.

Heartaches by the Number

Sunday fun-day, and I am up much earlier than I was yesterday. It wasn’t a bad day, but I clearly needed to sleep in. I slept later than expected this morning, too, but here I am, up at just past eight and feeling pretty good. I really didn’t do much of anything yesterday. I did leave the house and get the mail (I got two shirts I’d ordered from Macy’s) and then swung iby the grocery store to get treats for Sparky and for us (they had the Snicker brownie cookies again, which are fucking amazing), and then I came home. I curled up in my chair with Scott Carson’s Where They Wait, which I am enjoying the hell out of, before Paul got up and we finished the first half of Bridgerton, watched The Iron Claw, and then after we watched the gymnastics meet last night, won by Simone Biles (of course), moved on to Hollywood Con Queen, which in interesting, if odd. I plan on spending some more time with the book today, hopefully finishing reading it this morning before getting some writing done today. I’d like to get this second draft of “When I Die” out of my hair, and I also need to reread and possibly revise “The Last To See Him Alive” before I submit it to an anthology. I have been very lackadaisical about my writing now for almost a year, and I need to start taking it seriously again. I think that’s been part of my feeling off for so long–I am not writing much, either and that always has an affect on my over-all well-being.

I also think the overwhelming pile of things I am working on has a lot to do with my feeling at sea and uninspired, to be honest. I do love to write, but as always, I have to make myself do something I love. I also am much easier to distract these days, too–which I do not like–but when I am home working it’s Sparky who distracts me (he’s adorable and sweet, so it’s hard not to give him attention when he wants some), or Paul getting up and wanting to watch something–I will always drop everything to hang out with him, whether I can afford the loss of time or no, sorry/not sorry–but I do need to get some focus. Maybe I should listen to music on my headphones? Music always works, usually; but who knows if the old tricks will continue to work now?

I also need to get caught up on blog entries, too. I still have to finish my posts about Dead Boy Detectives and Mary and George, I’ll have to do one when I finish reading this book, and of course there are any number of others that are dangling in my drafts folder. I also came up with a really good title for another story yesterday, sigh, which I scribbled down in my journal. My creativity is still there, of course, but it needs to be harnessed again so I can take it out for a ride. I also spent alot of time yesterday thinking about something I definitely want to blog about, which was triggered by Marjorie Taylor Greene, the cro magnon congresswoman from Georgia being the white trash piece of shit she was by attacking Jasmine Crockett’s appearance the other day–don’t come for Jasmine unless she calls you, bleached blonde bad built butch body bitch–and the whole “going high” thing. Much as I love Michelle Obama, I have been saying since the of Rush and Fox News that going high doesn’t work when they are going low; they see going high as being weak and they go lower. The only way to defeat them and shut them up is to give their own back to them with a vengeance–I bet the inbred trash will think twice about coming for someone’s looks again. And as someone who has had people going low at him for most of his life, I will not go high. You open that door and I will fucking shred you–and I also will not be shamed by “allies” (always straight white cisgender women, for the record) for giving it back to them. We are literally in a war for the soul and future of this country; going high with these kind of stakes on the line simply does not work, and I am tired of the right saying racist, homophobic, and misogynist bullshit while being told to “go high.” Sorry, Michelle, I love you–and I love you even more for your class and dignity, but I would love to listen to you read Melania for the racist gold-digging filth she is sometime.

The sad truth is you never win while seated on your high horse, and we as a nation simply cannot afford to lose. And they cannot stand on ANY moral high ground while pedophiles like Matt Gaetz and inbreds like Marjorie Greene are serving in the People’s House, period–as well as any traitors, and there are a LOT of those on the Republican side of the aisle right now.

(I’m also enjoying watching all the trash who hated the Chiefs because of Travis and Taylor now worshipping them because of Hairy Butt. Pick a fucking lane.)

And on that note, I am having some breakfast and then reading for a while. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will probably show up again a little later.

Petite Fleur

Saturday and the weekend blooms this morning, huzzah huzzah! Well, I slept super-late for me this morning, not arising until a bit before ten, and I do have to run to the store to pick-up something I forgot yesterday (Sparky’s treats, and he is NOT happy to have had a treat-less 24 hours, believe you me), but other than that, I’ve pretty much decided to spend the day reading and not stressing about anything. I feel like I need a low-energy day, and since today is feeling that way, may as well make it today. I did spend some time yesterday reading my book, which I am really enjoying, and when Paul got home last night we watched the finale of Mary and George, which was kind of a letdown in some ways, and then the next two episodes of Bridgerton, which we are enjoying precisely because it’s just meant to be frothy fun–and that’s not a bad thing, and it’s not easy to do while making it all look easy. I don’t have much desire to read the books, to be honest, and the Regency period has never really interested me much; which is kind of interesting and perhaps something I should explore; but the wretched sons of George III and Queen Charlotte are sublimely uninteresting.

A wonderful thunderstorm woke me around six this morning–that, and a treat-less cat–which was marvelous, and I went right back to sleep. I also didn’t stay up super-late last night (eleven rather than ten), so that doesn’t explain it.

I also read some research for another book I am considering writing (separate from the Noah Presgrove death in Oklahoma one I’ve been talking about) and I think I am beginning to understand how I need to write that book, and how to write myself into it. I’ve also been thinking a lot about some other projects that I would like to get done, and now I need to make a plan and figure out how I am going to get everything done that needs to be done. I’ve already come up with a financial plan for the rest of the year (very little travel, very little spending, and trying to clear some debts), and now I need to just get it together for writing.

I think we will probably finish Bridgerton this weekend, and we also want to watch The Iron Claw. There are some other shows we are thinking about watching, and some that we need to catch up on…I’m still trying to figure out why only the first two episodes of After the Flood are available. We watched the first, but are holding off on the second until the rest are available to watch–and will probably have to go back and watch the first again.

Very exciting, aren’t I?

Louisiana’s “bathroom bill” is currently making its way through our demonic legislature, which is beginning to resist our Christofascist governor. They passed a law this week to display the Ten Commandments in every public school in the state (there will be lawsuits), and are working on legitimizing a voucher system so Louisiana taxpayers can pay to send rich kids to private school while defunding public education here, already deplorably underfunded…which makes me wonder; Louisiana Lottery proceeds were supposedly earmarked for public education–but we never hear that anymore, so where is that money going? For the record, this piece of shit makes Bobby Jindal look like a moderate, and look at the damage Jindal did in eight years….this guy is on track to drive Louisiana right into a drainage sewer canal much faster than Piyush ever dared to dream. Environmental protections stripped to benefit oil and petrochemical corporations? Done. Tax breaks for the wealthy? Done. Attempts to turn Louisiana into a theocracy? Well on its way! Thanks again, Louisiana bigots, for foisting this piece of shit and this sewage legislature on us all.

Jindal went out of office with his career and ambitions basically gone. Here’s hoping Landry’s fall from grace is swifter and even more brutal.

Snakedriver

Ah, Alabama.

Despite everything that is wrong with Alabama culturally, societally, spiritually, and politically, I’m not ashamed of being from there (and never will be). I do shake my head with every new law passage or court ruling there that flies in the face of decency and the Constitution, because it is sad that the majority of people there are not only so lost spiritually and intellectually, but also defiantly cling to their backwardness. My part of the state, where my people are from, used to be very remote and rural; many native Alabamians, when I tell them where I’m from, are often confused, having never heard of it before. It isn’t on any interstate, rooming options are limited, and you really have to drive for about an hour from the nearest interstate to get there. It’s not quite as remote as it used to be; many of the roads that were dirt and/or gravel when I was a kid are paved now…but there are still plenty of unpaved roads up there in the hills and along the countryside. It’s very different there now, too–the country stores are all gone, and there’s definitely a lot more McMansions than there ever was when I was a kid. (Dad and I often marvel at the palatial homes we come across driving around the county, as Dad shows me places from his childhood and when he and Mom were first married.)

And it’s not cheap to buy property there, either, which was also a bit of a surprise.

Dark Tide was my first attempt to deal with my history and where I am from, but was cowardly in the end and wound up editing most of the backstory of my main character out. It didn’t really fit and made the book something different from what I was trying to do with the book, but as I edited it all out I also felt that I was being a bit cowardly. I knew I was going to have to deal with the troubled history (and present) of the county and state, so I wrote Bury Me in Shadows to not only try to get a better understanding of the area, but to deal with that troubled past. It wasn’t easy–I often found myself cutting things to a bare minimum in a stupid attempt to not give offense, and there were many times while writing it when I’d wince or skip a scene because I wasn’t sure how to word it properly without being preachy. I wanted to show through the story how refusing to face the past with a realistic and jaundiced eye can cause generational trauma and how that, in turn, perpetuates societal racism and homophobia in an endless cycle that strangles growth.

But writing that book also took me down a research wormhole that I’ve never really climbed back out of, and being there last weekend also reawakened some memories as well as creativity and potential future stories. (Dad and I found a really sad set of graves in the same cemetery as my maternal grandparents and uncle; parents and two small children –one was only four months–who’d died on the same day. We speculated as to how that happened, tornado or car accident or house fire, but a distant relative my father also knew explained that the father killed them all and then himself…which naturally started churning things in my brain again.)

I also discovered, during the pandemic, a horrifying documentary called Alabama Snake, which focused on the snake handling churches of northeast Alabama and a minister who tried to kill his wife with snakes…and then discovered there was also a book about the culture from a reporter who’d covered the trial, and continued investigating and looking into the snake handling churches.

I finally read it last week.

The first time I went to a snake-handling service, nobody even took a snake out. This was in Scottsboro, Alabama, in March of 1992, at The Church of Jesus with Signs Following. I’d come to the church at the invitation of one of the members I’d met while covering the trial of their preacher, Rev. Glenn Summerford, who had been convicted and sentenced to ninety-nine years in prison for attempting to murder his wife with rattlesnakes.

The church was on a narrow blacktop called Woods Cove Road, not far from the Jackson County Hospital. I remember it was a cool evening. The sky was the color of apricots, and the moon had just risen, a thin, silver crescent. There weren’t any stars out yet.

After I crossed a set of railroad tracks past the hospital, I could see the lights of the church in the distance, but as I drew nearer I started to wonder if this was really a church at all. It was, in fact, a converted gas station and country store, with a fiberboard facade and a miniature steeple. The hand-painted sign spelled the preacher’s first name in three different ways: Glenn, Glen, and Glyn. A half dozen cars were parked out front, and even with the windows of my own car rolled up, I could feel the beat of the music.

It’s very difficult to think about Alabama without religion being involved in some way. Alabama is a very religious state, with churches everywhere–one of the things I always comment on whenever I am up there driving around with Dad is “there sure are a LOT of Churches of Christ up here”–you really can’t go anywhere without driving past at least two. Both of my grandmothers were devout (paternal family was Church of Christ; maternal Southern Baptist, although both my mom and uncle married into CoC and joined), but only the CoC was a fanatic with a Bible verse for everything and the uniquely American/Christian methodology of interpreting everything to justify her own behavior and conduct–which wasn’t actually very Christian (memorization doesn’t mean comprehension). I can remember driving around down there once with my grandmother–either in Alabama or the panhandle of Florida, where she wound up after retiring–and driving past a church (I won’t name it because she was wrong) and I said something and she sniffed in disgust. “They speak in tongues and take up serpents,” she replied. “Which is apostasy.”

Apostasy. What a marvelous word, and one that has always snaked its way through my brain, and comes up often whenever I talk about religion. But I digress; I will someday finish the essay in which I talk about my relationship with Jesus and my rejection of dogma.

I also liked the phrase “taking up serpents,” and always wondered why she said that instead of snake-handling.

I had originally thought, when I bought this book, that it was about the attempted murder by rattlesnake and subsequent trial, like the documentary I mentioned; rather it’s an exploration of this sect of Christianity by a curious reporter, and how being exposed to this style of worship made him rethink his own past, his relationship with his own faith, and about Alabama people in general. One of the reasons I enjoyed the book so damned much–even as I was repelled by its subject matter (snakes are the source of some of my worst nightmares; even harmless little garden snakes turn my stomach and engage my flight mechanism)–was because Covington has a very easy, natural and authentic authorial voice, and he really can put you into his mind as he witnesses and experiences this uniquely American brand of Christianity. It was also interesting as he got caught up in the entire experience, as he talked to the members of the various sects (there’s no national structure to the snake-handling churches, as there is with say the Southern Baptists or the Methodists), and watched them actually take up their serpents in the name of the Lord.

There’s also interesting information in the book about how these sects were created–or how they were descended from, surprisingly enough, the Methodists and how that evolved into these Appalachian sects, as well as where the people of the Appalachian regions came from, and that entire Southern mentality of fighting for their traditions and their “way of life” (it was also interesting that it’s a white phenomenon, at least as best I could tell in the book); of how they secluded themselves up in their mountains and hollows and were self-sufficient…but modern technology has forced them into a world that has left them behind.

I’ve always wanted to write about snake handlers…but as I mentioned before, snakes are the stuff of my worst nightmares, so yeah going to witness in person their rites is a big “no” from me, but I feel like I can maybe do that now, or at least make an attempt. I don’t know how much more research I’d need to do to fictionalize snake handlers, but some day it will happen.

Goodbye Baby

Ah, Sunday. I slept in this morning–almost all the way to ten o’clock, it’s like I don’t even know me anymore–but it felt good and I am awake and enjoying my first cup of coffee this fine morn. I did some errands and chores yesterday, which was great, and watched a lot of nothing on the television while I was playing around doing research on-line. I did finish reading Carol Goodman’s marvelous The Bones of the Story (more on that at another time), and spent some more time with the Scott Carson I started reading in Kentucky. There’s still a lot that needs doing around here, but it’ll get done and I still am a little worn out from the drive home, so maybe today’s not the day to try to be super-productive. I also spent yesterday trying to catch up on the state of affairs in the country and world (glad to see people still dragging the puppy slaughterer), which was depressing but necessary. I am way behind on my emails, which is something I will have to address (tomorrow). Heavy sigh. But one can’t hide in their unreality longer than one can and still be functional, can one?

Ah, well.

I also got a signed copy of the new Lori Roy novel, Lake County, in the mail yesterday, which was marvelous. She’s one of my favorite writers, and has been ever since I met her on a panel at Bouchercon a million years ago and then read her Edgar Award winning debut, Bent Road, which was incredible, and I’ve been loving her (and her work) ever since. Once I finish the two novels I am reading, I am digging into the new Roy. Huzzah! I have so many good books on hand to read–I still have the latest Angie Kim, among many others, in that stack on the end table in reach of my chair–that it’s hard to decide what to read next, and then books like the Angie Kim (and the Celeste Ng, and the Angela Crook, and the Jess Lourey, and on and on and on it goes) end up not getting read in an expeditious manner. I have certainly been enjoying all the reading I’ve been doing lately, and need to stay on top of it as much as possible.

The more I look into the suspicious death of Noah Presgrove, the more intriguing the story becomes. It is, as Carol’s latest title proclaims, ‘the bones of the story’; obviously I am interested in what happened the last night the young man was alive and how he actually died, but the basis of the story, it’s fundamentals (small rural town; corrupt local justice system; three day long weekend party serving minors illegally; and of course the battered naked body in the fetal position on the side of the road) make for a fascinating and interesting foundation for a fiction novel, exploring the bitterness and old hurts and feuds and nastiness in a poor, small rural town in Oklahoma (which I will probably change to Kansas, naturally), and peeling back the layers of deceit and resentments and lies and relationships is kind of appealing to me.

It’s also Mother’s Day today, my second without one, and I am not actively avoiding it today, either, the way I did last year. Last year it was still too new and too fresh for me to even be on-line much on that day, but this year is easier. Seeing Dad around Mother’s Day (since it’s always the weekend after Decoration Day, or The First Sunday in May) also made it easier. We talked about her a lot, and Dad told me a lot about their teens and the early years of their marriage, when they were very poor (I didn’t realize how poor we actually were when I was a child and a teen until many years later; living in Kansas kind of twisted that as we were considered well-off there), which made me smile a lot. Obviously, I will always miss my mom, but it’s not as painful to think about her as it used to be. That’s progress, and now I can remember her without recriminations about being a bad son or taking advantage of her kindness or disappointing her. I think that’s normal when you lose a parent or a loved one; you regret time not spent together and think about all the times you were a shitty person. But…I was also horribly spoiled by my parents, and they never stopped trying to spoil me even after I was an adult, because to them I was always their baby and since I didn’t have kids…well, they never stopped seeing me that way. Then again, it may just be a parent/youngest child thing.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I’ll be back later–I have soooo many entries to catch up on; the books I’ve read alone need to be discussed–but I am also not putting any pressure on myself about getting things done today as I am still in recovery mode from the trip. So have a great Mother’s Day, everyone; hug your mom for me and if yours is also gone like mine, I am giving you a big virtual hug.

Since I Don’t Have You

Thursday morning last day in the office until Monday the 12th! GASP. But yes, I am meeting my dad in Alabama this weekend and then Monday the 5th we’re driving back up to Kentucky, from whence I shall drive back to New Orleans on Friday. I was very glad that I figured out that the trip hanging over my head was why I was a bit off this week, which was a very good thing to realize…I was getting worried about why I was off, you know? And at my age, sometimes (usually) it’s something. Sigh.

I went further down the Noah Presgrove mysterious death Internet wormhole, and the story just continues to gnaw at me. I also found a “Justice for Noah” Facebook group that is mostly people from the small town he was from (Comanche, Oklahoma) and the surrounding counties…and what a fucking gold mine that was, seriously. The town is only about 1300 people or so, and it’s a very rural area similar to the one where I grew up in Kansas. It was eye-opening, and a reminder of just how nasty small town/rural areas can be. The page is full of locals snapping and sniping at one another, accusing people of knowing more than they know, and when someone being called out responds to being called out, well, people go apeshit on them. One girl who was there telling people they had things wrong got buried with comments like “you were drunk so we can’t trust your memory” or “you’re in on the cover-up” and it’s wild how all these old hurts and resentments can come to the fore when something like this happens. I had been thinking about writing another book set in small-town Kansas (beyond the ones I’ve already talked about on here) called All Their Guilty Stains, but this story might be better than the one I dreamed up for that title.

That’s the “real America” for you, people. (Peyton Place and Stephen King’s Needful Things are excellent books about how stifling rural small towns can be, and they get the pettiness down perfectly. One of the reasons I love King so much is his ease at creating a realistic town with real people who basically harbor grudges and resentments until everything starts boiling over.)

But I definitely went down the wormhole with Noah’s murder/suspicious death last night; looking up podcasts and videos. And yes, I am well aware that I may not have even been interested in the story had the video that started the whole thing–a Banfield News report–not had a thumbnail of his senior picture and my first thought was that’s a very good-looking young man–he was possibly murdered? And then I went down the wormhole.

And of course, everything on the Facebook page I mentioned? You expect the family to of course talk about how marvelous and wonderful and kind he was, and that’s a lot of the posts on that page, too–basically, he’s been deified, and that American “don’t speak ill of the dead” custom often covers up all kinds of shit, and much as they like to believe they know everything about their kids, most parents don’t and are very surprised–as well as being in denial–about the deceased. I mean, no one is loved by everyone. And a good-looking star athlete in a small Oklahoma town? You can just bet there were kids with grudges and resentments built up over the years.

I felt good yesterday when I got up, as I do this morning, and I got a lot done at the office…but I started feeling tired and sleepy in the late afternoon. I had to also run errands on the way home (Sparky needs his treats!) and picked up my copy of The Dusk, a graphic novel co-written by my friends Elizabeth Little and the wonderful Alex Segura. I also had a royalty check waiting for me (huzzah!) and, of all things, a fan letter forwarded to me from Crooked Lane. I wasn’t really quite sure what to expect–the last time someone wrote me a letter it wasn’t exactly a fan letter, and I’d actually forgotten how nice that feels. I just glanced over it because I wanted to read it sometime when I could savor the ego-boast; which is something I’ve been needing, writing wise, for a long time. And you know what else it did? It kicked my fucking mind into gear. I’ve been struggling with this book I’m writing for a long time now, and it’s certainly taking me longer to write a draft than it usually does. Part of the problem was I couldn’t figure out the over-all point of the book, which I realized last night; there’s always got to be an underlying point to the story that I am trying to illustrate through the main character. It’s a satire of state-sponsored homophobia, and I of course created a homophobic group leading the armies against drag queens, transwomen, and queers. But that wasn’t personal, and that was why I wasn’t having as much fun writing it and why I was having so much trouble with this book. Last night, as I sat in my chair, digesting a gushing fan letter and Noah Presgrove’s murder/suspicious death, I started thinking about this some more and then it hit me: I need to know Jem’s personal story/growth through this book and it punched me right between the eyes–so much so that I scribbled it all down in my journal and hopefully, I can get back to work on this sooner rather than later.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for today. Have a great Thursday and I may be back later.

So Fine

Well, I got all my tax stuff done yesterday and uploaded into my accountant’s portal and that’s the end of that shit for at least this year now. I don’t know why I always hate doing this; it’s not fun, to be sure, but it never takes super long and it’s such a relief when it’s done…praise Jesus. But that put me into a mood–not sure if it was depression or what, but I wasn’t exactly in the greatest mood after finishing. Not a bad mood, by any means, but just a kind of weird funky malaise of some sort. It didn’t help that it was raining and gloomy all day. I had to run errands after work (in the rain), made it home and just sat down for awhile and took a red pencil to “When I Die,” and there was a lot of deleted material. That also kind of made me feel not so great, either–even though a lot of the deletions had everything to do with switching the story from about two couples to three young men. Paul and I watched two more episodes of the Dead Boy Detectives, which is really quite good and we are enjoying it a lot. There’s some queer subtext going on with the show, but nothing truly overt other than the Cat King.

I woke up this morning to the news about Tulane calling out the cops and campus police to break-up a protest for Gaza on the campus last night…and they brought out horse cops. The irony that the cops only get called or try to break-up protests by progressives on college campuses doesn’t escape me, but no one ever cares about Nazi marches or things like what happened in Charlottesville not that long ago. I always hear people complaining about how college students and the young don’t vote, don’t get involved, etc etc etc. Well, now they are engaging in world affairs, and they really don’t like seeing genocide on their screens. So, I guess it’s about what they chose to be interested in? And I don’t think having them arrested or the police physically assaulting them is going to change their minds? It always bothers me whenever I see the police attacking protestors. It’s definitely a free speech issue, and of course with memories of Kent State lingering in my mind…I just don’t like it. If the protestors aren’t being violent or damaging property (remember, the police’s job is to protect property, not people), what’s the harm? Don’t come for me, either–I also feel Jewish students have the right to feel safe on campus and of course there’s no place for anti-Semitism anywhere in American society, but spare me the pearl-clutching from the right–you know, the people who believe there were good people on both sides in Charlottesville? I had read that the students had closed down St. Charles Avenue for a little while the other day–again, an annoyance to drivers, nothing terrible or serious or revolutionary in any way–and was kind of pleased. Apparently, Tulane’s president feels that the protestors aren’t students for the most part (the old “outside agitators” thing, thank you, George Wallace for that terminology), but again, I despair. I also despair at the people who think the protestors should be shot and killed, which…seems unconstitutional in ways you don’t have to be a lawyer or a legal scholar to recognize. The fear that the crowd might become uncontrollable or violent isn’t a justification for denying the students their First Amendment rights.

Again, property not people, and the sooner most white Americans wake up from their lifetime of brainwashing about what the role of cops actually is the better. And I say that as a crime writer. I don’t like the notion that the cops are above the law, can violate it with impunity as well as the legal rights we all share in theory. I was thinking about this lately, about how most crime writers never delve into police corruption or never really challenge the notion that the cops are the good guys when all too often their frail humanity gets in the way. I’ve thought about this a lot since the original police brutality protests about innocent Black people being murdered by the cops–at his point there are so many I can’t remember them all or what actually got the country riled up in the first place. I have taken to thinking that I write a lot of copaganda; my police officers–always supporting characters and never the lead–are honest, hard-working, not corrupt, and can be counted on.

I do not feel that way in real life. I have had an idea for a book about police corruption in New Orleans for a really long time now; the problem (for me) is that it’s a Venus story, and I don’t think I necessarily have the chops to write from the perspective of an older Black woman cop nearing retirement. I’ve wondered how I could turn it into a Chanse or a Scotty book, where Venus hires them to look into a case that’s been written off; I had wanted to call it Just Another Random Shooting, but if it’s a Chanse or a Scotty I have to stick to the title scheme I started with. Or I could spin off Jerry Channing, my true crime writer, who has appeared in several of my books already and who I’ve wanted to write about for quite some time.

Interestingly enough, my hearing aids haven’t been working that great lately and I was beginning to think I’d have to take them in again for repair…but last night after I got home from work, both ears popped (a pressure thing) and this morning my hearing aids feel like they are turned up way too loud! I had to turn them down. Today I can hear my fingers clicking on the keys, I could hear Sparky whining for treats upstairs, and so on. I feel pretty good this morning and it looks like it’s going to be another beautiful (borderline too hot) day today after the gloom and rain of yesterday. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, stranger things have happened!

Frankie

Saturday and a big day of being out of the house. I had planned on not doing much outside the apartment vis-a-vis errands, but Paul’s state ID expires today (and he only realized it last night) so somehow only getting the mail today has morphed into the DMV, Costco, lunch out, and the mail. Ah, well, I can come home and write in my easy chair. I finally figured out why my Macbook Air doesn’t sync with my Microsoft accounts; it needed to have Word updated and the passwords reset…so now I can access everything from the laptop, which makes life ever so much easier for me. I was actually working on the revision of “When I Die” yesterday when Paul decided he was done for the day and came downstairs so we could watch Mary and George (still superb) and more of the second season of Vigil, which is absolutely fantastic.

I did get some chores done around here yesterday–I laundered all the bed linens and another load of laundry, and worked on the dishes, which need to be finished this morning, and did some picking up and organizing–and while I am relatively certain these errands are going to wear me out today, at least I feel rested this morning. I was still a big tired yesterday from the week, and when I woke up was a little groggy. This morning I feel ever so much better, frankly, and so I hope I can go ahead and make it through the day.

I have been watching with macabre enjoyment this bizarre civil war within the Republican party, and am not entirely sure how this is all going to end up. Yesterday the news broke and went viral about South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem, one of the potential VP candidates for the right, who wrote in her self-promoting-I-am-to-be-taken-seriously-on-the-national-stage-book-about-me-in-an-election-year that she hated a fourteen month old puppy who “couldn’t” be trained (that’s a you failure, Madam Adulteress) so she decided to shoot him in a gravel pit–and then shot a goat she didn’t like on top of it when that didn’t sate her bloodlust. I immediately knew when I saw the Guardian article about it that she was 1) pretty much finished and 2) not really aware about the divide between urban and rural when she wrote that in her book. I know exactly the kind of mindset she has about animals–she’s rural–because it’s the same mentality my parents had about animals because they grew up on farms and you don’t have animals in the house as pets, for one thing, and for another, when you grow up on a farm and are used to killing animals for food–cows, pigs, chickens, etc.–you don’t get really sentimental about them because they die. I also knew it wasn’t going to play well with voters and most Americans, because most of us love animals and try to do whatever we can to save them, not shoot them. She also doesn’t get it, still; she defended herself with a post or statement of some sort where she talked about that very thing–and how many animals on her ranch/farm/whatever she’s had to put down recently. Way to throw gasoline on the fire, Madam Adulteress!

And way to not understand the American electorate. And if you don’t know that the vast majority of Americans love animals and especially dogs–you’re probably too ignorant and out-of-touch with most Americans to lead anywhere other than an extremely rural state, and most definitely not the entire country.

Interesting how many Republicans have been horrific dog owners–Noem, the Romneys, and the Huckabees of Arkansas.

My parents may not have had any sentimentality about pets, but they also didn’t have any.

Ah, Mary and George. I hope you are watching, Constant Reader–even if you aren’t into history, the show is the kind of bitchy back-stabbing plots and subplots and twisty/turny show that reminds me, with its wit and bitchiness, of some of the greater nighttime soaps and even of Real Housewives shows. I also like how fluid everyone’s sexuality is at the Jacobean court. I really need to read a bio of King James; I’ve certainly read enough about his mother Mary Queen of Scots and his son, Charles I, who lost his head during the second English civil war. I know Antonia Fraser, whose superb Mary Queen of Scots I read when I was eleven, wrote a bio of James that I always wanted to read but never did. Perhaps this is the proper time? I also should read bios of Louis XIII and Cardinal Richelieu to get a stronger sense of the time period…and I really am beginning to think I might be able to start writing Milady, my long-dreamed-of novel, later in this year.

And on that note, Constant Reader, I am heading into the spice mines to load the dishwasher and get the day’s business started. Have a fabulous day, and who knows? I may be back later.

Just Ask Your Heart

Thursday and my last day in the office this week. I wasn’t as tired yesterday as I had been the day before, thank the Lord, but was still a bit raggedy as I got to the end of the workday. I was efficient at the office yesterday, but man, there was a very weird vibe to the day. Maybe it was the use of the National Guard on college campuses? I don’t care what you think or what your opinions, values and beliefs are we should never be calling out the military to handle “security” on college campuses. I get that the right hates college students–they always have; they cheered the Kent State shootings fifty-four years ago–and it’s just astonishing to me that no one makes the connections to the last years of the North American colonial period? It was all protests until the war actually started in 1775–the Boston Tea Party was particularly a notable one. What did the British do to maintain order in Boston? They brought in the military to quench and quell dissent, outlawed protesting and criticism of the King and Parliament…and none of it worked, it simply agitated the colonials to more protest and eventually violence. I always laugh a bit when the right wing–the ones who scream about liberties and freedom all the time–call for ending protests, driving cars into protestors, etc. They are the British in this scenario. And yes, the conservative colonists were actually on Britain’s side. It was the radicals and the progressives who defied King and Parliament and created a country.

The right to peaceably assemble and protest is imbedded in our national DNA and included in the Bill of Rights. But no one seems to care about the actual Constitution anymore (looking at you, SCOTUS), just what they think it means so they can defend their indefensible and unconstitutional beliefs and values.

I also wrote a great opening line for my future project The Crooked Y: “I hated the place they took me to after they arrested Mom.”

We did watch some more of Vigil last night, and there’s only one episode left in the first season, which will we watch tonight and most likely move into Season 2. It’s very good; it’s. a murder mystery/suspense thriller where a lot of the action takes place on a British nuclear submarine on patrol. It’s very well written, well acted, and riveting. The British are the best at crime series, seriously–and they are consistently good. I’m not sure why our crime series aren’t as consistently good as theirs are, but there it is.

I continued on my research wormhole yesterday about the French Quarter Stabber–seriously, once I get something in my head it gnaws at me until I give in–and it’s okay, I think. I feel more rested this morning than I have all week, really, and so hopefully that will carry me through the rest of the day and into the evening. I think I’ll probably just come straight home from work tonight, since i can run errands on my lunch break tomorrow, and that way I can get here and get the laundry started while finishing the dishes and doing some writing before Paul gets home. I also want to get back to reading Suicide Notes and even dipping into some poetry. (Who am I?) But I am starting to feel like I am also starting to get it; I like discovering it for myself without having professorial expectations loaded onto me–which always made me hate whatever I was being forced to read unwillingly–and I always love figuring things out for myself. Perhaps I’ll be wrong, but at the same time, everything is dependent on the reader, right, and their interpretations? It’s subjective, so therefore there’s no wrong way of reading it. It’s not like I plan on starting to write it or anything.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. I hope to have a great day where I get a lot done, and perhaps I’ll be able to finish another draft post…stranger things have happened! Thanks for stopping by–I appreciate you taking the time from your very busy day to check in.

I’ve Had It

Yesterday wasn’t the best. Oh, nothing bad happened, it was a kind of meh day. I felt mentally refreshed but physically tired when I got up, and as the day went on the tiredness of my body seeped into my brain and my creativity. By the time I got home from work, I was too tired to do much of anything creative. I put away dishes and did another load as well as finished a load of laundry, and dozed off in my easy chair for about an hour before Paul got home. The nap didn’t really help, but I did sleep super well last night and feel rested all over this morning. This is a good thing, as it’s Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again, and today I am going to try to finish my taxes and get them off to my accountant.

So, yesterday was kind of a wash for me. I didn’t try to force anything, mainly because I didn’t have the will or the need. This morning I am feeling good and awake and my mind is already bouncing all over the place. Since getting up this morning I’ve come across an interesting news story that could tie into a fun Scotty book, have had some thoughts about my next book to write, and more ideas about how to make “When I Die” better. See, this sort of thing can’t be forced; I can make myself write but if my mind isn’t feeling creative and bouncing all over the place, it’s absolute torture that needs to be completely revised from the first word to the last. The rewrite of “When I Die,” for example, is going to be an almost totally word for word revision; the concept and setting are there, but the characters need to be changed and more depth added to the new ones that wasn’t there in the first draft, and that pleases me. I am also extremely pleased with “Passenger to Franklin.” I do need to polish it some more, of course, and make it prettier and tighten up the ending a bit–it seems abrupt to me, but I could be wrong. But I feel pretty good this morning, so here’s hoping for a nice, successful day without stress and/or irritations or aggravation. I will make groceries on the way home and swing by the mail, and hopefully Paul will be home early enough for us to watch another episode of Vigil.

I was talking to another writer friend last night about the business and it provided me with some definite food for thought about my future. I was already thinking about trying something different–I feel like I’ve gotten a bit stagnant with my work, and so I need to start pushing boundaries and trying some different things. I think I definitely want to try writing a gay romance novel, something I’ve thought about for quite some time, and I may try to branch out in other ways. I still definitely want to get these books on my list to get out of the way done, but I like the idea of writing a romance and stretching that way. I was even pondering the possibility of rebooting the Chanse series, but not using the same pattern of titles. I like the idea of revisiting him and seeing where he is now–is he any wiser or happier? But I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like going backwards–always a concern–and I also think it would be far more of a challenge to write a Chanse book now than it was ten years ago when I ended the series originally.

The release of the French Quarter Stabber on parole also had me going down some wormholes yesterday between clients. The French Quarter Stabber was a teenager who murdered three or four gay men in the 1970s; there was some serious homophobia and undoubtedly some self-loathing involved there. I think it would make for an interesting exploration of who he was in fiction, but it might also make an interesting true crime novel–something I’ve never really considered doing, but it could be a fun project to research and work on between other projects–particularly how these murders were handled by the local press and police in the same decade that saw the Upstairs Lounge fire/mass murder, and how that did or did not change in the few intervening years.

And again, suburbanites and North Shore racists: remind me of precisely when New Orleans was the idyllic crime free city? Because my brief researches into the past show a city that was always a hotbed of crime.

Anyway, the Stabber’s story will easily fit into a project I already have in progress that just needs a lot of revision and rework, but I love being able to pull this new research into a project where it will fit snugly and perfectly. Yay! Obviously, I am feeling a lot better about things this morning than I did yesterday. I wasn’t down or depressed or anything yesterday, but it was a low energy day which had a lot to do with my blood sugar, something I’ve been trying to be better about. When I don’t eat, my blood sugar drops and I don’t have any energy. I don’t think this means that I am pre-diabetic or anything, but just another thing about getting older I need to pay more attention to than I have before. Sigh. It never ends.

But today I feel like my life is very much the art of the possible this morning, and I am going to ride that wave like a surfer on Oahu’s north shore. So…I should probably head into the spice mines and start paying some bills. Have a lovely Wednesday, and I will most likely be back later.