Category: true crime

I Deserve It

It’s very difficult to market books about social issues. How do you promote something like that without looking like you’re trying to cash in on a tragedy, or some horrific real world incident? I don’t urge people to read Murder in the Rue Chartres every time a hurricane threatens Louisiana/New Orleans, nor do I ever try to piggyback promotion of the book which talks about the Upstairs Fire with the tragedy’s anniversary, or any time the fire comes up on social media. I don’t like the idea of capitalizing on tragedy for capitalism. It makes me uncomfortable, and while I don’t judge people for doing that, it doesn’t sit right with me.

Yesterday, I wrote and sent out a newsletter inspired by the breaking news about the mishandled Cornell gang-rape situation. Rape is something I have always felt strongly about–against, for the record–because it’s such a bodily violation. Having something shoved inside you without your consent–it sends a shudder through my body and turns my stomach whenever I think about it. So, I talked about the book I wrote about a similar situation happening in a fictional Midwestern town with a strong high school sports culture. My intent wasn’t to promote the book, which would be a shitty thing to do; the intent was to call more attention to the fact this isn’t something new; the book is OLD. I started writing it in 2015, after Steubenville and Marysville. Almost immediately after I hit post and share, I saw someone on social media bitching about people using this Cornell gang-rape (call it by its real name) to promote their “shitty book1s.” I knew that was a risk I was running by talking about my book in the context of why I wrote it (I had started writing the essay originally after the on-line Rape Academy expose by CNN), but after I blocked her, I shrugged. If she wants to assign that kind of blame to an essay I wrote about rape culture through the context of a novel I wrote about it and why, so be it. Go ahead and put me on your “no-read” list; I’ll put you on my “blocked as a bitch” list. See how that works?

Congratulations on your purity, ma’am.

Although I guess hit dogs do holler. The reason I reacted so strongly was because I was concerned people would think that was what I was doing, and anxiety medication aside, I somehow still feel a need to justify that newsletter. The woman probably wasn’t even talking about me–she just popped up, unasked for, on one of my feeds. It’s a free country and she’s welcome to express herself however she wants to–but I am not required to see, read or interact with her on any level.

And frankly, if people are looking for more information on how bad the sexual assault horrors are–well, authors might be thinking hey, you may want to read this for my research. I researched the fuck out of this over the many years I spent working on my book, but I would also direct people to Jon Krakauer’s Missoula, which examines the relationship between college athletics and sweeping rapes under the rug to protect players. LSU has had these problems over the years–it’s part of the package of why Les Miles was fired as football coach (although the cover-ups were okay as long as the team was winning at the national level), and there’s a rapist on campus today who is on the football team.

But all of this did make me think more about the marketing aspect of publishing, and how I’ve never been good at doing it.

I generally don’t talk about my books with an air to selling them to people; I don’t, as I made clear in my essay, selling books is generally the last thing I think about when it comes to my books. (Nothing bugs me more than when someone says “sell me your book!”) I don’t know how to talk about them in ways that will sell them; a manager I had in my twenties told me “you could sell ice to Eskimoes2” but that was just me being me, you know? I know I’m supposed to use every tool at my disposal to market myself and my books but that isn’t something I’ve ever been comfortable doing; to me, it’s cringe. I always think nobody cares and so I talk about my work and my writing in ways that I find interesting. I can’t write something if I’m not interested in it, and that usually isn’t an issue; I can almost always find something interesting (to me, at any rate) in most subjects…but I never, ever set out to write a blog or a newsletter with the thought this will sell me some books.

My mind isn’t wired that way. I guess other people’s must be? But I also don’t see the issue with writing about a societal problem through the lens of having researched the topic and being moved to write a novel to share these stories with people. I didn’t say buy this book, but rather I wrote this book and this is why I did, and the lifelong education on the subject that led me to write it, to try to make sense of something that is completely alien to me.3

I also wasn’t raised to “sing out Louise”4. Being raised to be modest and not accept compliments hasn’t been easy for me to process out of my brain/psyche, but I am getting better about it. But if you always downplay your achievements and successes, why would anyone else play them up? I also had that terrible anxiety-driven “pick me” bullshit going on, too; there’s nothing wrong with tooting your own horn so long as you don’t make it your entire personality, as so many seem to do. There’s a happy medium in there where I can live and exist, and I hope that someday I’ll be able to find that place where I can feel comfortable. One can hope, at any rate, right?

There was definitely a clown show on Capital Hill yesterday, and good ole Cornpone Kennedy had his stupid ass in it up to his neck. MAGA is such a joke; they are so not serious, but they are just as dangerous as a manic three year old on a massive sugar high who got into his parents’ gun cabinet. Thank God they are all so stupid and inept and incompetent; it’s like we got the Hogan’s Heroes brand of fascists here. Imagine if they were as smart as they are evil.

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

This photo, from the aftermath of the California fires, never ceases to amaze me.
  1. Anyone dismissing any group of books as “shitty” is always going to get my ire up. ↩︎
  2. Is that offensive now? If so, my apologies, but it’s a direct quote. ↩︎
  3. It did occur to me while I was writing the essay that the reason women have always felt comfortable around me is they somehow sense I’m not interested. ↩︎
  4. A friend of mine says this Gypsy quote all the time, and there is something to it. If you don’t talk well about yourself, who will? ↩︎

Don’t Tell Me

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and I feel…slacker-ish this morning for some reason. Yesterday was a simply lovely day, from beginning to end, and I did manage to get some things done. Paul went to a show last night in the Quarter–a work thing–and so I was here all by my lonesome after about half-time or so of the LSU game (they won; GEAUX TIGERS!), and there were a lot of interesting games and outcomes yesterday, too. I did some reading, some writing, and some cleaning, and somehow wound up staying up later than I’d intended. I also got up later this morning than usual; but that’s also on me. The Saints play this afternoon, and I need to run to make groceries at some point this morning, too, but that’s not a big deal. I just need to get motivated.

Good luck with that, Gregalicious.

As I mentioned, LSU won, beating Texas A&M handily 35-6. It was only 14-3 at halftime, but again the Tigers had a big third quarter and put the game away. The defense looked impressive, and the offense misfired a few times, but overall, the Tigers looked dominant. We also don’t know how good or bad Texas A&M is this season (they lost to Kentucky in College Station last week)–but we also don’t know about Mississippi, either, after Florida embarrassed them in Gainesville yesterday 52-28 (!!!). Auburn beat Vanderbilt, and I caught the end of the Mississippi State-Missouri game, which MSU won with a strong defensive stand in the fourth quarter. I watched Texas-Tennessee, which came down to the last play, and Georgia embarrassed Oklahoma (shame) while Alabama buried South Carolina. I also caught the highlights of Iowa winning at Michigan and Wisconsin surprising Penn State. Overall, a very exciting day of college football. LSU takes a break from the SEC next weekend, playing McNeese State, while there are some other great games, too. I do love college football.

And yes, yesterday morning during the battle of the orange-and-white UT’s, I finished the first draft of my story, which pleased me to no end. It’s about forty-one hundred words, but they are mostly good words, and now I need to edit and revise. Again, it’s a very long shot, but I do enjoy writing, and it’s always nice to make very good progress on something. I may do some editing this morning after I post this and before I summon the energy and motivation to actually make the grocery list and head to the store. I also need to order some things to be delivered this morning, too.

While I mostly managed to avoid the news yesterday, I did occasionally check in on social media to see what was going on and that’s when I came across the horrific story of the Cornell 7….remind me about the masculinity crisis again? The real masculinity crisis lies in how they treat women, and so many of them fail. Cannot IMAGINE why so many women would choose the bear, can you? It’s hilarious, I’ve been trying to work my way into my newsletter essay about masculinity and my failures to be the traditional male in this patriarchical society and finally realize something about myself while reading up on the Cornell horror (and yes, there’s a rapist on the LSU football team–which is appalling–but I am not talking about that case because I’ve not had a chance to “do my own research,”–but I fail to see any research or reading that would make LSU look good, frankly)–the reason I didn’t feel particularly boy-oriented was because I never understood why we weren’t supposed to like girls at all, and that didn’t change after puberty, either, when girls were reduced to their breasts, ass, and fuckability, which is also part of the reason I wrote #shedeservedit, and now I have some more things to discuss there. (And no, I’m not saying my view of women wasn’t curdled by exposure to male-centering and women-dismissal; I’ve said and behaved in ways towards women that are toxic, but I learned and would like to believe I’ve unlearned a lot of my upbringing and social pressuring.)

I spent some more time yesterday with The Dead Zone, and John Smith is one of my favorite Stephen King characters. I am remembering, too, while I reread how much I’ve always loved this novel and how big of a fan I used to be (not getting into it now, or maybe ever), and that incredible run of great novels he had from Carrie through Misery. Maybe I should revisit another one, too? It’s been a while since I’ve revisited Firestarter….

I was reminded yesterday also about Richard Speck. He murdered nurses in Chicago when I was five years old, and I remember the horror vividly (I also remember when the news broke about Sharon Tate and the other victims on Cielo Drive in the Hollywood Hills). I’ve never read up on the Speck murders, but I read Helter Skelter as a teenager and it was terrifying–I’ve generally avoided reading anything else on the Manson family since. I remember, in both cases, how upset my mother was–a rural country girl living in Chicago with generalized anxiety disorder–and again wonder how much it must have terrified her when we weren’t home. Mothers worry, of course, but I wish I’d known when she was alive about the anxiety; I would have worked harder to ease her mind. (I also believe the anxiety shortened her life, but…she did make it to eighty-one.) Does anyone know of any good books or writing about Speck?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and GEAUX SAINTS!

To Have and Not to Hold

Friday work at home day blog and here I am in the Lost Apartment, sipping coffee in between the windows. Sparky’s sleeping in a puddle at my feet and I am very excited for the day and the weekend. There are some excellent games to watch on Saturday (GEAUX TIGERS!), and of course, tonight there’s a new episode of Traitors: New Blood, which I can’t wait to see. After bingeing so many seasons, it really is torturous having to wait a week for a new episode. Heavy sigh, but that’s okay, really. Bingeing has really changed how I watch television, hasn’t it? We had started the new season of The Gentleman on Netflix last week, but despite the appeal of one Theo James (Christ, there should be a law against being that pretty), I didn’t get into the season 2 premiere, and haven’t exactly been itching to get back to it for some reason. I was thinking I might go back and watch the earlier seasons of The White Lotus so I’m not mindlessly scrolling through Youtube videos. It’s not only addictive, but it’s time consuming.

I worked more diligently on the short story last night, and almost have my new first draft finished (even though I am using the same title, the same story but with a different perspective, which I think is working). I am pretty pleased with it; it’s a very strong draft I should be able to get finished later today. It’s amazing how much I enjoy writing, but my process has changed–as I have changed–and it takes me longer to write than it used to. I used to be able to average about three thousand1 per writing day when working on a book; short stories are a different animal, but I don’t remember it taking me this long to complete a first draft of a short story; it’s a do-over of one I finished years ago but couldn’t place anywhere, so I tore it all apart and put it back together completely differently. I personally think it works better now, but I won’t be surprised if the anthology I am writing it for doesn’t accept it. Not that it isn’t good, but it’s not the kind of crime story people usually are looking for when compiling an anthology of them.

When Paul got home last night, we finished watching a documentary called A Killer Story, which is wild; true crime documentaries are absolutely terrifying to watch, especially when you see how easily a prosecutor can convict someone entirely on a theory with little to no evidence to corroborate their theory of the crime. Documentaries, though, can easily be manipulated to convince the viewer of their point of view, something I’ve noticed before. (One of Americans’ biggest fears is wrongful imprisonment, along with not being believed; being wrongly accused of murder and put on trial is definitely terrifying.)

I slept pretty well last night, even if Sparky got me up before seven. I’m a bit physically tired this morning–the Achilles tendons again–but I know once I get cleaned up I’ll feel more recharged. I have a meeting this morning, after which I am going to go run some errands. It being 9/25, the Krewe of Dolly is having a second line in the Quarter today for our departed Queen, Dolly Parton. If I could walk that far, I might have gone down to participate; it’s the kind of fun thing New Orleans loves to do at the drop of a hat. I also saw last night that Jamie Davis has come within four points of beating Julia Letlow, the Harkonnen and janky governor endorsed corrupt piece of MAGA shit, and Louisiana is getting fed up with all of this bullshit. Turnout will be key in Louisiana; if the Bill Cassidy supporters who are still pissed over the MAGA turn on him don’t vote, or vote for Davis…we could have our first Democratic senator from Louisiana in over twelve years. The data centers in north Louisiana and the spaceport on the coast and all the NDA’s everyone involved signed (Letlow owns stock in both companies) so the sweetheart deals Janky Jeff gave them will never be exposed has even Louisiana voters, notoriously blasé about political corruption, aren’t happy about how blatant this all is…it’s so blatant it’s insulting. And the way Janky Jeff keeps fucking with the LSU athletic department isn’t good, either.

I am cautiously optimistic about the midterms, but know there’s going to be some fuckery involved.

And on that note, I am going to have some breakfast and take a shower before starting my work day. I’ll run errands this morning after our meeting, and then come home from that to sit in my chair and go over paperwork this afternoon. The coffee is starting to kick in, too. So, on that note, tis off to mine spice with me, and will return again tomorrow morning. Have the loveliest of Fridays, Constant Reader!

Ah, the beauty of youth. But they just look like pretty children to me.
  1. On the other hand, last night I managed over two thousand words, which wasn’t bad.
    ↩︎

Inside of Me

Sunday morning! I got up earlier than I thought I would this morning, given how late I went to bed last night because the LSU had about a two hour rain delay and didn’t get started until almost nine. I didn’t see that as a good omen, honestly, but…yeah, more on that a little later.

It rained off and on pretty much all day yesterday, which was nice. I felt good, if a bit on the low energy side, but it was fine. I had some groceries delivered, managed to get a lot of chores done, worked on straightening up the books, washed the bathroom rugs, and did two (!!) loads of dishes. Sparky was also cuddly and wanted to sleep on me most of the day since Paul wasn’t home; he worked out with his trainer and then went to the gym to do cardio for a couple of hours. I worked on the computer files some, cleaned off the kitchen counters, and organized the refrigerator. I should have been more tired, shouldn’t I? *snicker* In the morning, after I posted my blog and a new newsletter (which you can read by clicking here!) I went into the living room for cuddle time with Sparky. I finished watching The Burbs, and watched this week’s Real Housewives of Orange County (yawn) before putting it on to the Alabama game, which I didn’t need to pay attention to, and then had the Baylor-Auburn game on. It’s still too early in the season to know how good anyone is yet, so we don’t know what the seasons holds for anyone–I mean, Michigan almost lost at home to Western Michigan yesterday–which makes it all the more interesting to watch while dismissing “expert” opinions on who is or isn’t good.. It’s nice not being so emotionally vested in college football anymore (a topic for another time), to be honest, and dialing back my fandom in my dotage isn’t something I saw coming, but…it’s probably better this way. That emotional roller coaster I used to ride during LSU games was exhausting and unnecessary.

The Auburn-Baylor game turned out to be a lot better than I expected; wasn’t sure what to expect from either (I do like Baylor coach Dave Aranda, he was our defensive coordinator in 2019) and Auburn has a new coach this year. Can the new coach turn Auburn around and get them winning again? Auburn made a goal-line stand on a two-point conversion in the final seconds of the game to win, 17-16. Good for you, new coach! While it wasn’t an impressive outing for Auburn, they lost the close games most of the time in the last five or six years.

The LSU-Clemson game was weather delayed, as I already mentioned; we were also having a thunderstorm here. I managed to cookout between waves of the storm, and after watching the US Open during the delay, finally settled in to watch the game. Oh. My. God. As I said yesterday and reiterated above, it’s hard at this point in the season to tell who’s good and who isn’t. So, yes, it’s entirely possible that Clemson is really bad this year–but LSU beat them 51-10, and it wasn’t even that close. I’ve not seen LSU beat a top tier college team that badly in–well, since the Oklahoma game in the play-offs with Joe Burrow. The defense was incredible. It was also Dabo Swinney’s worst loss in his time at Clemson–maybe as a head coach in general. Sam Leavitt and that new running back Dilin Jones certainly looked amazing. Even the back-ups, going in late in the third quarter, looked really good. I had hoped for a big win, like I always do, but 51-10? Never in my wildest dreams would I have anticipated that. This is going to be a very interesting season, but Coach Kiffin sure seemed to be having a really good time last night, and Death Valley was rocking. I am trying not to get too excited, choosing to keep my “cautiously optimistic” hat on for now, just as I did with the 2019 team.

I also loved the signs at Gameday (I didn’t watch; because Macafee) that I saw on-line later: You can’t spell lawsuit without LSU and Don’t sue me Jayden I’m only 5.

I started rereading Celebrity by Thomas Thompson; it’s a rather long and deeply involving crime story that takes place over the course of over twenty years. It’s always been one of my favorites (Thompson wrote one of my favorite true crime “novels,” Blood and Money) and a friend mentioned it recently on social media, so I got it down from the shelves (I have my original copy still, hardcover) and started looking at it again last weekend, rereading the opening. Does it still hold up? No crime novel would ever get away with being this long now–it would have to be marketed as something else; I don’t know what it was considered or marketed as on its original release. I bought it because I’d loved his earlier true crime writing, and this intrigued me. I’ve always loved stories that go back and forth in time, with the reader not knowing much about what’s going on in the present. The book opens from the point of view of a cop at the hospital with someone having emergency surgery; all we know is someone has been arrested, someone is dead, and someone could die, but not who they are and how we got to the point, which is an excellent way to open a book, if you ask me, It’s not until we go back in time that we learn who the three central characters are, and we meet them as high school seniors whose graduation party plans have been rained out by a flooding rain…it’s also quite well-written, but I also wonder if anyone would publish it today. It’s going to make for a good essay, methinks.

I got an email yesterday with the subject line Six Gothic thrillers for fans of horror. Excuse me, what? It was one of those lists of books things, but…Gothic isn’t always horror, and horror isn’t always Gothic. Rebecca, for example, is a Gothic novel that isn’t horror. It really annoyed me–Gothic can be any number of other subgenres, but…I will have to concede that Gothic thrillers may appeal to horror fans. As someone who is a fan of horror and Gothics, I used to make that same mistake–but classifying books is not an exact science in the first place.

I also read a Richard Matheson short story yesterday. Matheson is one of my favorite writers; it’s amazing how many films and episodes of television shows (like The Twilight Zone) are based on his work, and I never think to include him (and Robert Bloch) as authors who have influenced me. I should revisit some of this novels…anyway, the story was a Western called “The Conqueror.” It’s actually very poignant, about a young man who has come west to prove himself as a quick draw duelist. It doesn’t end well, and is kind of sad; someone who, in 1871, wanted his fifteen minutes of fame. It also reminded me again what a master Matheson was.

I saw an anthology submissions call for crimes without corpses; in other words, any crime but murder. I don’t think I’ve ever written a non-murder crime story, which is kind of wild. Why do I always only think of murder when it comes to crime? Something to ponder at any rate.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am playing today by ear; whether I read or write or clean or any combination of the above will remain to be seen predicated on what I am feeling like. I feel a bit lazy today–staying up so late but still getting up early is not recommended–so today is what it is. So have yourself a merry little holiday Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will be back again tomorrow morning! Till then, stay cool.

These kinds of staircases always make me think o The Haunting of Hill House. I would never climb one, but they are pretty to look at.

Love Song

Saturday morning and I have really lost the plot on what day it is. I kept thinking it was Saturday all day yesterday, which was annoying. And as much as I was wanting to have another day off yesterday (planning on working more today and tomorrow), I actually started writing my next chapter of the WIP, and even worked some on my newsletter drafts, which is becoming more and more fun the more I do of them. Obviously, we didn’t go see the movie because I was writing and had gotten settled into that “in my sweats and I’m in my chair working on my laptop” mode, and so I thought it was better to go ahead and do what work I could while doing my chores. I wound up writing about 1500 words on the new chapter, which was a pleasant and unexpected surprise. Whether they are any good or not is another story, but I am taking the win. I also stayed up later than usual, doing the laundry, and Sparky tried to get me up early again but settled in for cuddles when I didn’t get up.

I watched some more documentaries about the Pacific War again yesterday, which is technically research for the book–since my main character served in the South Pacific during the war. It also occurred to me yesterday that I should watch South Pacific again–I watched it when I was a kid, and never revisited, but thought it might be interesting from a sociological and research point of view; how did they depict sailors with no access to women? It’s been so long I don’t remember much of the movie, or the book either for that matter (Tales of the South Pacific was my entry point for James A. Michener’s work) so one of these weekend mornings when I don’t have much else to do along the lines of reading or chores I could put it on. I liked musicals a lot when I was a kid–I remember seeing The Sound of Music and Camelot on the big screen–but kind of got away from them as a teenager and the post-teen years…the fact that not many were made might have had a lot to do with it. Anyway, it couldn’t hurt, right? And if I can consider something as a kind of sideways research, it doesn’t feel like I’m just wasting my time…see, what you saw right there is an anxiety coping mechanism: I’d feel guilty and anxious for not being productive, so I needed a rationale for it that made sense to my brain.

And while we didn’t go see the movie yesterday after all–and probably won’t this weekend either–we are going to Costco tomorrow.

I watched more of The Burbs yesterday, and when Paul came down from his work-at-home duties, we caught up on both The Shards and Reacher. This most recent episode of The Shards was probably one of the best ones so far, but it’s still Ryan Murphy so there’s kind of a glitzy veneer over it all and character motivations don’t seem to be important (they never are to Murphy)…and almost all of the characters are unlikable, because I at least never feel any sympathy for any of them–and kind of enjoy their failures…I am not sure that’s the primary intent here, but that’s my reaction to it. It’s addicting, though, like so many things are that are nothing more than empty calories, like cotton candy or soda.

I was actually kind of glad we didn’t go to the movie yesterday because around the time we would have left, some amazing thunderstorms rolled into the metro area. The band of bad weather lasted for about six or seven hours, too–with street flooding uptown and there was also HAIL uptown, big chunks of ice hurtling down from the sky. We didn’t have any here at the Lost Apartment, thank the Lord, and it sure would have sucked to bring Costco home during a thunderstorm. Yikes.

Some rather interesting news broke yesterday regarding the Karmelo Anthony case, and a better picture of what happened that day is starting to emerge. When I first heard the news, my first thought was “self-defense” and my second was “they are going to roast and railroad this kid” and I was right about that, too. (Just like when Nolan Wells went missing and my reaction was “he’s dead and those white kids did something, they may not have killed him but they certainly didn’t act like innocent people who didn’t know anything” and as more facts come out…)

Because inevitably it will always turn out to be some kind of bullshit white shenanigans. And that kid Karmelo Anthony killed sounds to me like he was already well on his way to becoming a full-fledged sociopath. We need to stop treating white kids with kid gloves. Hell, we need to stop centering white people, period.

And on that somber note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in on you again tomorrow morning, okay? Til then!

I’ve never understood the “must shave body and be smooth at all times” mentality. Body hair can be sexy, too—and very masculine.

One Love

Tuesday and we somehow managed to survive Monday, did we not? It was weird for me, because I now have to go into the office later now that I am the only person working in the clinic (don’t ask), because I have to stay until five now; my other person would have taken the last client so I could get out earlier. I now have to rearrange my life to comply with the ability to stay later, but it’s not the end of the world and there are always worse things; there are always worse things possible.

I finally sent out my newsletter on Jordan Harper’s A Violent Masterpiece, which you can read by clicking the title there. It’s a most excellent book, written brilliantly and the story etches itself into your brain with acid as you read…it’s about terrible people doing terrible things and the people who help them get away with it. You know, like Hollywood itself and well, the rest of the world, too…which is a nice segue into the next paragraph.

I saw a news report Sunday about a missing eighteen-year-old Black community college football player named Nolan Wells. He’d gone on a boat trip with friends from Ocean Springs to Horn Island, one of the Alabama-Mississippi barrier islands along the coast. The picture that was shown of young Nolan showed him with three white kids about his age…and as soon as I saw that picture, my right eyebrow arched upward, my eyes narrowed and my head tilted. My initial reaction was to be very skeptical of the story being told by “his friends”–they couldn’t find him, thought he’d left with someone else (but didn’t take his cell phone…sure, Klan) and it wasn’t until later that his parents began worrying about him when he didn’t come home. I hoped I was wrong, that he had gotten off the island with someone else and forgot his phone, which happens, and he’d turn up.

Well, they found Nolan Wells’ body yesterday out there on Horn Island, which opens up a whole lot of questions and his so-called friends are looking mighty suspicious, if you ask me. Horn Island is, at best, a barrier island and at worst, a sandbar slightly above sea level with few trees, no houses or anything, really, besides sea oats, grass and white sand. I will be following this story–just as I still am following the Noah Presgrove case over in Oklahoma. Both stories involve mysterious deaths of athletic young men, and a group of people that weren’t their friends. Of course, there’s a racial component as well in Nolan’s case–and his “friends” have all lawyered up. I’ve not checked the story again yet this morning, but it saddens me that a bright young life has been silenced, and because it’s Ocean Springs, Mississippi, nothing will be done about his death. Apparently, one of his “friends” has a mom who is a local judge and another is connected to local law enforcement, so there’s no telling what these young sociopaths have already gotten away with.

And no, I am not giving spoiled young white boys the benefit of the doubt. They are very dangerous in groups.

And the World Cup dream has died for the USMNT, in what was an apparently horribly embarrassing loss to Belgium last night. I knew that once the Baron Harkonnen smeared himself all over it, they were going to lose; everything the Harkonnens touch dies. I do think it’s hilarious that evangelicals–who would be reading the augurs against Biden or Harris or Obama had they the same track record of destroying everything–aren’t seeing God’s hand in any of this–especially the horror that was Saturday on the national mall.

Sigh. But good for Belgium, and now I can pull for Norway and Erling Haalang completely guilt-free, at least. I love the big Viking!

We finished watching Sugar last night, highly recommend, and we’re going to start season 2 tonight. We also watched an episode of a documentary series The American Experiment, which again is about the lead up to the Revolutionary War and the war itself. I did do some work on the book yesterday, but I also worked on a newsletter to send out later this week, if I’ve not already overdone it with the newsletters over the holiday weekend. Three was probably a bit excessive…although I am writing a counterpoint to that disgusting homophobic op-ed from a self-loathing Christian queen; bitch, you don’t speak for any of us, quisling, and how very fucking dare you? I think that’s a theme I can work with in my Julia Sugarbaker mode.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Taco Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back on mid-week Wednesday morning. Till then!

The image displays the magnificent Grand Staircase of the Palais Garnier (Opéra Garnier) in Paris, France. Designed by architect Charles Garnier, this opulent 19th-century Beaux-Arts masterpiece features a sweeping marble double staircase, gilded balconies, and grand chandeliers.

Big Life

Sunday and the morning after the holiday; all is well and peaceful this morning in the Lost Apartment. I had stuff delivered yesterday, so I didn’t have to leave the house (I am getting a bit spoiled by all this delivery service, but it’s wonderful and I am not going to stop using it). I ordered everything in the morning and it was here by twelve! Ah, modern convenience. Something good that came out of the pandemic that future generations will thank us for. Who knew that horrible time had a positive impact in some ways? It made for a lovely start to the day, really. Sparky wanted me up early yesterday and rather than resisting his entreaties, I got up and started my day, which was cool. I did some filing and organizing, and I also finished and published a holiday newsletter yesterday, about the 4th of July and remembering back to the bicentennial in 1976, which was very different from what we saw yesterday and what we saw in the time leading up to yesterday. Everything he touches dies, doesn’t it?

Going outside to get the deliveries or take out trash/recycling wasn’t terrible. I may be acclimating to this summer, which might not be a terrible thing. Oh, I’ll still bitch and moan and whine and sweat and feel the humidity sucking my soul out of my body like always, but…you do get used to it. You’re aware of it, of course, there’s no escaping any of that unless you’re inside the blessed cool, but your subconscious is aware that it’s not going to kill you even if it feels as though it might.

I wasn’t able to read any yesterday morning, alas. By the time I got everything ordered and delivered, and had done some of my chores it was past noon. Paul was up and watching Wimbledon, so I broke out the laptop and did some writing on it in the living room, which was nice. There was some good energy in the apartment yesterday. I felt really good and content. I also have some things to order for delivery today, too, which I also hope to take care of this morning. I polished a newsletter that has been sitting in my drafts since late May and will probably get it sent out tomorrow morning (I’ve done two in two days already this weekend, and I am aware it could quite easily be overkill). I also started two more, about more serious subjects, that I hope to get done this month. I need to finish Lev’s book so I can write about that, too. There’s literally no end, is there? There’s also the Half Man one I need to write…where’s my to-do notebook?

I also wrote about a thousand or so words of fiction yesterday, which felt good and was absolutely marvelous. We finished The Big Conn and hey, at least he felt remorse and bad for the victims, which is more than SSA did. WE started watching Sugar which we are loving Colin Farrell yum, love the stylizations and the occasional dips into classic Hollywood, and really like the character, too. Colin Farrell is perfect for this Ross Macdonald/Raymond Chander-style detective show; why has someone not tried filming a Lew Archer with him in it? You know what else I’d like to see? Alexander Skarsgaard playing Travis McGee. We also watched some of Wimbledon yesterday, and probably will watch some more of it this afternoon.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Until then!


The Golden Band from Tigerland prepares to perform “Pregame” on the field. It’s the one with THE four notes that bring every fan to their feet.

Rated X

Sunday morning, a good night’s sleep, and the rain continues today. It was very cozy inside the house all day yesterday, and I had a lovely, relaxing day of scribbling in my journal, working on newsletters, and reading more of A Violent Masterpiece, which I am really enjoying even as the plot kind of makes my skin crawl. It’s also so well-written it’s kind of inspirational. We also caught up on Hacks, and watched more of House of Ashur. Overall, it was pretty much a lovely, chill, relaxing day and this morning I feel very rested and relaxed, which is great; I’ve not really felt like this since getting back from my trip. I also slept a bit later–blame it on the rain–than I had intended to this morning–Sparky was a cuddlebug this morning rather than an “I must be fed!” immediacy he will use if he hears the alarm. Paul is going to the gym today, so I should have most of the afternoon free to do with as much as I please. I may try to write some today–I was making notes on revisions to make and writing to do yesterday–but there’s also some mess I have to clean up and organize and straighten today. Sigh–it never end, does it?

This week, while running errands in the car, out of nowhere I commanded Siri to play Pat Benatar’s Crimes of Passion album, and almost fifty years since it’s release it’s still a fucking banger of an album. I haven’t heard much about her in years, but I’ve noticed she hasn’t been “rediscovered” by the Gen Z reaction videos, nor is she mentioned in conversations about great women singers of the second half of the 20th century, which is a disgrace. The power and range in her voice! Her songs often were from the perspective of a strong woman who won’t put up with your nonsense, and she was fun to sing along to–and she had a lot of great songs, too.

I’m loving all this rain, not going to lie about it. It was amazing curling up with Sparky with a blanket and my book yesterday while the rain fell outside and on the house–absolutely perfect. It also helped that the book is so amazing and like its brilliant predecessor Everybody Knows (that weary sounding title being absolutely perfect) takes on a subject I feel very strongly about. It’s also inspiring me to work some more on Chlorine and to make that book darker still than I had originally planned. There’s so much darkness in Hollywood–and it has always been there, from the very beginning. I certainly don’t ever have to worry about it being too dark, can I? Hollywood’s decay and rot and absolute cruelty in chewing people up and spitting them back out again, bereft of success and their soul hollowed, into the gutters of the Dream Factory (has anyone written a Disney Babylon book?). I read a lot of trashy Hollywood novels in the 1970s, and that was pretty much the entire thread-line to all of them; Hollywood is cold and cruel and will use you up–and is there anything more cruel than deliberately setting someone up to shatter their dreams?

I see our flash flood watch has been extended through tomorrow evening at seven pm, so that most likely means it will keep raining and there are thunderstorms on the way–and it is delightful for me. It sounds to me like there will be plenty of opportunities for me to get some reading done. I am also trying to decide whether or not to go make groceries or simply have them delivered; I don’t know what I am going to make for dinner tonight. Maybe shrimp scampi, or something like that? Shrimp tacos, maybe? I guess I need to put some thought into that a bit more, don’t I? Swedish meatballs is also a possibility. I think I’ll just let that thought simmer in my head until I subconsciously figure it out.

A friend mentioned one of my favorite books on social media this week (Thomas Thompson’s Celebrity), which I’ve not thought about in a very long time and am considering a reread, once I finish the reread of The Ivy Tree. It’s truly a splendid, well written and plotted book about three men, high achool friends who do something awful on Graduation Night and it haunts them as they get older and more famous as a writer, movie star, and cult leader; it’s rich and layered and sad and tragic and the men aren’t heroes you root for; they were deeply flawed men with complicated moralities–and one has to wonder how that tragic rainy night when they were eighteen shaped them into the flawed, complicated men they became. The movie star–Mack Crawford–had a very complicated sexuality, which should be my primary focus on the reread; how his sexual dysfunction and self-loathing also shaped who he was. Thompson also wrote one of my favorite true crime books of all time, Blood and Money–which I should also revisit.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to drink some more coffee and spend some more time with my book, blanket, and cat puddle in my lap. I will be back tomorrow morning, so have a lovely day!

Panama City Beach, Florida

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Sparky let me sleep a little later than usual–not for lack of trying, though–but it also rained overnight, which helped me sleep more deeply than I had during the trip. It’s still raining this morning, dark and a little bit gloomy. I’d planned to run some errands today, but maybe I won’t after all. It seems and feels like a stay-inside-and-be-cozy day; once I finish some things this morning I’ll probably head to the easy chair to do some reading. The key is to not turn on the television; that never ends well. Last night we watched an episode of both Hacks and Euphoria, but we are still behind on both–and some other shows we are watching as each episode drops, too. I want to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today around the house; I have to empty the dishwasher, etc. Paul’s planning on going to the gym when he wakes up and bringing lunch home from the Please U cafe on St. Charles–they have marvelous fried shrimp po’boys and onion rings–so it should be a relatively low-key day around the Lost Apartment.

I went into the office yesterday for a half-day, which was nice. I was behind on things from being gone, and was thus able to get caught up by going in. So long as I don’t have to be there before eight, you know? It was very low-key, too–no one expects to see me in the office on Fridays–and was able to take my time and leisurely get things done. I still have things to do there, but it’s now a very much shorter–and easier–day ahead of me on Monday.

We finished watching The Beast in Me the day I got home from the drive, and I highly recommend it. Both Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys are fantastic, as is Brittany Snow; it’s a definite twisty edge of your seat thriller, with fleshed out, rounded out characters who may not be the best people in the first place, and the dynamic of the nonfiction writer living next door to the wealthy real estate mogul from New York who may have murdered his first wife is kind of chilling–it was an interesting twist of the Bobby Durst/Susan Berman situation there (immortalized in the documentary series The Jinx)–which I spotted almost immediately. Berman wasn’t writing about Durst1 (that we know about, anyway), and operated as more of a friend/PR person for him after his first wife vanished2, but the foundation of this story is very similar to that dynamic.

I also watched the final, concluding episode of the reunion for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, which, like the first two parts, was a snoozefest. I skipped out on most of the season–Garcelle was one of the only reasons I was still watching–and came back in for the last three episodes before the reunion, and couldn’t make myself care about any of them, frankly. The show has always been this weird mix of darkness and manufactured goofiness (the segments on Kyle’s family were always so hyper-produced, to the point I called these segments “Kyle and Her Wacky Family”–supposedly making them relatable, but actually making The Brady Bunch look realistic, groundbreaking, and Peabody worthy) that has always been a bit hard to take. I’ve never cared for Kyle–a recapper I used to love before she stopped doing them always called her Vyle, which is very appropriate–in the first place, and her alliance of bitches known as the Fox Force Five that she activated to get rid of Lisa Vanderpump was incredibly tedious. They’ve also made some horrendous mistakes in casting over the years, too. I don’t know, I think I may be tiring at long last of the Real Housewives franchises, with Salt Lake City the only one I actually look forward to watching.

Maybe it’s because I love The Traitors so much? Very possible.

I also got the marvelous news that the audiobook of A Streetcar Named Murder is on sale for a mere ten dollars, and you can get the deal by clicking right here! Snap it up, everyone! Please?

The Anthony Award nominations were released yesterday, and as always, I have a load of friends nominated in every category! Best of luck, and congratulations to everyone, seriously. I am glad I am not going so I don’t have to choose which friend to vote for, hallelujah. I am very pleased to announce that Crime Ink–Iconic is nominated for Best Anthology, and two of the stories were nominated for best short story! I wrote about my impressions about both stories on my newsletter (if you are interested in my thoughts, they can be found by clicking on this link here for Cheryl Head’s “Finding Jimmy Baldwin” or here for Christa Faust’s “Hollywood Prometheus“), and also have to add that Cheryl has another story nominated as well–well done, Cheryl! It’s also truly an honor to be in the same table of contents with both women, honestly.

And stupid, stupid me–I discovered something that will be enormously helpful going forward with my newsletter–scheduling them in advance. That means I can write, for example, Pride entries for June whenever I am inspired to write about being a queer American, and then set them to post and be sent out to my subscribers in June. Du-uh. Likewise, I can also save my horror entries for October. I am very oblivious, and very aware of the fact; it really sometimes feels like those old commercials, “Oh, I could have had a V8!” I start them all the time and publish them as soon as they are finished, so frequently I won’t finish one because I don’t want to publish it yet….which means there are tons started and unfinished (92 was this morning’s total of “unpublished” entries), which is daunting and overwhelming sometimes, particularly because there are so many and I have so many other ideas for entries, too. Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am getting another cup of coffee, probably going to heat up a breakast sandwich, and head into the living room with the iPad to continue reading this marvelous Carol Goodman novel, and just see how the day goes. Hope you have a lovely Saturday, and I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning! Till then!

Live oak in Audubon Park with lots of Spanish moss
  1. Interesting twist: I am one degree or so of separation from the Durst case; my mentor was a friend of Berman’s and she was terrified of Durst. Can’t say that I blame her, but I knew the case long before it got into the popular imagination. ↩︎
  2. Interesting side note: Judge Box o’Wine Jeannine Perro was the district attorney who couldn’t even file charges on Durst. Given that she now can’t even get a grand jury to indict anyone, you have to wonder if there was serious collusion and corruption involved there, since we now know she’ll try to indict someone for assault with a Subway sandwich. It’s not like she’s either a good attorney or a good person, and she’s clearly corrupt. ↩︎

The Closer You Get

Sunday Funday in the Lost Apartment, and how are you doing this morning? I feel good thus far; Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning and that was marvelous. My coffee is going down well also, and it’s a little less bright than usual outside. Yesterday was nice. I ran my errands and did some chores around here, and spent some time scribbling in my journal notes and ideas for newsletters and stories and where the book I am currently working on is going to go next. I also scribbled out some notes for a possible Chanse novel, which I am toying with. It’s not a priority or anything, but I will write that book if I ever have the time and I figure out the entire story beforehand. Chanse can never be a “fly by the seat of your pants” type story, and who knows? Maybe outlining a book again might be good for me. Who knows?

I finished watching Fit for TV last night, and ugh. As a former working fitness professional1, I disagreed with everything they were doing on The Biggest Loser–even that flip-sounding pun in the title (The winner is a loser!) didn’t sit right with me. I know the show was very popular and kind of a thing, but it seemed–to me, at any rate–like they were exploiting these desperate people and mocking them at the same time. The show wrapped its cruelty under the hideous guise of “helping”, which also enabled people to watch, not from empathy, but to be cruel and laugh at them, which is something I cannot now, or ever, condone. I have never enjoyed cruelty or mockery because I know how it feels to be on the other end of that. Watching this documentary, which was absolutely horrible and painful to watch from the perspectives of former contestants, is very compelling, and showed that I was right. What they were doing to the contestants wasn’t healthy or good for them, wouldn’t provide long-lasting results, and they would eventually put all the weight back on–further emphasizing that sense of helpless defeat they already experience. Being heavy in our society and community isn’t easy, and losing weight (and keeping it off) is a significant challenge (ask me how I know). It’s very easy to feel defeated, beaten, and like a total loser–and being on a show called that isn’t psychologically healthy for anyone.

We caught up on our in-progress shows last night–Hacks, The Boys, The Comeback–and started watching another series about a cult, but it wasn’t very well done and we turned it off without finishing the first episode. I”m not sure what we will be watching this evening, but I want to get some things done this morning and this afternoon to get them over with. There are still chores that need completing, too. If I get everything done, or not, isn’t worrisome to me. It just simply is, you know? I don’t have any deadlines, but I need to get moving because I do have so much to do, and I need to stop feeling overwhelmed by the extraordinary amount of work I still have to do. Anxiety was always such a good motivator for me…but I was also thinking yesterday that as long as I continue to feel good physically and mentally, maybe I should go back to the gym this summer and try to once again get my body back under control–and my weight. It’ll be harder now that I’m older, of course; everything gets tougher the older one gets…but I also don’t think I’m ready to spend the rest of my life in my easy chair with a remote control affixed to my hand, either. I also picked my audiobooks for the trip next Friday: The Note by Alafair Burke and A Letter of Mary by Laurie R. King; I love the Mary Russell series and I love gradually working my way through it leisurely. I didn’t do any reading yesterday, alas; but I intend to do some this morning before showering, ordering stuff for delivery later, and of course, picking up around here.

The MAGA Civil war continues to rage, and I do have to confess I am really enjoying watching it all while munching popcorn. This stage was all too predictable; when you base a movement on hatred and bigotry, it is inevitable that once the decline begins they would all turn on each other. It’s also been interesting seeing people having the scales of American mythology removed from their eyes and finally being cognizant of their selfishness and recognizing at last the truth about this country and its history. For me, letting go of the myths and opening my eyes made me more than a little angry about being lied to and brainwashed for so much of my younger life, but it also made me a better person, I think. Likewise, recognizing that all oppression is the same only branded differently also opened my eyes to the struggle racialized Americans have endured for hundreds of years, making me a lot more of an activist for other causes besides queer ones. If one’s rights are abridged, then everyone’ are abridged and at risk–and the twenty-first century has plenty of examples to go around, you know?

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and head over to my easy chair to do some reading (after cleaning out my email inbox). Have a lovely morning, Constant Reader, and may your Sunday Funday be simply marvelous and a load of fun. I’ll be here again bright and early tomorrow morning. Ta ta for now!

The buck moth caterpillar–those spines sting and hurt like hell.
  1. I was still teaching aerobics and training clients when the show started airing. ↩︎