So, as I said in my last entry, we finished watching Thirteen Reason Why. Do not read any more because here there be spoilers. I am trying to learn WordPress, since the blog has been moved here from Livejournal; and I don’t know how to hide text behind a cut here the way I could there. So I am going to try to make this paragraph as long as possible so when it cross-posts over to Facebook no spoilers will appear so anyone who hasn’t watched, or finished watching, won’t see something they shouldn’t. I will say I greatly enjoyed the show, just as I am enjoying reading the book, which I hope to finish reading today. Continue reading “Piece of My Heart”
Category: Uncategorized
You and I
Ash Wednesday, and Carnival is over for yet another year. On the one hand, I am sorry it’s all over; as exhausting and frustrating as it may often be, I do enjoy it thoroughly. This morning I feel a bit hungover from it all; the over consumption, the excitement, the crowds, the engaging with people…it’s really so much, and so hard to comprehend unless you are completely immersed in it the way we are. Today I have a long day at the office and a late night bar testing; but this is a very short work week (three days!) and before I know it the weekend will be here again. The week after Mardi Gras always feels a bit off as everyone tries to get their bearings and to grasp reality again anyway.
Which means I am going to get back in the saddle and start writing again this week! Happy March 1st!
I also managed to read Donna Andrews’ latest Meg Langslow mystery last night, Die Like an Eagle.

“Strike!”
“No fair! I wasn’t ready!”
I glanced over at the field to see what was going on. My husband, Michael, in his role as assistant coach of the Caerphilly Eagles, was putting one of his players through batting practice. Probably seven-year-old Mason. They all looked alike with their baseball hats or batting helmets pulled low over their faces, but Mason was a good friend of Josh and Jamie, our twins, and I was pretty sure I recognized the voice.
“Mason, I asked you if you were ready before I threw it,” Michael said. “You said you were ready.”
Constant Reader already should be aware that I am a huge fan of Donna Andrews, and this latest of hers is yet another joyous return for the reader to the wonderful town of Caerphilly (I pronounce it carefully and will not change my mind as to that pronunciation so don’t even try), Virginia, and the world populated by her heroine, the amazing Meg Langslow, her husband, their twin sons, their menagerie of animals, and dozens and dozens of relatives and friends. The murder mystery is constructed around the world of ‘summerball,’ an off-shoot of Little League, and of course Meg’s twin sons are playing…which brings Meg into contact with the wretched and vile Biff Brown, who runs Brown Construction Company and also has managed to install himself as league president for Summerball. No one likes Biff–and he is hard to like–and then the night before the big tournament his look-alike half-brother is found murdered in one of Brown Construction’s porta-potties, stationed at the baseball field. And since pretty much everyone hates Biff…it’s not a stretch to think his look-alike brother was killed by mistake. Entertaining and at times laugh-out-loud funny, this is Donna Andrews at her best–which is saying something.
As I read the book (savoring every word), I realized that one of the reasons I love this series is because the people Andrews populates her town with are good people; the kind you’d like to know. Meg and her mother (and pretty much anyone in town, really) can always depend on their friends and neighbors to pitch in for the good of the town and the townspeople; within minutes of making phone calls they are generally overwhelmed with volunteers and food and so forth. Everyone is basically nice; those who aren’t nice and don’t change their ways usually end up murdered.
And I kind of like that.
Her next, Gone Gull, will be released in August and is already available for pre-order; I know I’ve already ordered mine.
Freedom! 90
Well, that particular long weekend is now over, and it’s back to the office with me tonight. I’m doing bar testing tonight, so I don’t have to go in until later. So I am going to spend the next few hours writing before heading to run errands on my way to the office. This is a short week, of course–four days–and then another three day weekend and next week is also a four day work week.
I got pretty caught up on the book yesterday; still behind, of course, but if I keep pushing myself I may actually get the damned thing done on time. I don’t know why I do this to myself all the time, but I do, and it’s very tiresome.
VERY tiresome.
But I slept well last night and I do feel rested, which is a good thing, particularly since I have two late nights this week as opposed to just the one. I need to run errands on Thursday during the day, which is also going to cut into my writing time that day (I can’t do errands on Saturday as it’s our annual New Year’s luncheon at Commander’s Palace; which is also going to make writing that day a bit difficult since we generally drink at lunch), so I have to be prepared to get up and get going that day. (I’m skipping Costco this time around; it may just be a grocery run when I get up that morning and be done with it.)
I also did a purge of some books this weekend.
All right, now I am boring myself, so I am going to get cleaned up and get to work on the book.
Here’s a hunk for the day:

People Got to Be Free
Tuesday. I managed to get a shit ton of stuff done yesterday; well over half of my to-do list, which was quite a triumph. I’m not sure what that was all about, frankly, but I am sure it had something to do with going to bed early. I did the same last night; much earlier than I usually do, and am feeling pretty well rested this morning as well.
Note to self: going to bed early on nights when you have to get up early the next morning is the smart thing to do, dumbass. Make a habit of it.
Paul checks into the hotel tomorrow for the weekend. It’s not like I’ve seen much of him lately, anyway. He gets home after I go to bed, so if I’m lucky we have a bit of conversation in the morning on my way out the door. I’ll be glad when this is all over and we can get back to some semblance of normality, again. I kind of feel like I’ve been living alone for the last few weeks. Heavy heaving sigh. I’ve been watching a lot of old episodes of Dark Shadows lately, which is entertaining on many levels, but primarily for making me realize how deep an influence the old show had on me–how many books have I written that open with someone arriving someplace they’ve never been before? Let’s see….Lake Thirteen, Sorceress, Dark Tide, The Orion Mask…and even Timothy, kind of.
Granted, many novels open that way…but in my subconscious I always hear the mournful sound of the train whistle, the light on the front of the train, and the voice…”My name is Victoria Winters.”
It reminds me that long, long ago, I wanted to write about supernatural occurrences in a small town, perhaps even write a series, beginning with a book called I, Vampire. There’s a small town in Louisiana, just above Baton Rouge on the other side of the river, but before Lafayette, that is sort of what I had in mind when I first had that idea way back in the early 90’s; I had driven from Houston to Tampa with a friend and we detoured off I-10 in Louisiana to go along the River Road…I’ve actually used the fictional town in a couple of books already (Murder in the Arts District, The Orion Mask) and may go back and use it again. Need was also supposed to be the first in a supernatural series, which I’d intended to tie in to that town as well.
Maybe I’ll get back to that sometime.
I also have to stop myself from using the name “Collins” on a regular basis in my work. I would love to call a character Barnabas, too.
All right, time to get back to the spice mines. Here’s Tuesday’s hunk.

Bloody Mary
I wish I had some Bloody Mary mix in the house. That sounds absolutely perfect this morning, but alas, I am making do with Bailey’s in my coffee. It’s IRIS SATURDAY, Paul’s and my favorite parade day, and it is stunningly beautiful outside already, 63 degrees with a high of 79, not a cloud in our gorgeous sky, the sun is shining–how does it get better for standing out on the street screaming for beads while day drinking?
It doesn’t.
Last night I was so tired I almost wept out there on the parade route–despite being that deep tired you can feel in your bones and joints, I was out there till the bitter end of Morpheus last night. Despite the agony, though, I had a great time. I love Carnival, I truly do. It just amazes me that every year we have this ENORMOUS event, and even if they didn’t throw anything (as if, who am I trying to kid) it would be fun to people watch, if nothing else. And there’s no escaping Carnival; even if you don’t want to participate, it’s so ubiquitous you have no choice: you have to just give up and go with it otherwise you’ll make yourself crazy. I walked over ten miles yesterday, between going to and from work as well as walking around in the Quarter passing out condoms, and I’ll have to do that again on Monday. Sigh. At least Fat Tuesday is a holiday and I don’t have to work; and it’s a short work week. Huzzah!
I also heard from an editor this morning I submitted an essay to that she loved my essay, which was finished while I was in Kentucky and so I wasn’t sure if it was any good or not. YAY, ME! I am very excited about this, as you can probably imagine: good news about writing is always welcomed in the Lost Apartment. Being a writer is so bipolar, really; you go from highs of “wow I am really good at this” to horrifying, depressing lows of “why do I bother I so clearly suck at this.” It’s undoubtedly why so many of us drink.
Xanax is also helpful, I find.
I am going to try to get all this laundry done and finish cleaning the kitchen before Iris arrives…and I already have a lovely, pleasant buzz from the Bailey’s. Huzzah!
But I still wish I had a Bloody Mary.
Here’s an Iris memory for you:

The Edge of Glory
Well, in very short order after my post yesterday, the subject not only lost his book contract but his job, so that’s something.
It rained all night last night, which meant I had trouble getting out of bed this morning, and of course I have to work late. The weather today, after the night’s rain, is absolutely stunning; that kind of spring day (yes, I know it’s February) that makes you feel lazy, the day you shouldn’t spend in the office but lying in a hammock with a good book and a bottle of wine. But that’s fine; I have a shorter work day tomorrow and am off Thursday and the parades start rolling again tomorrow night; I know Nyx is tomorrow but I can’t remember the one before it; Druids? Yes, it is Druids. Cool. I should be home before Nyx gets to my neighborhood. It’s always fun to walk homedown the parade route, and I will most definitely get my Fitbit steps in. Woo-hoo! And my favorite pizza place–That’s Amore out in Metairie–just opened a new place on St. Charles a few blocks from my house. Woo-hoo! I think I might have to go over there and get us a pizza on Thursday.
Yeah, the diet’s going well, thanks for asking.
I’m enjoying the not-writing time very much, I might add. I am starting to worry that I may not go back to writing at all.
Ha, like that would happen. I still have lots of ideas, and get more every day.
All right, that’s enough for today.
Here’s a hunk for you.

Perfect Illusion
Hello, Monday.
I feel rested from a lovely weekend of sleeping late and reorganizing, which is absolutely lovely. The parades, of course, start this weekend, which means getting things done over the next two weekends is going to be complicated, to say the least. Friday night Oshun and Cleopatra roll, which means I’ll have to take a streetcar named St. Charles to work and walk home, and there are five parades Saturday (Pontchartrain, Choctaw, Freret, Sparta, Pygmalion) and four on Sunday: Femme Fatale, Carrollton, King Arthur, and Alla.
Madness.
But I love Carnival. I just hope this lovely weather maintains all the way through.
We started watching Santa Clarita Diet on Netflix last night; as always, Drew Barrymore and Timothy Olyphant are appealing and likable; they have the sort of charisma that shines off the screen. The concept of the show is also funny, not to mention how they try to accept and rationalize their new normal. The conceit of the show is they are a married couple with a daughter living in a suburban cul-de-sac when something happens to the Drew Barrymore character in the first episode and she becomes what we, as a culture, wrongly call a zombie; no longer alive but still living somehow, and in need of first, raw meat, and then human flesh. It’s funny, but it’s also satire–how very American that her need for human flesh to stay alive means they have to rationalize killing people; their need for her to stay alive justifies them crossing a line. Very sly and clever there, Netflix!
Because, as I so often say, you can rationalize anything if you try hard enough.
I’m still trying to figure out what I want to do next, which is kind of fun. I’ve been note-taking a cozy series which I think would be a fun thing to write–not to mention an enormous challenge– and I also have a stand alone idea I’m looking at, and of course I intend on doing another Scotty at some point this year. But right now I get to play around with things, maybe work on some of my short stories, write an essay, figure out what the hell I want to do next.
Maybe I’ll take some more time off. Who knows? SO many options.
Here’s a hunk for today:

Freedom! 90
Well, that particular long weekend is now over, and it’s back to the office with me tonight. I’m doing bar testing tonight, so I don’t have to go in until later. So I am going to spend the next few hours writing before heading to run errands on my way to the office. This is a short week, of course–four days–and then another three day weekend and next week is also a four day work week.
I got pretty caught up on the book yesterday; still behind, of course, but if I keep pushing myself I may actually get the damned thing done on time. I don’t know why I do this to myself all the time, but I do, and it’s very tiresome.
VERY tiresome.
But I slept well last night and I do feel rested, which is a good thing, particularly since I have two late nights this week as opposed to just the one. I need to run errands on Thursday during the day, which is also going to cut into my writing time that day (I can’t do errands on Saturday as it’s our annual New Year’s luncheon at Commander’s Palace; which is also going to make writing that day a bit difficult since we generally drink at lunch), so I have to be prepared to get up and get going that day. (I’m skipping Costco this time around; it may just be a grocery run when I get up that morning and be done with it.)
I also did a purge of some books this weekend.
All right, now I am boring myself, so I am going to get cleaned up and get to work on the book.
Here’s a hunk for the day:

Beautiful Child
Everyone is making and publishing lists of their favorite books of 2016; I intend to do the same, of course, with the stipulation that I shall simply name my favorite reads of the year, regardless of publication date. I can do that because, you know, this is my blog.
So, in no particular order, my favorite reads of the year:

Wilde Lake by Laura Lippman
A haunting story of an ambitious state’s attorney whose current case forces her to confront her own past–as well as the way she remembers that past–with some sly social commentary about changing societal attitudes towards racism, classism, and sexism. It is also extremely well-constructed, alternating between the present day and the past with different tenses and distinct voices; the voice of a child and that same voice as an adult.

You Will Know Me by Megan Abbott
We watch them on television every four years when the Olympics roll around, marveling at their skill and being moved by their prepackaged and manufactured personal stories without wondering what really goes into the day-to-day world of raising a prodigy athlete, the sacrifices that must be made–and just how far is a parent willing to go to not only protect their child but make their dreams come true? Megan Abbott, one of our strongest writers, asks those questions in this chilling tale, and the answers aren’t what you might think.

The third novel by Edgar and Macavity Award winning author Alex Marwood might be her best yet; a compelling study of narcissism and the damage it can do to one family, structured around the disappearance of one of a pair of twins during a holiday weekend where the adults basically abandoned all responsibility and how the past is still affecting the present, when everyone from that weekend gathers for the funeral of the lost child’s father.

What Remains of Me by Alison Gaylin
This astonishing tale of two murders, twenty-five years apart, is also a study of fame, and notoriety. Twenty five years ago a teenaged girl went to prison for murdering a notorious Hollywood director. Now, after getting out and married, her father-in-law is murdered in a very similar fashion. Did she commit both murders, or neither of them? The secrets and motivations from the past, long buried, now come rushing to the surface as all the players from twenty-five years ago have to face inconvenient truths long-buried.

The Watcher in the Wall by Owen Laukkanen
My first Owen Laukkanen novel definitely won’t be my last. A teenager commits suicide, and the FBI becomes aware of ‘suicide groups’ on-line, where suicidal people go for solace while opening themselves up to the potential predatory conduct of a sick voyeur who enjoys watching teenagers commit suicide on live cam. By showing us how the predator was created, and the point of view of the current victim he is nursing along, Laukkanen takes this from just another thriller to a complex and complicated exploration of human nature, how damage begets more damage, and how far the law is behind our modern technology.
Crazy Love You by Lisa Unger

Also my first Lisa Unger, and it won’t be my last. Gorgeously written, Unger keeps the reader guessing what is really going on with her protagonist right up to the end–and even then, the reader still isn’t sure. Phenomenal.
Dear Daughter by Elizabeth Little

Published a couple of years ago, Elizabeth Little here tells the tale of a Paris Hilton like celebutante, convicted of murdering her mother when she’s seventeen and released on a technicality ten years later. Her main character is untrustworthy and untrusting as she embarks on an attempt to find out who really killed her mother ten years earlier–if she didn’t do it–and the trail leads her to a bizarre small town in the Dakotas where the secret of her true past is hidden.
The Ex by Alafair Burke

One of the best legal thrillers I’ve read, Burke’s main character is a tough, driven defense attorney whose personal life isn’t the best, takes the case of an ex she treated badly years before, which she has always felt guilty about. But does her belief in her client’s innocence justified, or is it based in her own guilt? As the evidence mounts against him, she begins to question her own motivations and values as she struggles to defend her client. Extraordinary.
Stranded by Bracken MacLeod

This story of an ice-locked freighter and its crew is almost unbearable in its tension and suspense. Told from the point of view of the ship’s scapegoat, who despite everything manages to rise to heroic behavior in the face of unspeakable terror and horrific conditions to save the ship, I can’t recommend this highly enough.
How Like an Angel by Margaret Millar

There was a reason Margaret Millar was named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America, and this novel is an example of why. A car breakdown outside of a strange religious cult’s farm leads our unlikely hero into a long-dead murder mystery going back quite a few years, and it has a strange connection to the cult.
How Star Wars Conquered the Universe by Chris Taylor

A must read for every Star Wars geek out there; it’s not only a history of the films and the merchandising but a history of the fandom. Most enjoyable.
So, there it is: my favorite reads of the past year off the top of my head. I didn’t read everything, of course, and I am sure I forgot books from this past year that I deeply enjoyed. But those are the ones I remember from the top of my head, without reviewing my blog for the last year.
I may add some before the end of the year.
And now back to the spice mines.
I Know I’m Not Wrong
Another gray morning in New Orleans. I don’t have to be at work until later; a short day in store for me, so I am going to run a couple of errands this afternoon and diligently work away at my computer while also trying to straighten out/clean the kitchen/office. Seems like every day, doesn’t it? Ah, well.
The best of lists are coming out now, and as expected, I am seeing some books that I absolutely loved this past year (Laura Lippman’s Wilde Lake, Alison Gaylin’s What Remains of Me, Megan Abbott’s You Will Know Me, Alex Marwood’s The Darkest Secret, Alafair Burke’s The Ex) showing up on many of them; as well as many other books in the TBR pile I’ve not gotten to yet. The awards season for crime fiction this next year is going to be something, methinks. I’ll do one at some point this months of my favorite books that I read this year; I don’t limit myself to books published in the current year, of course. I love to read, really. I’m always amazed when people tell me they get bored, because it’s mystifying to me; how can you be bored when there are so many wonderful books to read, so many that even as voracious a reader as me will never even get close to scratching the surface of every book I want to read?
Reading is so satisfying. I’m very glad I have a passion for it. I only wish I had more time for it.
My vacation week was actually rather lovely; I would get up in the morning and drink my coffee and answer emails, write a blog entry; edit what I wrote the day before, go run some errands, come back home and write for four or five hours until the well went dry; and then curl up with a book in my easy chair while I waited for Paul to come home. This, I thought, is the life. Now that I am going back to the office every day, my timing is more tight and thus I have to juggle my time a bit better. There isn’t the time, for example, to laze around because any wasted time is time taken from my writing or editing; usually what this means is I have to cut out my reading time. I try to create a balance between work and relaxation; if I don’t I get stressed and tired, have trouble sleeping, and that affects the next day.
Which is why I get behind.
Sigh.
My office is such a mess I feel claustrophobic.
All right, I need to get back to the spice mines.
Here’s another French farmer:
