Category: writing

A Beautiful Morning

Well, I finished reading The Underground Railroad yesterday, and will most definitely be blogging about it, once I’ve digested it some and thought about it some more. It was, to say the least, very powerful, and not only did it made me think about the subject matter–it also made me think about a lot of other things, which I will be more than happy to discuss once I’ve digested them. I also started reading The Nest by Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney, which I am enjoying as well.

We were supposed to get heavy weather yesterday, but it arrived over night instead–everything out there is wet and dripping, which is always a joy. Ah, well.

I didn’t write yesterday, or at all over the weekend, which is, of course, terrible. I did get some cleaning done and some organizing–not as much as I would have liked–but we’re also working on getting caught up on our shows and I did want to power through and finally finish the Colson novel, which I did manage to do, and then we got caught up on The Walking Dead, watched last night’s Feud, and then it was bedtime.

I am greatly enjoying Feud, and am very impressed with how it’s taking on the issue of how Hollywood/entertainment treats women; which also, in some ways, goes along with another show I am looking to finishing watching–the season finale of Big Little Lies was also last night; which we will undoubtedly watch tonight as well as continuing to get caught up on Bates Motel (a show that is KILLING it now in it’s final season). The way two of my favorite old Hollywood actresses–Bette Davis and Joan Crawford–are being depicted is brilliant, and the two women playing them, Jessica Lange and Susan Sarandon, are turning in stunning, award-worthy performances. Last week’s episode, in which both Davis and Crawford are still not fielding any offers before the movie opens–and then it becomes a huge hit–was particularly brilliant; the moment when Joan Crawford, leaving the theater after the preview of the film that ended with a standing ovation, is recognized in the lobby and then mobbed with fans–when this happens, the look on her face–surprise evolving into pure joy at being treated like a star again, is so poignant it’s heartbreaking.

Last night’s, Oscar night when Crawford was snubbed in favor of Davis, was also almost painful to watch; the naked need Davis had for that third Oscar, the pain and anguish Crawford felt about being overshadowed once again by her rival (the scenes where Crawford talks to Geraldine Page and Anne Bancroft, asking them if she can accept for them, and the pity and sympathy Page and Bancroft feel for her, agreeing to let her do it because she needs to…wow)–and Judy Davis is also killing it as Hedda Hopper.

And last night, for the first time, Catherine Zeta-Jones actually delivered as Olivia de Havilland.

I got the idea for an essay yesterday about women’s fiction–using three novels to not only compare and contrast to each other but also to talk about how fiction by, for, and about women is so regularly disdained and dismissed as somehow lesser–the three being The Best of Everything by Rona Jaffe, Peyton Place by Grace Metalious, and Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann. I’ve been toying with the idea for quite some time, and I thought about it again yesterday, partly because of Feud, but also partly because of Big Little Lies. Of course, I have no idea where to publish the thing…and it’s not like I don’t have a million other things to write as well.

Heavy heaving sigh.

And on that note, back to editing.

Born to Be Wild

Apparently, a nasty storm will be buffeting New Orleans most of the day; at this moment the sun is still shining but there’s also that creepy, weird, pre-storm quiet/stillness outside of my windows this morning, which means it will be particularly nasty.

Yesterday I did chores; the bed linens are all clean now, two loads of dishes, and two loads of clothing were also run through the washing/drying cycles; I still have some dishes to put away this morning but at a glance, the kitchen is clean. We also watched the World Figure Skating championships yesterday, and got caught up on Big Little Lies, Supernatural, and Riverdale. We also are about five episodes behind on Bates Motel, but having now seen the first two episodes of this final season…well, wow, they are really knocking it out of the park on this season. Today I am going to answer emails, read, and do some writing while also doing some organizing of my work station–as always, there is filing to be done, which is incredibly annoying.

I’ve been doing some scattershot research lately; as I have mentioned before my mind is all over the place right now. I am reading up on the seventeenth century, to get a better knowledge of the politics of the time (I am pretty up on them, but getting better informed is never a bad idea, especially if you’re planning on writing about the period at some point); I am also researching Alabama history because of another project I am thinking about; and I am also reading up on New Orleans history and Louisiana politics. My knowledge in regards to both, considering how much I write about both New Orleans and Louisiana, is not as up to snuff as it should be. I know basics about it, of course–the city was founded by the French; became Spanish after the French and Indian/Seven Years’ War; was given back to the French and then sold to the US in 1803; fell to the Union army/navy in 1862; and so forth. Lots of gaps there, though, and more knowledge is always crucial in writing, even if most of it remains off the page.

Later this month, of course, I am off to both Alabama and Mississippi for events; I’m hoping that the trip to Alabama, in particular, will help in some ways for the Alabama project–which will probably result in a trip to the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa to do research at their library and archive. Paul and I are also considering a trip to the beach at some point; a lovely, relaxing long weekend would be absolutely lovely, methinks. I am thinking it’s about time I got a tan again–although some basic research in tanning salons in Uptown New Orleans slapped me in the face with the knowledge that tanning beds apparently are no longer in vogue and people seem to prefer spray tans…which doesn’t appeal to me in the least. I don’t want my skin dyed, I want an actual tan, which apparently means going to beaches now. Although I suppose now going to the beach and getting sun is much worse for the skin than it used to be.

Heavy heaving sigh…but I think it’s a good sign that my vanity is starting to resurface, which means I will be taking better care of myself. Paul and I have both decided to start eating more healthy, with a treat on the weekends–yesterday we got shrimp po’boys from the Please U; next week it will be deep dish pizza from That’s Amore, which has now conveniently opened a location in our neighborhood.

I also want to get some reading done today….in fact, I’m probably going to do that before trying to write. I can’t help but think reading Colson Whitehead will help in some ways. Or maybe I’ll dive back into Mississippi Noir again. The day is rife with possibility.

Or…I may end up doing nothing today at all. It happens sometimes.

And now, back to the spice mines. Here’s a hot guy to liven up your Sunday.

Dance to the Music

Saturday morning in New Orleans, and I can see blue sky up there outside my windows and above the crepe myrtles. I slept pretty well last night, but am a little bit foggy this morning; not sure what that’s all about, but I am sure some coffee will clear that problem right up. I stopped at the grocery store on my way home from work last night, so I don’t have to leave the house at all this weekend if I don’t want to–and right now, in my foggy headed state, that sounds absolutely lovely, quite frankly. All I really feel like doing this morning is reading; I may even finish The Underground Railroad at long last. There are some chores to be done today, and I do seriously need to do some cleaning around here, but right now I am just going to relax and enjoy my coffee and maybe fold the laundry once the dryer is done fluffing them again.

I need to do some writing this weekend, but it may wait until tomorrow. We’ll see how I feel later on. Right now I’m too foggy to even think about it, quite frankly.

The more I look about the kitchen, the more my skin crawls. These windows are also thoroughly revolting. Maybe it’s time to get out the ladder and get to work on them.

But it’s also lovely to have a normal weekend again. Paul was at the office working the three weekends prior to the Festivals, and the one before that was the last weekend of Carnival, so we’ve not had a normal weekend in well over a month, which sucks. It’s part of why I think I’ve been in a bit of a writing rut, to be honest. (I just can’t seem to motivate myself to write, and when I do, it’s a real struggle to get words down. But I WILL GET SOME WRITING DONE THIS WEEKEND OR HEADS WILL ROLL. Whose heads, of course, remains to be seen.)

And we can get caught up on all of our television shows, at long last.

Okay, tis off to the spice mines with me. Here’s a Saturday hunk for you.

Midnight Confessions

Friday morning, and another week done on my slow descent into the grave. Wacky Russian was thinking about turning forty during our training session the other day, and along with it came the horrifying realization that I will reach sixty before he reaches forty. YIKES, right?

But I really don’t mind getting older. I miss the energy and the way my body used to bounce right back from exertion (of any kind) but other than that, I don’t mind. I don’t even think about myself being the age I am; it’s always a bit of a shock to realize I think of myself as being younger that I really am. But other than that surprise, I’m fine with it. I’ve certainly lived longer than I ever thought I would–being of the generation of gay men that I belong to, I never thought I would live to see forty, let alone get so close to sixty and still be going.

I’d thought about going to Costco this morning but I think I am going to wait until tomorrow. I may change my mind–it’s not even ten yet and I don’t have to be at the office until two, so there’s a window–but right now I’m not feeling it.

I didn’t finish “Quiet Desperation” yesterday, but am hopeful for today. I had every intention of getting it done yesterday, but I just wasn’t there mentally. Maybe I was being lazy; it’s always possible. But I am most pleased about having survived the post-Festival week, quite frankly. That’s always tough; not just TWFest/S&S, but after any book event, readjusting to regular life again the next week, while trying to get rested and back to normality, it always difficult. The first few days you’re mournful, wishing you could spend every day in the company of writers and readers; then comes the adjustment period. But it usually only takes a week–and is there anything more pointedly ‘back to reality’ than going to Costco?

I think not.

I also want to finish reading The Underground Railroad this weekend.

And on that note, perhaps I should get back to the spice mines. There’s a load of laundry to fold and a dishwasher to empty.

The glamorous life.

Here’s a hunk to slide you into the weekend:

Harper Valley PTA

Wednesday! It’s all downhill to the weekend!

Of course, that means I’m just wishing my life away, but I really am looking forward to a normal weekend. It will make a lovely change.

I am slowly acclimating back to my normal life, now that I am out of the Festival bubble. I got some writing done yesterday on one of the short stories I am working on–I put aside one and worked on another, simply because mentally it was in the front of my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I think it’s a good, interesting story, but at the same time I don’t know where I am going to sell it, and I also think the tone is wrong, but it’s flowing right along and I’m having a lovely time writing it, so there’s that. Sometimes, I think, you have to write something that is just fun to write so you can remember how much joy you actually can get out of writing. Not sure how much, if any, writing I will get done today–I am that weird combination of sleepy, my muscles are tired (thanks to Wacky Russian this morning) and yet my brain is functioning fine. I could easily go right back to sleep, I think, it’s just a weird feeling.

Someone suggested to me over the weekend that I should do a collection of my crime and horror short stories; it’s something that’s occurred to me a few times over the last year or so, but I also figured I didn’t have enough published stories for a collection, and I would have to write a bunch of new ones. But yesterday, whenever I would get stuck on the story I was working on (“Quiet Desperation”), I started listing the stories that I’ve published that would fit into this collection, and was surprised at how many I actually have (I also have some finished, unpublished ones on hand); and thought to myself, hey, this collection might be easier to pull together than I originally thought. I have thirteen horror/crime stories that have been published; four that are finished and unpublished; and three partials I would need to complete. (Although I would probably revise the finished, unpublished ones again.) So that’s actually twenty stories; if each story was five thousand words that would one hundred thousand words total, not including the introduction.

That’s a book.

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

Here’s a Hump Day Hunk for you!

Tighten Up

Ah, reality officially slapped me in the face this morning. Yesterday–while my first day back in the real world–I was still kind of in the Festival Bubble; reality didn’t seem quite real. Getting up at six this morning to come to work for a twelve hour day? Shit got real. I should have gone to bed at ten last night; instead I waited until eleven, which wasn’t the smart thing to do. I am not sleepy this morning, nor am I tired, but I am also not completely awake, either.

Heavy heaving sigh. I suppose tonight I shall have to try to go to bed early, and break this cycle once and for all.

There are, of course, worse things.

I am hoping to have a productive week, and next week I am hoping that I am going to start my increased and enhanced workouts at the gym as I attempt to get myself back into tip-top physical condition. I also intend to make a dentist appointment, get my bloodwork done, and see about getting another eye appointment; I feel like I already can’t see as well with the glasses I bought last year, which is endlessly annoying. Only this time, I think I am going to get a prescription for contact lenses–progressive ones, at that–because I can always get the prescription refilled at Costco after I exhaust my vision benefits. Work. That. System.

This week I want to edit three chapters of my secret project, write two chapters of the new Scotty, and finish two short stories–at least the first drafts. A friend of mine suggested to me this past weekend that I should put together a collection of my dark stories–crime and horror–and you know, I think I might actually have enough stories already to pull together as a collection, plus might have to write a couple of new ones. It’s a worthwhile project, methinks, to try to pull together. And I do like to write short stories, I just don’t think I’m very good at them–they certainly are harder for me (in a different way) than writing novels. The two stories I am working on are “The Terrortorium” (which was originally “Happyland”, but I really disliked that title) and “Quiet Desperation.” (Of course, the first is a rewrite and the second is an entirely new story, ergo–more fun to work on, and more difficult, but in a different way.)

I find myself writing, or at least thinking about writing, about writers more frequently these days. I’ve tried to avoid that trope (although Stephen King has written about writers a lot, and has done so extremely well) for most of my career, but I find myself going that way more and more lately. It’s something I am incredibly familiar with, for one thing, and I also know a lot of writers (not that I want to write about people I know, of course). I think the first time I wrote about a writer was in my short story “Annunciation Shotgun,” and since then I’ve kind of created a writer character who’s kind of a stand-in for me in some ways; he was the narrator of my story “An Arrow for Sebastian,” and I kind of used him again in both The Orion Mask and Garden District Gothic (Jerry Channing is his name). I find myself sometimes thinking about short stories and novels about writers, and I default to him…I even have an idea for a stand-alone novel about him. So…we shall see. Even “Quiet Desperation” is about a writer–although most definitely not Jerry.

Not sure what that’s all about, but there you have it.

And now, back to the spice mines.

Little Green Apples

well, that’s over for another year.

The combination Festival weekend (Tennessee Williams and Saints & Sinners) was, as always, a lot of fun and inspiring. It’s always lovely to see friends I don’t get to see very often (if at all), it’s always fun to talk about writing, and listening to writers and readers talking about books and stories and so forth always rejiggers my creativity (which, granted, has been working overtime lately but hasn’t had the requisite ‘park ass in chair and type’ drive that is necessary to get anything done.

I didn’t sleep well either Thursday or Friday nights, so Friday and Saturday were slogs for me. After my reading Saturday I came home, and just basically sat around the house, too tired to write or clean or even read. I went to bed early, and FINALLY slept well, so I felt rested and was raring to go on Sunday…until the closing reception was over and once again I hit a wall. So I took the streetcar home and watched Rogue One, which I’d bought on iTunes on Friday morning (release day), and then Feud, before going to bed. I slept in again, and I don’t have to be at the office until later today…I have a short day which is absolutely lovely.

It’s always lovely to go to events where you get to mix with other writers. It doesn’t happen very often–I’m luckier than most writers in that I get to do so more regularly than others–and there’s always that, I don’t know, sense of BELONGING you get when you’re around other writers, that is so terrific to feel.

I also bought some new books this weekend: a new copy of A Confederacy of Dunces, due for a reread; Kristen-Paige Madonia’s Fingerprints of You (we were on the y/a panel together–the second time, and I had meant to get her first book the first time and remembered to get it this time); All Over But The Shoutin’ by Rick Bragg (whom I’ve never read): and Long Shot, by Tyler Bridges and Jeremy Alford, about the Louisiana gubernatorial election in which Senator David Vitter, the overwhelming favorite, was defeated by a relatively unknown state representative. (I had kind of wanted to write a book about the rise and fall of both Vitter and former governor Bobby Jindal, titled Implosion…but I am not a journalist nor do I know enough about Louisiana politics….so I am glad someone wrote a book about Vitter’s fall.)

So, this morning and this evening I am going to try to wade through my emails and get caught up on that and everything that went on in the world while I was safely inside my Festival Bubble. I also have some writing to do this week!

So, to launch the new week, here’s a hunk for you, Constant Reader:

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I worked late last night, and despite being tired, I wasn’t able to sleep until much later than I’d have liked, and as such I overslept this morning. Which, of course, has now thoroughly screwed up my sleep schedule. This is frustrating, because I’d reset my body clock to go to bed early and wake up early; this was in preparation to start going to the gym in the mornings before work starting next week.

Well, I suppose it’s okay; this weekend was going to screw it up anyway.

I have some errands to do today before heading down to the Quarter; some neatening and straightening of the Lost Apartment (the work being done on the upstairs is finally finished, so things can be put back the way they are supposed to be). I also am going to the Riverwalk Outlet mall to buy a new outfit for tonight’s parties (a little treat to myself), but I don’t feel awake and energetic the way I did when I was waking up early this week. Very annoying.

But last night I did start writing my story “Quiet Desperation” in my head, which is a good thing. It’s a great idea, and now having the right tone for it…well, that’s just perfect, you know? Finding the right voice for a story is everything. (I think I actually got the voice for “The Terrortorium” right yesterday, as well. Whew. Such a relief.)

I also have to got to Costco at some point; maybe Sunday morning, maybe Monday before work. We shall see.

All right I need to get a move on, take my vitamins, eat some breakfast, get cleaned up, pack some shit for the weekend. I doubt I’ll be checking in much over the weekend, everyone, so if not…see you on the other side.

Here’s a pair of hunks to slip you into the weekend.

This Guy’s In Love with You

Another lovely night of sleep. I’m not sure what has shifted in my body chemistry that’s enabling me to sleep so deeply and get so much rest, but it’s pretty wonderful and I am pretty certain I don’t care what is going on, to be honest. It’s lovely to wake up in the morning and feel rested and awake. Huzzah! Today is a late night–testing at the Corner Pocket–and I have tomorrow off. I was going to run some errands today, but in remembering that I have tomorrow off I can just do them tomorrow. Instead, I can hopefully wrap up my to-do list for the week today. Huzzah!

Always a good thing. It feels nice to get things done, you know?

I started writing a short story yesterday instead of finishing the one I am trying to finish–isn’t that always the way–and it has occurred to me this morning, as sunlight streams through the windows (which are filthy; I may need to clean them today), that I need to reign in my creative ADD. (I was just looking at an old to-do list, and saw a note to work on a short story called “In Lieu of Flowers.” I have no recollection of any short story called that, or even an idea that would fit that title. It is a great title, though…and this, Constant Reader, is a classic example of how this happens.)

But I am feeling like I can get everything back under control again. It’s amazing what sleep can do, isn’t it?

All right, I’d best get back to it.

Here’s today’s hunk:

Sunshine of Your Love

Wednesday! The week is almost half over!

Well, more than half for me, since I am taking Friday off. I dropped Paul off at the Monteleone this morning–it’s not like him not being home is going to be different, I’ve barely seen him these last few weeks anyway–on my way into the office and am still riding a bit high on the endorphins triggered by my workout with Wacky Russian this morning. I slept really well last night–I even went to bed at nine thirty (!) because I didn’t feel so well…and woke up only twice throughout the night before going back to bed. It was kind of awesome, actually; I’ve been sleeping so well this week that I hope this continues. After the TWFest/S&S weekend, I am going to commit to continue to eat healthy (I’ve lost nine pounds so far since Carnival) and make it to the gym a few more times a week. It just means going to be earlier and getting up earlier. Without Paul being home at night this week I’ve been able to get to bed early; once this is all over again I am going to commit to working out more frequently as well as continuing to eat healthier with a goal of being between 190-200 pounds by Labor Day weekend. As I am now at 216 or so, I should think I would be able to do this with a concerted effort over the summer.

It can be done. It can. And it will. It must.

Of course, this means none of my clothes will fit, but hey. There are worse things. And my pants are already too big from the weight loss I’ve managed so far.

I also need to take advantage of the massage gift certificate Paul gave me for Christmas.

The writing hasn’t been going that well this week, at least not so far. I got some disappointing news yesterday about a project I was very excited about, but these things happen. You can’t take them personally, but when you’re already having a bad writing week having something fall through due to no fault of your own–and frankly, I do think there was some shady shit going on there–it can create a spiral. I feel better today about things, frankly, and ready to get some work done. I am going to do some editing and maybe some brainstorming with the Scotty book–it needs some more thought before I can really get it going–and work on that pesky other short story. I may even edit one of my others and submit it somewhere. Why the fuck not?

And on that note, I am going to get back to the spice mines.

Here’s a Hump Day hunk for you, CR.