Category: writing

The Birds and the Bees

Wednesday morning and back to the office with me today. It’s a good thing, but I did really enjoy my four days of rest and relaxation. Yesterday I did nothing. I mean, I didn’t put any pressure on myself to do anything and was just a lazy slug for most of the day. I did do some of the dishes, and I did make salisbury steak for dinner (I really do like it, and it wasn’t that difficult) and even took a nap yesterday afternoon (fell asleep for almost two hours in my chair). I watched the DNC last night, and was reminded of how much I love the Obamas; Michelle certainly burned the Republicans to the ground, and after years of them going high–it was nice to see them drag the right and Trump for the racist, juvenile filth they are. It was very cathartic to see and hear, frankly. I feel so much better about the election it’s like a whole new world for us to live in now. Oh, I know it’s going to be much closer than it should be (bigotry and prejudice will still sway some people, alas), and election night is going to be incredibly stressful. But I no longer dread the election, even if it there is an eternity until the votes are counted.

These changes over the last month or so have been so incredible. I went from feeling like I was living under another dark cloud–the same one that’s been up there since 2016–and that dark cloud just made everything else so much worse. Everything just seemed bleak, and then so much else happened in the time since. I think that also had a lot to do with the writing burnout I was/am experiencing on top of everything else awful that has happened in the intervening eight years. There were a lot of dark clouds since 2016, and of course when you’re already prone to things because of your anxiety and some deeply imbedded self-loathing that you’ve never really gotten past, it makes the writing so much harder. I’ve clearly slowed down over the last seven years or so–and the successes I’ve had I’ve not really been able to enjoy. I’ve been nominated for a lot of mainstream awards since the sewage rode the escalator down and grifted his way into the White House, which is incredibly cool.

It’ hard to believe it has only been a month since the President decided not to run again.

I’m also on the fence about Never Kiss a Stranger, and I am slowly coming to the conclusion that it just may not be the time for me to write it. I think I am going to go back over those chapters I’ve already done this week and try fixing them. I think that it’s not so much “Imposter Syndrome” or burnout or even laziness as it is maybe not the right time to write this book. Maybe it’s not a book and should just remain novella length? Not everything has to be a novel, after all. It does, as a novella, need more work; but it also needs more work as a book. And if I can’t decide right now which one it should be…maybe it’s just not the right time for me to be writing this book. Maybe I should just write another Scotty–not that it will be easy to do so–but just to get back into the swing of writing again. There is something comforting about revisiting Scotty’s world; and it means I need to revisit those books, and maybe–just maybe–it’s time to copy edit Jackson Square Jazz and get that ebook up and available.

And it’s also entirely possible that Never Kiss a Stranger is one of those projects destined to remain unfinished. I have quite a few of those on hand these days, it seems! But not everything needs to be finished, and not every idea plays out in a story or a novella or into a book, you know? I also worry about repeating myself with my work; what if I’ve already written this character or this story or used this subplot already1; the problem is I’ve been creating and writing for so long–as well as plundering old stuff for plots and character names–that the possibility of completely forgetting that I’ve used a plot or characters already is pretty high.

So, I am going to futz around the rest of this week, work on some stories, and maybe see how a new Scotty might flow for me. Hey, you never know.

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

  1. Absolutely no disrespect intended, but even Agatha Christie recycled plots. ↩︎

King of the Road

Well, happy birthday to me. It’s actually midnight and I am up far past my bedtime. I stayed up watching the Democratic National Convention, and wow, what an evening that was. Then I realized it wasn’t that long until the end of my sixty-third year and the start of my sixty-fourth. Yikes indeed! Who’d have thought the old queen would last this long? I certainly never gave it a thought, and just always dismissed with it a shrug and oh I’ll be long dead by then. Surprise! Here I am, a little at sea and dealing with the complicated feelings of being older and all that serious stuff I’ve managed to avoid thinking about or dealing with for so much of my life. And yet…here I am, still alive and kicking and with a brain that’s only slightly slower and a memory that has a lot more blanks than it used to and really, a lot less energy than I used to have but that’s all kind of normal. I am also still getting used to the free time I have now, and kind of enjoying just having no pressure on me.

There are worse things than turning sixty-three, frankly. Seventy, for example. Just kidding, I have no idea how bad or good that will feel when it happens.

I had a nice day yesterday. I went to the grocery store and mostly cleaned and picked up things around the house, and worked on the kitchen. I actually took the rugs out and shook them for the first time in I don’t want to know how long, and came down to a nice, orderly looking kitchen. I was thinking yesterday that I don’t really want to do anything today–but then realized I actually like organizing and cleaning, so won’t rule any of that out while heading into the day. I am going to try to not leave the house–I may go to Five Guys for lunch, but the jury is still out on that. We’re not in a heat advisory today, which is also kind of great–first day in many weeks that we’ve not been in one, so indeed happy birthday to me! I am also not rushing to finish this either; I am going to finish this and post it whenever I feel like it. (Who am I kidding, I’ll finish and post while I am sitting here, won’t I?)

I’m just going to do today the way I want to do today, and do what I feel like and won’t feel any pressure to do anything I don’t want to do, or rather, don’t feel like doing. It’s a very weird feeling, frankly. I realized yesterday that part of the problem is that period of physically not being able to write very much (or at all) has gotten me out of the habits, and that means I don’t remember how to focus, which is also why I am having trouble reading (I am going to try to do some this morning to kickstart those sleeping muscles and hoping that reading will remind my brain how to focus). Part of it is memory loss, of course–the COVID experience in 2022 seemingly wiped my memory banks, and that’s only gotten somewhat worse. But that’s okay. The creativity has come back (which I always worry about) but what’s missing is the focus; I have to harness the creativity and make it work for me going forward.

I also found myself, as is my wont, having all kinds of thoughts and ideas about works already in progress or potential future projects, all the while remembering all the way back when my novels first started coming out–and how different the world I first published in was from today’s. I also started thinking about my next Scotty book, and what the plot of that is going to be. Interestingly enough, I was also thinking about a future Scotty book, in which we address Cancer Alley at long last. Maybe it’s not out of my scope to write environmental crime novels set in Louisiana, exploring how the conservatives have essentially allowed the state to be looted and plundered, environment be damned, for generations and do not want any changes to the status quo. Why not me? It’ll be challenging, for sure, but doing the research will be fun and informative. Or…maybe Cancer Alley would be the kind of story that would be better for a Chanse novel? Do I want to bring him back? It IS fun to think about, to be honest.

I also decided that as I build the Substack essay audience, I have to do better work to post there. I’ve been doing it mostly the same way I do this blog–find a topic to discuss from my life (whether it’s media I’ve consumed, something about writing, the trials of being gay, life lessons learned, experiences that made me who I am today) and then sit down and write and post it, without edits or rewrites. If I ever move it to a paid model, I have to give people something that they are willing to pay for to read–and that’s why I am thinking it’s a good place for these essays, even a short story here and there, and so on–and that means I have to start thinking of the Substack in a more professional manner.

And maybe, just maybe, I should start looking at this blog as more of a professional endeavor for me than something I just dash off in the morning while I am waking up.

Big thoughts on my birthday. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am getting another cup of coffee, heating up a breakfast sandwich in the microwave, and then I am getting into my chair with the new Alison Gaylin ARC. Happy birthday to me, and may you have a marvelous day, Constant Reader; it’s highly doubtful I’ll be back before tomorrow morning when I return to work and get up ungodly early again.

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

Up early on a Sunday, thanks to Sparky. I got up, fed him, and decided to have some coffee and stay up. I got eight hours, did I really need anymore? I thought when you got older you slept less? I don’t know. All I know is I’m able to sleep a lot later than I used to, and sometimes my body feels like it needs more. We’ll see how today goes, and I can always take a nap if my body needs one this afternoon. I am debating whether or not to make a grocery run today or wait till tomorrow to do it. But the coffee is starting to kick in, and I have a lot of chores to get done around here today. I did go get my RSV and flu shots yesterday, ran some errands, and came home to watch more Solar Opposites, which continues to be a hilarious delight. I barbecued for dinner last night, and managed to get to bed earlier than I usually do on a weekend.

I can get everything done this morning and try to get a lot of other chores done before Paul gets up. I started writing a new essay for the Substack yesterday, which counts as writing, and hopefully I can get some more writing done today. I also got the ARC of Alison Gaylin’s January release for next year, We Are Watching, which looks fantastic, so I really do need to get back to actual reading again. I have two days left as a sixty-two year old, so kind of just easing into my sixty-third (although it’s really the sixty-fourth, you aren’t born at age one you’re born at zero; your birthday marks how many years so far you’ve completed). I cannot believe August is nearly half over already, but that means cooler weather is not that far off–and by that, I mean the high seventies, low eighties. That may seem hot to you, Constant Reader, but to give you an example, it’s going to feel like 120 in New Orleans today.

Maybe I’ll stay inside and go make groceries tomorrow. That makes more sense to me. I also have some things being delivered to the apartment today, too, so yeah, maybe I’ll wait and go tomorrow morning. Less people, less traffic, and less aggravation. Maybe I’ll treat myself to Five Guys, too, while I am over there. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had a good greasy burger, you know? I bought one of those dinner kits from Fresh Market to make for dinner; I don’t remember what, but we really liked the shrimp scampi one we had the last time I got one, and we’ve genuinely liked the others I’ve gotten. So I don’t need to worry about what we’re having for dinner today and there’s no need to get to the store to buy anything. Tomorrow night I think I’ll make salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, to change things up a bit, and then I really only have to go into the office for two days this week. Next week is a full week, but then it’s Labor Day and Southern Decadence. I’m not going down there–too many people, too hot, and I’m too old to stand around all day (which I am really not capable of doing anymore), but I hope that everyone who does has a great time while staying safe at the same time.

Ernesto is still out there heading up the east coast, churning up waves along the shore and it’s either already hit Bermuda, or is very close to doing so. There’s no other systems at this time anywhere in the Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, or Caribbean Sea1, which is a lovely relief, but we are not out of the woods yet, either.

We had some rain yesterday afternoon, between me running the errands and cooking out, and it was a beauty of a thunderstorm. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, you know, ever since I was a kid. Is there any feeling as marvelous as being in your easy chair, covered up in a blanket reading a good book while there’s a thunderstorm outside? It’s definitely one of my favorite things. Paul and I were watching television when it happened, but Sparky did go to sleep in my lap which was very sweet and endearing for the little demon.

And I think I am going to bring this to a close this morning. I am feeling more awake now, and think I am going to go get cleaned up and get the day moving. I have chores to get done and writing to do, and I am getting a bit hungry. So I may be back later, I may not; it’s a mystery. But may your Sunday be blessed, Constant Reader, and remember to stay positive!

  1. I always spell ‘caribbean’ wrong the first time; I am always certain it only has one b and two r’s. WRONG. ↩︎

Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat

Ah, Saturday. I have things to do outside the home–vaccinations, mail, groceries, book sale, possibly gym–and I am sure it’s going to be miserably hot outside. That’s okay, I am settling into my long weekend and just relaxing. Yesterday was great. I got the labs drawn, went to the office, came home and finished my work day, and then Paul and I ran errands. We picked up a prescription for him before heading to Costco, and even that was fine. We found most everything we were looking for, I got some new sweats and a book (The Seventh Veil of Salome by Silvia Moreno-Garcia) for my birthday, and then we came home. Paul listened along with me in the car to My Dad Wrote a Porno (he agreed it was hilarious and laughed out loud several times; I forgot to sync the phone when we left the pharmacy and headed to Costco, and he insisted that I put it on again! So, I synced the phone when we stopped at the next light and we laughed merrily as we drove around. It was quite fun, and very pleasant. It wasn’t even a hassle getting everything inside and put away, either.

We then had a very pleasant evening watching a Hulu show called Solar Opposites, an animated show which is basically the same premise as Third Rock from the Sun, but way crazier and much more irreverent and completely hilarious (we never really watched Third Rock, and maybe we should remedy that). I was in a very pleasant mood, and even was thinking about writing and the short stories I’m currently working on. I am hoping to get to spend some time with at least one of them today, and if not, well, maybe I’ll have some time to read.

I slept in this morning until nine, which felt wonderful and refreshing; I knew I was low-energy and tired all week and what I really needed was a lengthy night’s deep sleep. I was out, Constant Reader, and dead as a stone. It was rather nice, and I feel rather nice this morning as my brain returns from the depths of Morpheus. I’ve not paid much attention to the news as I could have; by the Democratic National Convention starts on Monday, so I will probably be spending next week watching that and the excitement around Vice-President Harris and Governor Walz continues to build and grow through November. I am a lot more hopeful about the future now–something I am still trying to stay grounded about. It’s going to be a struggle, and even after the voting is done, I seriously doubt MAGA is going to go away any time soon–but at least we have President Biden in the White House this time around. I still think there will be violence as MAGA expels its dying breath, but at least I have hope that we won’t have a useful idiot for Putin as the most powerful person on the planet anymore, praise Jesus.

Two friends had great news this week to share–John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors was on Oprah’s summer reading list (may this sell a lot of books for him) and Alex Segura (aka one of my favorite people on the planet) not only launched a new Spiderman universe comic book he’s written, but he also announced he gets to write a run of one of my favorite comics, the very little known The Question. Yay, John and Alex! I am so happy for you both! I love when good things happen to great people, you know? I really do need to spend some time reading over these next few days–the terrific new books to read are always expanding my TBR pile and I have any number of books on hand that I definitely want to read. And what better way to spend my birthday weekend by doing two things that I really enjoy–writing and reading? Yes, I am planning on doing some writing this weekend. My birthday is simply going to be a relaxing, no pressure, don’t leave the house kind of day–my favorite kind, actually–and I am looking forward to that..although I do kind of want to see the new Alien movie. I also have an idea I’d like to tackle for my Substack–as I am beginning to try to separate the blog out from actual personal essays, which is what I want to post there. The news that the Vice-President worked at McDonalds in college made me think, hey, that was my first job, too and realized another thing I’ve never really talked about is my unemployability and all the shit jobs I’ve had. (For the record, I’ve had jobs I probably don’t remember; I worked at McDonalds, Wendy’s, Burger King, Arby’s, AM/PM, Toys R Us, a floral wholesaler, Marshalls, an insurance brokerage, Bank of America, a natural gas sales company, Continental Airlines, a travel agency, Lambda Literary Foundation, the YMCA, the queer community center, Harrington Park Press, and then finally NO/AIDS-Crescent Care. I also worked at numerous gyms as a trainer or teaching aerobics in there, and of course I was always writing for quite some time. I once wrote a short story about a kid who worked at McDonalds and had no moral compass, but I realized at some point I could never publish a noir story about a kid who worked there called “Quarter Pounders,” either.

But…I could use that title for an essay about working there, and I can adapt the story to another place to eat, a fictitious one.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the moment. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and as always, thanks for stopping by. I may be back later, one never really knows, does on?

I Can’t Get No Satisfaction

Blergh.

I am up way too early this morning, and I can’t even have any coffee. I am having labs drawn this morning, and I need to fast for them…so I always schedule it for super-early so I can get it over and done with and back home to the shower and my coffee. I am not working at home today like I usually do; we’re having a department meeting and although I had permission to join the meeting on Teams…I also had some admin work to do in the office so I figured I might as well just go in person and do my work time there. I mean, I took Monday and Tuesday off, so missing out on a work-at-home day when I have four days off in a row isn’t going to be a major issue for me. And it’s not a full day, anyway. We’re going to Costco after I get home from work later, and I do have some errands to get taken care of this weekend. But I took Monday and Tuesday off for my birthday, so I have four days to relax, read, clean, or just do nothing if I so choose.

Well, I am home from having the labs drawn. I won’t spare you the gruesome story of the poor phlebotomist who had to locate a vein–the vein he finally found in my right forearm only gave one vial, so he then had to use my left hand; it actually didn’t hurt (I’ve steeled myself to having blood drawn, and having it done so regularly for my PrEP prescription has kind of inured me to sharp pointy metal things going into my skin. I also scheduled my flu shot and my RSV vaccine for tomorrow morning, so look at me–getting all this medical stuff knocked out and being pro-active about my own health, which is actually kind of lovely. It’s one of those things that I consider “ooh, look at me being a responsible adult” which is kind of a reaction to being told for so long that I was so completely irresponsible by so many people. I do enjoy, however, those moments when I behave like an actual adult. (I’ve set the bar pretty low for myself, in case you couldn’t tell.)

Despite being tired on my way home from work last night, I did do a speck of writing. I’ve been thinking a lot about a short story that’s been in progress for almost ten years, but I was never really sure how to end it, or really what it was about. I got the idea for it when I had to stop to use the rest room at a rest stop in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. There was only one other car there, and it was running with the passenger door open. At first I was amused–I guess someone really had to use the bathroom pretty badly–and of course my next thought was that it was probably a woman…but as I walked up to the building and went into the bathroom there was no one in the men’s room, so I assumed I was right. But after washing my hands, I walked back out and the car was exactly the same as it was when I passed. I called Highway Assistance–in case it was something serious and there was a woman lying on the floor in the bathroom or something, and once I was back on the road again, I thought about the situation all the way to my parents’, and pictured a woman coming to the same rest stop and encountering the same situation, only she finds an unconscious bleeding woman in the bathroom…and the main character is really not in a position herself to call the police. A picture of the Smoky Mountains on Facebook–the riotous colors of fall–came across my feed over the weekend, and it put the story back into my frontal lobe, so I decided to work on it some more this week since it was taking form in my head. I know why the main character is there, I know why the bleeding woman is there, and all I have left is deciding which ending is the best. I didn’t write much–Sparky kept distracting me before Paul came down to watch television with me–but I did get some writing done, and that feels simply wonderful.

Anyway, this day is going to feel off all day because it’s out of the ordinary. Getting up and out for the lab work; coming into the office for a meeting and to catch up on Admin work here that should be done before I leave for my brief vacation this weekend–odds and ends, really, that shouldn’t wait until I return to the office on Wednesday.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for this strange Friday. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I doubt I’ll be back before tomorrow morning.

You Were On My Mind

Thursday! I’d ordinarily be more excited about it being Thursday, but I have to get up super-early to have fasting lab work done and then I have to go into the office for a department meeting, so no work-at-home Friday for me this week. I am taking Monday and Tuesday off, though, so I have a lovely four day weekend to look forward to. Huzzah indeed!

Last night I noticed that my Louisiana landscapes calendar that I hung in the laundry room was still on January. I’d never once flipped the calendar page. It’s a gorgeous calendar, by a Louisiana photographer (we have some amazing photographers taking gorgeous images of all of Louisiana; I follow many on Facebook because the images are so gorgeous they take my breath away, and it also stimulates my creativity. I think there’s a metaphor in my forgetting the flip the calendar page for eight months, don’t you think?

It’s very gloomy this morning, which was weird to come downstairs and have it still look dark outside after turning on the kitchen lights. No worries, it’s going to be hot and humid all day–not a big surprise there, really, is there? I did run errands after work last night, picking up the mail and swinging past the Fresh Market on St. Charles on my way home, and was a bit tired when I got home. I roused myself to do the dishes last night between episodes of Evil, which is really getting a lot more interesting in this second season. I was too tired to work, and Paul’s not been very well this week (I have felt off this week myself), and so we both settled in to watch television and just relax for the evening.

It’s going to “feel like” 118, and there’s a fifty percent chance of rain today, which means it will feel hot and soupy outside all day. Please let it rain before I get off work today, so it will have mellowed out a bit outside. It’s been supposed to rain every day this week and it hasn’t, so I am not so sure of the fifty percent chance as perhaps the weather folks would like me to believe. It would be nice, if for no other reason than to cool things down for a moment or two. Heavy sigh. I do feel rested and awake this morning, which is pleasant. Not motivated, but that might change when I have more coffee. I’ll just come straight home from work tonight, and tomorrow I have to go in to the office for a meeting and then I’m just going to stay there and keep working until my partial day is over, and I can make a grocery run on the way home and run other errands, too. I’d love to not leave the house for my long weekend, but that is very unlikely. I should make it to the gym a few times, and start getting myself back into decent shape. It’s really hard to get motivated to go in the summer, and a Greg at rest always tends to stay at rest. It is remarkable how I’ve lost my dedication to working out over the years as I’ve gotten older. It’s not even about vanity anymore (much as I’ve always denied that, there was a part of me that liked looking in shape and fit and getting complimented on my body), and maybe that’s a sad statement about me that I have to face up to–with vanity removed from the equation, the motivation simply isn’t there any more?

I was also getting ideas about short stories I have in progress. What I am going to try to do is alternate between writing the book and finishing the collection. It’s almost finished–I just have to finish and polish two or three stories and I can turn it in, so there’s really no reason I can’t bounce back and forth between the two differing projects. This has worked for me before (I also remembered just now that I’ve also agreed to write a short story for two different anthologies, too), so we’ll see if that works again. This is why I don’t like the stress and pressure of deadlines anymore; I’d rather not force the work because I don’t have a choice, but would rather keep working on things organically. Again, the short term memory loss I’ve been experiencing since I got COVID in 2022 isn’t much help in this regard, because I don’t remember what I actually wrote and what I thought about writing anymore, so it also is taking me longer. I’d love to build myself back up to my old glory days of 3k words per day, but right now I don’t think that would even be remotely possible. But…you never know. I’m just out of the habit, just like going to the gym, and reestablishing both habits is going to be hard work. But that’s okay; lazy as I am and reluctant as I am to work hard, I actually kind of enjoy it once I am back in the groove.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Thursday, Constant Reader, and I might be back later. You do, in fact, never know.

Help!

Wednesday and it’s Pay the Bills Day again! Woo-hoo! I didn’t sleep through the night–getting up a couple of times, but I feel rested and fine this morning. Go figure. I hit a wall again yesterday afternoon, and was very tired when I got home last night. I did have my Sparky time, collapsing into my easy chair and getting caught up on the news; he expects this time now, because I’ve trained him to expect that after I get home and he gets fed–just like he tries to wake me up every morning at six on the days I don’t have to get up. Friday I have to go to Quest to get labs drawn at seven in the morning, and I also have a department meeting that morning as well, so I’ll roll out of bed and stumble, bleary-eyed, to Quest, then come back home and swill coffee and get cleaned up to head into the office (since I am already there, I am just going to do my hours at the office rather than coming back home to do work-at-home duties.

We started watching The Decameron last night before giving up after the second episode. It’s a great idea and I love that they made a show about one of the great classics of history, but it just doesn’t really deliver completely. There were some great moments, and it might get better, and I also see why they made it; a bubonic plague show, after the pandemic? But it just wasn’t engaging in the way I would have preferred, so we watched an episode of Evil, which we’d been watching before the Olympics and had forgotten about. But it’s kind of a fun show–a religious X-Files, basically–and it’s engaging.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own work–probably because I’m not really doing any of it at the moment–and why I write it and what can I do about the dumpster fire the world is turning into. I’ve mentioned here several times how much I wished we had a Louisiana John D. MacDonald type writer, addressing the exploitation of Florida and the environmental damage that exploitation hath wrought on the state (Condominium is a great book about greedy developers and corrupt politicians), and originally I always was thinking someone else would be better to do it than me. But…that’s really laziness on my part, because studying the ecological disaster Louisiana has become (with no bottom to the disaster in sight, especially given what we have in Baton Rouge now) was a lot of work. I’ve always wanted to address the situation in Cancer Alley1, which is a stain on the nation. Those communities are mostly black and completely poor, so you can imagine how much our politicians–including those representing those parishes–care about them. It is a disgrace.

And that’s not even taking into consideration the erosion of the wetlands, making Louisiana at even higher risk of disaster during hurricane season (which we are in right now).

And given what we are dealing with in terms of political leadership these days (Project 2025 is already here), someone needs to start talking about this stuff.

Why not me? Although I suppose it would mean resubscribing to the MAGA Times-Picayune again, which totally sucks. Heavy heaving sigh. Can anyone be a local crime writer without reading the local paper? Probably not, so I might as well bite the damned bullet and get back on that train at some point. I hate having to compromise my principles. But I also don’t have to enjoy it, do it? And with football season on the horizon, sigh. Their coverage of LSU, Tulane2, and the Saints is really the best. Sigh. I’ll just donate the same amount to the Harris campaign.

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

  1. “Cancer Alley” is the eighty-two mile section of the Mississippi River between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, with a ridiculous amount of petrochemical plants and refineries in the poorer parishes, where the rate of cancer is insanely high and everyone knows it’s the factories poisoning everyone, but no one ever does anything about it. It is Louisiana’s shame, frankly. ↩︎
  2. See, Ellen? I don’t always forget Tulane. ↩︎

You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling

Bring back that lovin’ feeling now it’s gone, gone, gone….

One of the worst things about being a writer with a very vivid imagination is that I often think I’ve written more of a short story than I have, and inevitably am a little shocked when I open the most recent draft of the story and what I remember writing isn’t there…and then it hits me that I either thought the story through until that point, or I scribbled ideas for it in my journal…so that gradually morphed into oh I never did write that scene/story/ending. I then sigh in disgust at past Greg for not actually writing it into the story itself and then try to remember what I can of it as I try transcribing it. The loss of my short term memory also plays a relatively large role in this madness, too. Can you guess why I am mentioning that this morning? Yep, this was the case when I looked up two short stories to add to my collection; I was trying to decide which stories I have unfinished that just needed a revision and I thought I was there with several more stories than I clearly was when I looked at them last night.

One of the ghastly things for me about being a writer is thinking I’ve written something when I actually haven’t. I was tired yesterday when I got home from work; I hit the wall at some point in the afternoon, so I succumbed to Sparky’s demands and let him cuddle with me in the easy chair when I got home from work. Paul worked at home yesterday, so when he came down we watch John Oliver and then finished Dirty Pop, the Lou Pearlman documentary. It did feel weird not having the Olympics to watch, but this is that fallow two weeks or so between the Olympics and college football getting started. Has the NFL preseason started? I am terrible about that, but since I no longer (refuse to) pay for the Times-Picayune (a ringing endorsement for the red candidate from their editorial board was the final nail in that coffin once and for all) it’s harder to remember about the Saints. I shouldn’t be surprised; the billionaire who bought the paper also is a dyed-in-the-wool Republican who ran for governor back in the day. Maybe I am wrong, but I don’t remember the paper being slanted so heavily to the right back in the day. Anyway, there’s certainly no excuse for me to not get a lot done this weekend other than laziness….and laziness isn’t necessarily a bad thing, either; I think it’s your body telling your mind to rest. I also have a four day weekend this weekend for my birthday, so that should be really nice. I suppose I should make a to-do list of projects to work on for those four day–definitely taking books to the library sale will be number one on the list.

I did sleep really well and got up pretty easily this morning. I’m still in that I could fall asleep again if I went back to bed stage, but the body is starting to awaken and my mind is feeling sharp. I hope I don’t get tired this afternoon the way I did yesterday, but I don’t really have any control over that. It didn’t, in fact, rain yesterday as was promised; it’s possible again today as well and we’re hitting a heat index of 112. Yay. It didn’t seem so bad yesterday as I drove home, picking up the mail on the way. I’m still listening to the podcast My Dad Wrote a Porno, which makes me laugh multiple times in the car; it’s attempt at being sexy and provocative laughably bad, and their reactions to Belinda Blinked are hilarious. There’s many seasons of this, so I should be set for listening in the car for quite some time. I just haven’t been in the mood to listen to music lately while driving, which is unusual. I’m just tired of all my playlists and albums on Spotify, and I’m so disconnected from what is popular music that I have no idea what everyone is listening to these days, and odds are I wouldn’t care for it if I did. (The first time I heard something popular and thought what the fuck is wrong with kids today was when I was in my thirties…so yes, I’ve been a cranky old man shaking his fists at the clouds for thirty years)

One of the things I have been doing in the evenings is paging through a book I read several years ago called Weimar Culture: The Outside as Insider by Peter Gay (I’ve had Weimar Germany on my mind since about 2015 or so) and it got me to start thinking about my work as art, and its place in the overall world of queer art and literature. I don’t think students of queer literature in the future will be reading and/or studying any of my work, by any means; I think the only thing I have going for me is being prolific and producing a lot of work. I think there are many queer crime writers whose work would be seen as more influential and of more literary and artistic value than mine–Michael Nava, J. M. Redmann, Ellen Hart, Kelly J. Ford, Lev Rosen, Christa Faust, Margot Douahy and John Copenhaver, just off the top of my head, are far more likely to make up the reading list for a Queer Crime Lit class. We really do have some amazing queer crime writers out there currently and some pretty amazing ones in the past. I was thinking about writing about queer crime and its giants, but as a queer crime writer myself the possibilities for giving offense are simply too great for me to even attempt such a thing. I also haven’t read every queer or queer-oriented crime novel, either, so it would hardly be definitive, like Michael Bronski’s Pulp Friction. Besides, I’m hardly an academic; that kind of writing isn’t really my style. I admire it, wish it was a voice and style I could slip into comfortably, but it’s really not.

I would, at some point, like to engage in scholarship. Maybe after I retire. Maybe I could take an on-line class on literature and/or one on writing essays. So many potentialities, so many possibilities…kind of nice.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader and one never knows; I may be back later.

I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)

Monday, and back to the office with me this morning! I didn’t want to get up, of course–I never do when I have to go back to be woken up by an alarm, but my brain is waking up and my body’s little aches and pains are starting to fade as my heart rate increases. I feel rested this morning, which is nice, and always a good way to start the week. The Olympics ended yesterday, which means I can get back to writing again now and so we’ll see how that goes tonight, won’t we? I have an errand to run after work tonight, and a to-do list to make, and dishes to take care of. I made pepper steak for dinner last night, and it turned out pretty well; with lots left over for lunches this week. We are also not, apparently, in a heat advisory for the day; the high will be 95, and there will be rain this afternoon. How heavenly! It hasn’t rained in several days. The storm that may become Tropical Depression (and worse) Ernesto is out there in the middle of the Atlantic heading this way. Eight days from tomorrow is my birthday, so I have a long weekend in store for me coming up. (I am taking my birthday and Monday off next week, for a four day holiday for me. Huzzah!) Soon enough it will be football season–my first one with medications to handle anxiety–so I am curious to see how that will go, too. School will also be starting soon, so there will be more traffic in the morning and in the evening, and more busses to deal with. Yay.

I am kind of excited to be able to write again, and I think letting my batteries recharge on the creative front during the Olympics (as well as giving myself permission to not write) had helped me somewhat. I’ve noticed my brain going off in creative tangents over the course of the weekend, and scribbling a lot of notes in my journal. We did manage yesterday to watch American Fiction (superb) and Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, which was interesting. I used to be, a long time ago, a Planet of the Apes fan; I watched the original series and enjoyed it very much. I had read the (very) short novel by Pierre Boulle that the original film was loosely based on; it was very different from the movie as they basically took everything out except the conceit of American astronauts landing on a planet where apes were the dominant species and humans animals who couldn’t speak or think. It did occur to me that I could write an essay on Planet of the Apes, but I’ve also not seen many of this new series. I saw the original film remake, with Mark Wahlberg and Helena Bonham Carter, and I think I may have seen one or more of the sequels1, but am not entirely sure. I did find it interesting–I am always interested in dystopian futures for Earth and humanity–and it was quite visually stunning. We also finished streaming the new season of the Rob Lowe show (Unstable), which was enjoyable, and started the Lou Pearlman documentary.

Obviously, we did very little yesterday. I did make the pepper steak and did a load of dishes (the dishwasher needs emptying this morning), and I did head over to Midcity for a minor making groceries run. I feel good this morning, and capable of getting things done today, which is always a rather nice feeling. It’s been lovely not feeling any self-imposed pressure on myself to write; plus I’ve been sleeping really well, which is great. I’ve also got some medical things to get taken care of–a dermatologist and an arthritis specialist (I don’t remember what kind of doctor that is) to see if there’s anything that can be done about this wretched eczema/psoriasis, which is, granted, better than it used to be; I had those dry flaky patches all over my body while now it is limited to right elbow patch and a few very small flaky parts in places like toe and finger joints.

I also like Monday mornings because it’s not a clinic morning so I don’t have to get there as early as I do the rest of the week, so I can take my time and not rush, which is always nice. I have a lot of Admin duties to get done today, and so I need to really plan my day so I can be as productive as possible. I think I have a training to go to this morning to plan around as well–a long overdue training, I might add–but that shouldn’t be an issue. I also have to get my desk at work figured out; I changed desks on Friday (well, I had IT move my computer stuff to a different desk) so I have that to get used to; all these years I’ve sat on the right side of a two cubicle space, so the wall is right there to my immediate right…and being right-handed, that’s always bothered me, as does sitting right in front of the printer. Being moved to the desk beside puts the edge of the desk to my left while the space spreads out to the right. We’ll see how that adjustment goes today, won’t we?

I have finally decided how to use this blog as well as the Substack. I am going to continue to cross-post my longer, single issue essays/posts here for a while, as well as there, until I grow the audience there more. After that happens, I will make this the blog still while the other stuff–reviews, essays, etc.–will go there. That’s the plan, at any rate. It’s growing nicely, I think; “I’m the Only One” has been seen by more people than the previous entry, and my subscribers doubled since July 15th (well, from five to ten). I’m going to give it until next summer to decide whether or not to start making it paid or not; any income is income, after all. I also need to start focusing more on raising my profile and getting my name out there more, and selling/moving more books. I also have to get the ebook for Jackson Square Jazz going, and possibly both it and Bourbon Street Blues to print-on-demand. It’ll be nice having the entire series available again, won’t it?

And maybe, I don’t know, start taking myself more seriously, as a writer and (dare I say it?) an artist.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Monday; I may be back later, and if not, I’ll be here again in the morning.

  1. Although I am not sure if they are, indeed, sequels to the remake. ↩︎

Downtown

Sunday morning has rolled around again, and I am feeling pretty good. I slept well again before Sparky decided it was time for me to get up, and he let me sleep later (after he started) without much of a quibble. (I like to pretend he cuddles with me in the mornings before I get up because it’s nice; I know it’s because he wants to know the minute I get up so he can start meowing at me to come downstairs with him.) The closing ceremonies for the Olympics are today, which is a shame, as I always love the Olympics. There really is nothing more patriotic-feeling like rooting for young athletic Americans on the wolrd stage, is there? The fact that this was going on while the tides of our election have seemingly all turned to the positive has really been something. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what patriotism is and what it means to be patriotic–and not in the least little bit because the Right has made patriotism so distasteful and embarrassing. I am seeing the crowds at the Vice-President’s rallies moving to take patriotism back from the Christian Nationalists (the flag, the USA chant, etc.) because what they call patriotism is actually anything but. But the Democratic National Convention is going to be pretty thrilling this year, methinks, reminiscent of another dark period coming to an end–the 2008 election ending the nightmare of the eight years of right-wing control and endless wars and lies. I know I am actually excited about the election now, and while the fear and dread are still there, there’s a lot of joy and optimism.

And what an amazing Olympiad this has been, the haters and agents of darkness aside1! so many great stories, so many redemptions, and so much fun to watch and enjoy as always. It also felt different; maybe the fucked up 2020 Tokyo Olympics caused a reset; it didn’t feel like an Olympics and now, all I did was (besides root for our athletes) be happy for the all the competitors and medalists–I finally developed the proper Olympic spirit that doesn’t villainize great athletes from other countries. I never liked that whole xenophobic need for the US to win the most medals to prove our superiority as a nation; I do not want to be anything like the Nat C’s. Probably twenty years ago I might have hated, for example, Rebeca Andrade as Simone’s biggest competition–but this time around I simply enjoyed her skills and abilities and applauded for her just as I did for our gymnasts. I think I have finally unpacked and emptied the last of my conditioning as an American.2

I had a lovely relaxing day yesterday. Paul and I watched Challengers, which was interesting, and then caught up on House of the Dragon, The Serpent Queen, and started watching the second season of the show with Rob Lowe and his son on Netflix, which is cute and funny. I can’t think of the name of the show, but the first season was pretty pleasant and fun, so I hope the second season isn’t a disappointment. Watching these shows about royals struggling over the throne and power put me to thinking, again, about actual history, and of course the Catherine de Medici story, which I’ve always enjoyed. The banker’s daughter who became queen of France and mother herself of three kings and two queens. The show jumped from actual history to nonsense toward the end of the first season, and this second season is diverging dramatically from what actually happened; Queen Elizabeth never visited the French court, nor did Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (who actually abdicated and died before Catherine’s husband, Henri II) and likewise, his son Philip II did actually marry Elisabeth de Valois, but it was at her wedding celebration that Henri was killed. And they are starting to set up her daughter Margot’s story, which is also endlessly interesting to me. I’m still reading Rival Queens, the story of the mother-daughter relationship during one of the most treacherous periods of French history. I was also thinking about how people always say George R. R. Martin based A Song of Fire and Ice on the Wars of the Roses; but there’s another series of French histories called The Accursed Kings by Maurice Druon, focusing on the years 1310-1337, about the end of the main branch of the Capetian dynasty and the rise of the Valois branch–and the Hundred Years’ War. This aspect of French history–the lead up to that epic war–isn’t as well known, and I tore through that series when I discovered it at the Emporia Library as a teenager. It’s a great series, a fascinating time in French history (there are many fascinating periods in French history), and you can probably see why I love French history (and France) so much.

I’ve also been thinking, not only about the book I’m writing now but the next Scotty, too. I’ve renamed it Hurricane Season Hustle (saying party instead of season seems like asking for it, frankly), and started coming up with ideas for the plot. I have also been thinking about my short stories in progress, and I think I’ve come up with any number of ways to fix the ones I want to get fixed. My goal is to finish the short story collection this month and get it out of the way while working on the new book. Football season will be here before you know it, which will start taking up my weekends, so I need to be starting to get back to the grind of everything. I did do some cleaning yesterday around the house, too, and plan to do some more this morning before I go make groceries at Rouse’s. I can’t decide if I want to make steak fajitas for dinner, or pepper steak.

I did read a short story yesterday, “The Amateur of Crime,” by Stephen Vincent Benet. It’s an old story, Benet is a famous writer not known for his crime stories, and it was interesting, if a bit…I don’t know, unrealistic? I have found that non-crime writers who write crime short stories for whatever reason always seem to go for the “huh?” solution to crimes. In this case, the amateur detective on the spot is helped by any number of coincidences that also happen to give him the knowledge to solve the crime (there was a Faulkner crime short story that’s solution had to do with cigarette smoke trapped beneath a radiator…again, not realistic), which seemed contrived to me. But it was an interesting story, and again, reading it gave me some ideas how to fix some of my own in-progress drafts, or the ones that are finished but need revision.

There’s always so much writing to do.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. I do need to make a grocery list before running over to Rouse’s today; nothing major, a little run to get stuff for lunch and to make dinner a few nights this week. But for now, I am going to get cleaned up and do some filing and so forth, so I bid you adieu for now, Constant Reader, and I hope you have a marvelous Sunday.

  1. Hilariously, a while back when I did one of my Pride posts about how white women have always been the worst homophobes, a friend asked me why I didn’t mention the Chatelaine of Castle TERF, and I replied “she gets her own.’ But she is so evil and awful and horrible so regularly that before I can finish writing about her, she’ll do something even worse. Her behavior during these Olympics, along with the haters she’s embraced, was especially egregious and awful. ↩︎
  2. I sometime want to write about this, and the American mythology I was raised to believe that wasn’t the truth but something taught to justify white supremacy. ↩︎