Category: writing

Come Softly to Me

Sunday morning and as predicted, I didn’t get nearly as much done yesterday as I wanted to, but it was mostly about time more than anything else. I picked up the mail and stopped by Fresh Market, but then once I got home…well, there were chores still to be done (still have some more to do this morning) and I never did get around to writing anything besides blog entries yesterday, like a very bad Gregalicious. Today I have no choice, I have to write today…and I also have to drive out to the Apple Store in Metairie, and make groceries, both of which will be tiring. (I knew I’d regret putting that chore off until today, but at least it’s sunny out today; I think it’s going to be a rather lovely day out there.)

Sparky is always a problem for sitting at the computer as he always wants to sit in my chair–he will hang out and be obnoxious (right now he’s sprawled across the desk, his flicking tail brushing the keyboard as he knocks other things off…) and then jump into the chair the minute I get up for more coffee or anything, really. Heavy sigh, the joys of Big Spoiled Kitten Energy.

I did manage to watch Christopher and His Kind yesterday, which is Isherwood’s memoir about his life in Berlin during the rise of the Nazis, and it much more explicit than Isherwood’s earlier fictions about Berlin. During that “Staged Right” about Cabaret I watched the other night, he wrote it in reaction to the movie, to leave the record straight (as it were) about himself and his life; he hated that Cabaret made Brian/Christopher into a bisexual and that Sally was played by Liza Minnelli, when the actual Sally was marginally talented at best. It was an interesting film, but Christopher himself really came across as a bit of an asshole. There was also a lot of explicit sex, and there’s no question in watching this film about what his sexuality was, for sure. Matt Smith is simply stunningly beautiful, and Alexander Draymon as Caspar is just too beautiful for words. The two stories (Cabaret and Christopher and His Kind) are similar to each other, but I’m not really sure if a watcher didn’t know that both came from the same source, those similarities are simply base facts the story grew out of, and you might not even recognize them as the same story. I may need to revisit the books sometime when I have more time…as I recognize that a lot of the revisiting of fiction I talk about is probably never going to happen. But as always, I find rereading something as an easy way to shake off the not-reading mode I’ve been in for so long. We also watched the new BBC adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Murder is Easy yesterday, which we quite enjoyed…although I am waiting for the racists to complain since they cast a Black man in the lead.

So I started rereading Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll yesterday, of which I remember very little of my original read back in junior high school (I read her novels about queens and royal women before moving on to her other novels, which was very definitely an eclectic mix), and find myself enjoying it a lot more than I did when I was twelve–I did enjoy it, but I am certainly seeing it differently some fifty years later. As a kid, I just read Miss Mayfield as a lonely spinster who spent most of her life working in Africa in her colonial “white savior” role with her best friend, who hopes to save enough money to buy a little place she and her “best friend” could retired to; now it’s screaming lesbians at me. The book was originally published in 1960, and of course there are the queer deniers who like to think we never existed in the world before Stonewall. The phenomenon of spinsters sharing a home was just a fact of life, and the British never really inquired much further than that–the British cold politeness.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. There’s a lot to get done today and I am feeling like I will be able to make some significant progress today. Wish me luck, and I may be back later. Happy Sunday, Constant Reader!

Venus

Saturday.

Yesterday was a good day, productive both for day job business and chores and things around the apartment. My PT, as noted yesterday, didn’t seem as difficult as it had the last few times, which was awesome, and like I said, I got shit done yesterday. I started rearranging and reorganizing and making the kitchen more functional (which also required me to throw out a bunch of shit I was just hoarding, really), which is long overdue. I need to work on that some more today before I run errands. I had hoped to not have to leave the house either day of this weekend, but I decided yesterday to postpone the Apple Store trip until Sunday morning–and Paul ordered some things that require me to go by the post office, which means I am going to make a stop at the Fresh Market on the way home from the postal service. We watched this week’s Abbott Elementary, which is terrific, and then we finished True Detective: Night Country (I am guessing that all the men that hated this season? Misogyny, period. How dare a crime show center women? How dare a crime show be run and written by a woman? I enjoyed it, thought it was very well shot, and so they didn’t tie up every loose end? Ryan Murphy never does, either, and studios keep throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at him. And this season engaged me so much I am curious about rewatching season one and watching the other two, as well).

I also listened to the Bad Gays podcast on James Buchanan (shout out to myself for my story “The Dreadful Scott Decision,” which was in The Faking of the President anthology and centered on Buchanan and his “mysterious” sexuality), which I greatly enjoyed.

I feel good this morning. There’s a little bit of fatigue, but it’s not terrible in the least. (It always hits on the second day with full force, so tomorrow will be a challenge.) I want to do some writing to day (actually, need to) and of course I need to keep working on the apartment, and I have some things to assemble that I’ve order. I also want to read more in my book, and possibly watch some classic gay cinema later on today. I don’t know what Paul will be doing today, but I suspect he’ll go to the office and I won’t see him for most of it. I want to watch Christopher and His Kind first, and of course need to finish my rewatch of Saltburn so I can finally finish my entry on it. (Interesting how I’ve recently become obsessed with openly gay writers of the mid-twentieth century, isn’t it?) I’m still enjoying Feud, but it feels like it’s getting repetitive and is being too drawn out; like four episodes might have been sufficient instead of the planned eight.

All right, it’s a bit brief but I really need to get back to work around here this morning, so more coffee, perhaps a bit of breakfast, and a brief one-hour repair to my chair to read for a bit. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will probably be back a little later.

Lonely Boy

Friday work at home day blog, in which I have PT in a little while and all kinds of things on the agenda to get done. I was productive last night, chore wise, and while I still have some chores to do, I am further ahead than I usually am when I wake up on Friday morning. The weather turned cold yesterday afternoon, and I came straight home. Sparky was feeling needy when I got home, so I had to spend some time cuddling and playing with him (he managed to get the hanging mouse toy off it’s string…but this morning he is playing with the string, and the mouse is nowhere to be found). I watched some news–always a downer–and then the Staged Right Youtube channel’s history of Ethel Merman’s career; from which my primary takeaway was Helen Lawson in Valley of the Dolls was so clearly based on Ethel that I can’t believe she didn’t sue…and it made me want to reread the book again. There was a downpour that started right before i went to bed–and it was even colder when I slipped under the covers. Although a quick check tells me it’s 58 outside…sigh.

But I am awake. My arm feels a bit fatigued, but that’s okay, I just need to monitor myself more at PT and at the gym. I am definitely mentioning it this morning, though–even if it makes me feel like a whiner. This is my arm, that had a serious injury and a major surgery, so I need to get past that kind of self-defeating mentality and understand that they need to know if it’s been tired, hurting, fatigued, etc. If I don’t tell them what I am feeling accurately because I want to please them (a problem my entire life, which has created more issues than its resolved, frankly), this could be bad for my arm.

It’s funny, because the other day I was emailing a friend who’d said something kind to me, and one thing I said in response was Oh, good. I always worry that I am a pest or am too much. He replied that he toned himself down sometimes, too, for the same reason: being too much. After I got his response, I started thinking about it, worrying that phrase and that feeling that both of us, gay men in their sixties, have to tone ourselves down because people think we’re “too much”, and parsed it some more during Ethel Merman’s career history and some other Youtube videos last night. Too much. How many times have I been told I am “too much,” that I’m not “masculine” enough1, that I need to change who I was and how other people saw me (narrator voice: you cannot control other people’s perceptions of you. All you can do is hope for the best) and that has impacted how I feel about people and how I act and behave, and how much of myself I reveal and share with them. Sigh. Keep unpacking that shit, Gregalicious, and remember, you are who you are and never let anyone dim your bright queer light.

And remember–no one ever tells a straight man he’s “too much”–even when they sexually assault women, so…maybe fuck all the way off?

All right, I am now home from PT. The sun has come out, but it’s supposed to rain all day and most of the weekend. I’ve decided to wait until Sunday morning to go to the Apple Store in Metairie. I don’t really want to deal with evening traffic to get there and back–traffic back into the city is always a nightmare around that time–and they open later, so I can get up later and go later and not have to worry about traffic and so forth. PT was a bit harder this morning, but some things were easier. I am going to make a to-do list for the weekend, as well as a list of all chores I want/need to get done this weekend, and figure out some other things.

And on that note–several hours later, my bad–I am heading BACK into the spice mines. Have a great Friday!

  1. I am writing another essay–which I hopefully will finish someday–about this very thing; the strait-jacket of toxic masculinity I was raised with and conditioned by education, school, and culture to think and believe was the only “normal” way to be a man. It’s called “Are You Man Enough.” ↩︎

Personality

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Huzzah. I was tired after work yesterday–I made groceries and went to get the mail–but I did get some things donw last night around the house before collapsing into my easy chair. I watched another one of those “Staged Right” documentaries (this time about Evita), and then Paul came down and we watched another episode of True Detective: Night Country, which really took a turn last night! We’re enjoying the show tremendously, despite all the noise on-line about people hating it…and by people, I mean men. I don’t think I’ve seen a single post trashing the show that wasn’t by a (straight) man? Which sets off my “bullshit misogyny” alarm, frankly.

The weather had turned yesterday by the time I got off work; it had gotten a bit colder and the wind had dramatically picked up. It was also kind of gray, which reminded me of how it is before a flooding rain….borderline tornado weather. It feels cold in the apartment this morning, and the high for today is at about sixty. It may rain today, and there’s a 95% chance of it tomorrow. I have early PT tomorrow morning, and at some point I need to drive to Metairie to return something to the Apple store (I’d ordered a keyboard at long last for my iPad, but it’s the wrong size). Loathe as I am to do that–go out there–it was far too expensive for me to just slide and do nothing about. Heavy heaving sigh. But really, it’s not that big of a hassle, and in going out there, I can actually treat myself to Sonic or Atomic Burger as a treat for having to go to Metairie and deal with Lakeside Mall. Shudder.1

I feel good and rested this morning, which is very unusual for a Thursday. Last Thursday was like this, too–I ended the day feeling energized, and got a lot done when I got home. I hope that will be the case tonight. I have loads of laundry in both washer and dryer that need to be dealt with tonight; I need to empty and reload the dishwasher; the floors are looking horrific; and of course I need to assemble the shower caddy. I also need to redo my to-do list, and perhaps make one just for the weekend. I am going to have to go make groceries at some point this weekend, too. I need to go by Lowe’s at some point, too. We need more filters and I am going to splurge on a new barbecue grill, as the last one is well past its last legs, frankly. I also need to reorganize both the freezer and the refrigerator, as well as get rid of some more boxes of stuff that is no longer needed to be kept.

I love feeling reinvigorated in the mornings, frankly. I don’t know how long this will last, of course, and it’s possible I’ll get tired by the end of my shift, but that’s also okay. I don’t beat myself up over being tired anymore, and maybe the loss of anxiety is making me lean into my own stasis more than I ever have before, but I don’t think my creativity is gone–I’m having too many ideas and thoughts and making too many notes–but I need to refocus it on writing actual words down, rather than just thinking about them. I also need to start reading again. I hate how far behind I’ve fallen on my reading.

I did start listening to podcasts yesterday in the car, which was really cool. I found one called Bad Gays, which is hosted by the author of the book Bad Gays and someone who works at the Gay Museum in Berlin (which, if we ever go to Germany, is something I’d like to see); and I listed to the episode on James I of England (VI of Scotland) and his male favorites. I didn’t see an episode on two historical figures I am fascinated by, Henri III of France, and Louis XIV’s brother, Philippe d’Orleans; Philippe’s lover the Chevalier de Lorraine was the definitive bad gay of Versailles. I should fictionalize the Affair of the Poisons…which would give me an excuse to visit France for research. Plus it’ll give me the excuse to study up on the period more, too. I love seventeenth century France.

I think I am going to watch Christopher and His Kind this weekend, and I may even rewatch Cabaret for good measure. I also found some other gay movies on-line to watch that I’ve never seen, like Another Country and Maurice. I also want to rewatch Saltburn so I can finish my entry on it.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May your Thursday be wonderful, cheery and bright, and I may be back later–one never knows.

  1. Hilariously, now that my anxiety is under control I’ve realized my hatred of driving and having to go places was always anxiety-based. Always. ↩︎

Mack the Knife

Yesterday was a low-energy day. I felt fine, but not motivated, and that was partly due to feeling more tired than I have in a while. My mind wasn’t foggy and my muscles weren’t fatigued, but at the same time I just felt off-balance and getting things done just wasn’t going to happen. I did my work duties, of course–I always manage to get my work duties done, and I am still ahead of the curve on all of that–but I was more spacy than anything else mentally, having trouble remembering things and so forth, etc. I also managed to run errands on my way home from work, and then went to the gym for PT. It seemed a bit easier this time than it did on Friday, in all honesty. Once I was finished with that, I came home and showered and had a mostly quiet, slow evening. I fell asleep a few times in my chair and finally went to bed early, slept really well, and now feel pretty good this morning. My legs feel a bit fatigued from the walking, but other than that, I feel like today is going to be a good day.

I am completely awake now. This is something I’ve noticed since the change in medications–it doesn’t take long for me to shake off sleep and grogginess and wake up completely. That is something I much prefer to how I used to get up in the morning, to the point where I really don’t dread getting up in the morning so much. It’s also entirely possible that my body has finally completely adjusted to getting up this early every morning. How many years did it take, LOL? But whatever the reason, I am not displeased with this development.

It was a beautiful day yesterday when I set out for the gym to do PT. It wasn’t nearly as difficult walking over there in the late afternoon; I wasn’t feeling tired so I made good time walking. There was also no one there–I’d finally managed to time it so it wasn’t crowded. Several guys came in just as I was finishing up, and escaped. I’ve never felt really comfortable or relaxed at this gym since we joined it all those years ago. I knew everyone who worked at our old gym, I knew a lot of people who worked out there, and it was just a short two block walk up St. Charles. We also belonged to that gym for almost eighteen years or so, and so getting used to a new one was always going to take me a while. I never got used to it before because I never managed to get into a rhythm of going regularly, either. That’s one of the things straight white people get to take for granted, you know? They never have to worry about dealing with any kind of hateful, bigoted reaction to their existence, which can happen at any time, really.

You never get to completely relax when you’re in public.

Which is really a continuation of a theme I started in my “why I am not going to Bouchercon this year” post from yesterday. It’s very hard to ever trust straight people, really; I’ve been burned so many times in the past that you become paranoid and it then spreads from straight people to all people. You never can be sure if the group of people you’re hanging out with in a bar, laughing and having a good time, won’t start talking about you using slurs when you walk away. There are people who realize the optics of homophobia aren’t good, so they are very careful not to give you anything to make hay with in your presence. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t homophobic, it actually means they are worse–they know it’s wrong and socially unacceptable but do it anyway. I will never forget the self-styled Very Important Author who felt it was okay to smugly use “faggy” in casual conversation, while looking at me with a smirk on his face I so badly wanted to punch off it. (He has since outed himself to many others as a garbage human being since then; I just smugly smile when I hear tales about his most recent egregious crime.) It’s hard to explain what that is like, you know, so that people will understand? (And I think it’s also important, while making this point, to defend the other people around when he said it, because he got called out almost immediately. That was a good feeling.)

One last time for the arrogant straight men in the back: there aren’t many gay men who’d be interested, so stop flattering yourself that we are all such deranged cockmonsters that we froth at the mouth over straight guys. We don’t. And I would add further that we would never, unless they collectively start figuring out what anal hygiene is. Hilariously, they always forget that some of us are tops, you know–so if I were to ever sexualize a straight man, I wouldn’t be thinking about him fucking me or me sucking his dick; I’d think about fucking him.

Not something that plays into their disturbing male-on-male sexual fantasies, is it?

Seriously, straight men, stop flattering yourselves.

And yes, I have been rethinking a lot of things about my past and my life since Mom died. New information always is cause for a good rethink, and again it’s interesting (if sad) to realize how oblivious I inevitably was throughout the majority of my life. Heavy heaving sigh.

And on that glum note, it’s off to the spice mines with me. Hope you have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again probably later.

I Want to Break Free

I have, after a long internal debate with myself that’s been going on since before my surgery, finally decided not to attend Bouchercon in Nashville. There were still a few things on the plus side for me to go–the proximity to Dad and the ability to visit him on the same trip; seeing friends that I usually only see at Bouchercon–but over the past two weeks the negative side of going has really been brought home to me.

I also realized this weekend that I can just go see Dad anyway, and the truth is that this Bouchercon is already spoiled for me. I just can’t get excited about booking the trip, scheduling how to pay for it, and everything else involved with planning the trip; this year just thinking about it felt like an odious chore that I kept putting off. I keep getting surprise medical bills, too, which also played a part in my decision. I kept pushing back making the decision and figuring out the costs because I didn’t know what else I was going to have to budget for in the meantime.

I want to be clear that not one single negative was enough to break the camel’s back with me, but the accumulation of so many negatives and missteps by this event ultimately was just too much for me. Tennessee’s ban on women’s freedoms and its archaic, hateful anti-trans legislation had already made me wondering about my own safety there1; the recent murder of Nex Benedict2 in a ruby-red state with these exact same kind of laws on the books, along with the very same accompanying dehumanizing rhetoric, was the last straw for me. I just can’t.

It might also be different if the local host committee didn’t make an incredibly egregious error in scheduling a Lifetime Achievement3 winner whose conduct and behavior doesn’t hold up under a closer scrutiny, and his insistence that a deeply problematic person interview him–bound to cause an uproar from the very start–may have been an oversight or something the host committee didn’t think would be a big deal…

NARRATOR VOICE: It was, in fact, a big deal.

I am not going to go into further detail here, nor am I going to mention names–they’re well known enough, and the kerfuffle was kerfuffly enough, for most people to know who I am talking about in the first place.

It also didn’t help matters much that they published the list of categories for this year’s Anthony Awards and ditched the cozy-friendly Best Humorous category, which essentially guarantees most authors who write funny aren’t going to have a chance to be nominated this year. After San Diego created the category last year (and yes, I was a finalist), I had hoped that future local committees would commit to keeping it, making the awards more inclusive and admitting that humor isn’t taken as seriously as darker, heavier books. 4

Just another disappointment to pile onto the others over the years.

NARRATOR VOICE: Humor is seen as lesser because it’s more “frivolous.” But if humor is somehow easier to write, why do so many writers avoid it? If you think writing funny is easy, try doing it some time.

There is a valid point to be made that the only way to effect change you want to see is to get involved and help make that change. It’s why I joined the national board before realizing it would never go anywhere and there wasn’t anyone really vested in change–there are board members now I know are fighting the good fight, but there are also some still mired in the 1980s who think “all change is bad!” No, fixing problems as well as anticipating others is not a bad thing. It never is, and those who are resistant to it should remember that stubborn adherence to antiquated rules, policies and ways of doing things results in stagnation, and the cracks such stagnation creates will soon be too apparent to miss when they start appearing.

NARRATOR VOICE: Change can be scary, but it’s a necessary part of life. This is also true for businesses, non-profits, and events. Not changing and adapting means no room for further growth. I am not the same writer I was twenty years ago, for example. I’ve never wanted my art to stagnate.

There’s also an email circulating containing screen-caps of questionable tweets by other people in the crime fiction community–misogynistic, borderline racist and definitely homophobic–and all the guys posting are people I know and consider friends. It was disheartening, as it always is to see proof of what straight guys will say when they don’t think any gays or women are around. It’s why I can never entirely trust straight people, to be honest. I know that white people will be racist if they think everyone around them is white–and those present who aren’t racist never call them out, just kind of smile uncomfortably. The difference between outright homophobes and those who are just there by defaulting to it is that I appreciate the honesty of the actual outright homophobes more than those who smile in your face and then make horrific gay jokes when I’m not around. This was also a bit disheartening, but while it’s disappointing its a needed reminder of why queer people generally can’t trust the straight ones.

NARRATOR VOICE: Only making homophobic jokes when no queer people are around doesn’t make you an ally–so don’t be surprised when queer people have issues trusting you.

I’ve been around publishing for a lot longer than I like to remember, if I’m being completely honest. I’ve seen a lot, experienced a lot, and all of this sort of bullshit makes me tired. RWA seems to think it’s a great idea to promote using AI to its members. There was another issue with the Hugo Awards that recently, horribly, blew up (John Scalzi did a great write up about the recent Hugo controversy here.). And of course, there’s these latest disappointments from Bouchercon, too.

So, it’s easier for me to bow out entirely and not participate this year. And finally making up my mind one way or the other was such an enormous relief…no regret at all, just relief.

And that’s saying something about how tarnished the brand’s Nashville franchise has become. (A local in Nashville went on a thread about this year’s controversy stating that if queer people don’t feel safe or welcome they should start their own event–which told me exactly what we’d be dealing with should we go. Bouchercon deleted the homophobic trash’s posts, but they were screen-capped, of course.)

I’m not calling for a boycott–that’s not for me to decide, and besides, there are some very valid points about going and establishing a presence at the event. But I am not going, and this is why I decided not to spend my money there.

  1. “But you live in Louisiana and its laws aren’t much better” isn’t the “gotcha” you might think it is, so don’t bother. I am sixty two years old and can’t just uproot myself and Paul to move to a blue state at this point in our lives, without jobs or significant resources to fall back on. I am not encouraging anyone to move here, nor do I tell people to come here, either. Bouchercon is here next year, so I will go for sure, but that doesn’t mean I am okay spending money or time in a state where me or my friends might not feel safe, nor would I presume to tell them it’s okay to come here. ↩︎
  2. You can claim the ME report said their death had nothing to do with their injuries from the beating they received, but I don’t trust anyone in law enforcement or anyone employed by that hate state. Until there’s an independent autopsy, I will not accept the ME’s report, period. ↩︎
  3. He is anti-cancel culture–only dresses it all up in prettier language and what appears to be more nuanced thought. But I’ve never seen any “free speech advocate” who doesn’t also think that racists, misogynists, and homophobes shouldn’t get any pushback or consequence for using hate speech–so that tells me all I needed to know about this person. ↩︎
  4. And don’t @me about how hard it is to run such an event. I know exactly how hard it is to run and plan such an event. It is what my partner does for a living, I’ve been on Bouchercon’s local committee before, I served on the national board, and I helped write the program for Dallas. I also chaired World Horror Con in New Orleans. ↩︎

Four to the Floor

Dream Lover: Monday morning back to the office blog; in which I had a productive weekend; finished a short story; figuring out what I need to do; thinking about being a Louisiana tourist; and back to the gym.

https://gregwritesblog.com/2024/02/26/dream-lover/ via @scottynola

Ah, the torturous path Murder in the Rue Ursulines took on its way to the book stores.

There was, if you will remember, a lot of turmoil going on at Alyson at the time. I had worked with a different editor for every Chanse book, and as I waited and waited and waited for an offer for the fourth book, my third editor was fired as the company reorganized its publishing arm yet again, with the end result that they didn’t make an offer on the book until they realized that the fall catalogue had been neglected during these transitions and they made the offer so long as the book could be finished in six weeks (I hadn’t started writing it yet) but I said yes on two conditions: I could work with an outside editor of my choosing, and the contract had to be for two books, rather than one–so I wouldn’t have to go through this again for the fifth book in the series. I kind of figured they wouldn’t meet my demands–but they did, of course, and then I had to write a draft of a book in six weeks.

Constant Reader, I managed it.

The original Alyson cover on the left; the Bold Strokes edition on the right.

“Chanse MacLeod to see Loren McKeithen,” I said to the pretty woman at the reception table. She looked to be in her late thirties, and of mixed racial heritage, her skin the color of a delicately mixed café-au-lait, her hair copper-colored. She gave me a wide smile. There was a wedding ring on her left hand, and a diamond tennis bracelet on her right wrist. Her nails were done in a French manicure. On her forehead was a smudged cross made of gray ash. I was tempted to ask what she’d given up for Lent, but decided against it.

“Have a seat, and I’ll let him know you’re here.” She gave me a smile, picking up her phone. “It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

I nodded and took a seat in an overstuffed leather chair, picking up an issue of Crescent City magazine and idly paging through it. I was tired, probably way too tired to be taking on a new job. The aspirin I’d taken hadn’t kicked in yet, either. Every muscle in my body ached. I’d planned on spending my entire Ash Wednesday in bed, or lazing around my apartment, recovering from the overindulgence of the last five days. But Loren was a good guy, and threw me some work every now and then. So, I’d roused myself out of my post-Mardi Gras stupor and come to his office.

Besides, it never hurts to have a prominent attorney in your debt. You never know when you’re going to need one.

This story actually started out as a Scotty book, what I thought would be the fourth in that series, Hollywood South Hustle. This book was inspired by something that happened to me on my way to work one morning. When I originally went to work part-time at the NO/AIDS Task Force part time, I worked out of the CAN (Community Awareness Network) office on Frenchmen Street in the Marigny. Full time staff had free parking in a lot around the block on Elysian Fields; I had to find street parking in the neighborhood, which was never a guarantee. This particular morning I found a place to park over on Kerlerec, and as I was locking up my car a family on bicycles was coming around the corner at Chartres. The adults raised a hand in greeting and I automatically said “Good morning” pleasantly back to them with a smile, and it wasn’t until after they rode past that I realized it was Brad and Angelina and two of their kids; they lived a few blocks away. As I continued on my way, I smiled at the coolness of the moment and I thought Brad has hair the same color as Scotty and is about the same age and size as Scotty and he lives right around the corner and wouldn’t it be interesting if Scotty was walking past their house and someone shot at him, thinking he was Brad? And that would be the start of something. The more I thought about it as I walked, stopping at the little Vietnamese grocery to buy cigarettes, the more i liked it, and by the time I sat down at my desk the entire story was taking shape in my head.

And yes, instead of doing work that day (I didn’t have any), I wrote up the story, the idea, the title, and began the proposal. I also wrote the first chapter and over the rest of that week I wrote the first five, feeling like I was onto something. I polished up the proposal and the first chapters, while continuing to write, and sent it to Kensington, who held the option on the series. While i waited to hear back from them, never doubting for a moment they would exercise their option and take the book, I kept writing. It was incredibly easy, and I was clocking between three and seven thousand words per day.

The day after I finished writing the first draft, Kensington didn’t exercise their option and cut the series loose.

So, when Alyson came back to me with a book contract offer and a due date that was only six weeks out from signing the contract…I thought, I can just turn this Scotty book into a Chanse book, easy-peasy.

NARRATOR VOICE: It was not, in fact, easy.

Scotty books are not easily adapted into something else, particularly when the new adaptation is more serious than something meant to be farcical and funny and over-the-top crazy…plus, Chanse and Scotty are completely different physical types. I had to change a lot of things, which took the “looks like” gambit down from three to two–but I think that worked better with fewer people and I was a bit concerned that the previous Scotty had also involved three look-alikes…problem solved. But it was a lot harder to do than I originally thought (nothing is ever as easy I think it is when I am pondering what to do), and in retrospect, it probably would have been much easier to simply write something entirely from scratch, but why do things the easy way when I can make it much harder?

Murder in the Rue Ursulines did well; it sold well and got decent reviews, and I’ve always felt it wasn’t a proper follow-up to Rue Chartres.

But…here we are.

Dream Lover

Monday back to the office blog. I did get stuff done yesterday, but I also apparently wore myself out, because later in the day I kept falling asleep. Paul came down later in the day and we watched two more episodes of Night Country, which we are really enjoying, and then I went to bed relatively early.

The biggest news coming out of yesterday was I wrote almost two thousand words and finished that short story, “When I Die.” It needs a revision, but I am going to let it sit for a week or so before taking my red pencil to it. I also cleaned out some things from the kitchen, did a load of dishes, and cleaned/reorganized my two supply drawers, which makes finding things a lot easier…as well as throwing out stuff I no longer need (if I ever did) and I am quite pleased with the result. I am gradually digging my way out of the hole I’ve been in since even before the pandemic, and it kind of feels nice, to be honest. It feels nice to feel like I have some say in what happens to me again, that I have some control and power over my life. It’s probably illusory, but I can live with the illusion quite happily, thank you very much.

I have a lot of practice living with illusions, thank you very much. In fact, I much prefer my fantasy world than the real one, thank you very much.

Heavy heaving sigh. I do feel a little more tired this morning than I remember feeling last week, but again it’s physical, not mental. I am supposed to go back to the gym tonight–I see my therapist Friday morning–which will undoubtedly exhaust me. The exercises themselves aren’t terrible, and really–the walking there and back is the worst, most tiring part of the entire enterprise. And as it progressively gets hotter as summer draws near, there’s that unpleasant aspect of it as well. But it also is stupid to drive such a short distance and try to find a place to park that’s even remotely close enough for the drive to make any sort of sense; this is the kind of thing that nags at me, comes back to haunt me when I am tired and trying to just let my mind go. But it also stands to reason that the more I make that walk, the easier it will get, and I wanted to start taking more walks in the evening anyway, didn’t I? I need to really get over myself at some point, don’t I?

But I am very pleased that I got that story finished yesterday, and I got ideas for how to finish other stories, which always makes the weekend feel more productive. I am glad I dropped off books at the library, preparatory to another cull, and of course I am glad I washed the car–which I’d like to start doing every other week. The car looks better when it’s clean, and what I really need to have done is use some rubbing compound on it and have it waxed again. That would actually be a really cool thing to do when I visit Kentucky next.

I was also thinking this weekend that on one day of my future weekends, I should use the car to go exploring–in the East, for one, and old Highway 51 along the west lake shore, as well as the north shore and Irish Bayou and Spanish Fort and so on. I should also head over to Houma and Terrebonne Parish, drive out to Grand Isle…there’s so much of Louisiana to explore, and I was thinking Avery Island, where they make tabasco sauce, would be an interesting place to visit as well–not to mention everything all along the River Road, from the plantations to the towns to the Cajun influences. It will undoubtedly inspire more work from me, too.

There’s always so little time, it seems.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later.

The Three Bells

Sunday morning after a marvelous Saturday here in New Orleans. I slept late this morning, but no judgments or being rough on myself about it; obviously, I needed the sleep. It’s really funny how much my brain function has changed since starting the new meds. I also think it’s partly that my brain fog from the anesthesia has lifted at long last. I’m still forgetful, of course–that’s the “wisdom of age” everyone talks about, forgetting things–but my mind is clearer than it’s been since I had COVID in the summer of 2022. But I feel like today will be another good day like yesterday morning was, and it’s already looking like another beautiful day outside, too.

Yesterday morning I got up, felt very rested and energized as well as mentally there (this has been going on almost this entire last week and it’s wonderful; you have no idea!), and it was a gorgeous day. I ran my errands, and on my way home I stopped to wash my car at the self-wash place on Louisiana (the car was horribly filthy; and looked like a flock of birds had dive-bombed it with their nasty shit), and then got my dry cleaning. I came home and went to work. I cleaned, I organized, I filed, I did laundry and dishes, and last night I lit up the grill and cooked out, which we’ve not done since last summer. The burgers were great, too; no more frozen ones simply for the ease. There’s nothing like fresh hamburger meat, either. Today I am going to make Swedish meatballs.

I didn’t write a lot yesterday but while I was filing and organizing, the next phase of “When I Die” came to me, as did how to finish two other stories that are in progress and have been for several years now. I also worked out some other things in my head for other projects, and so I have to say I was very pleased with myself last night as I lit the charcoal and sautéed mushrooms and sliced a red onion. After dinner, we watched this week’s Abbott Elementary and started True Detective: Night Country, which is very stylized and very well done. I’ve not watched a season of the show fully since the first one, which I didn’t much care for (despite the adoration straight men threw its way), but I am liking this season a lot more than I ever did that first one. (May have to try to watch the previous seasons again at some point.) I also watched a two hour documentary on Youtube titled “LSU Football Time Capsule,” which went back to show great clips of LSU’s storied football history, from 1958 through 2018. While I was watching, I decided to come up with a list of my top ten favorite LSU games since 1998, which was also kind of fun to do (and I’ll probably post when the season is about to start again this fall).

So, yes, I am rather smug about my day yesterday, and I am thinking that today I will mostly focus on writing and reading, with some leftover cleaning to do and potentially some more pruning of the books. I also need to update my to-do list for the week, organize and deal with my medical bills, prepare for a fight with my health insurance (which I’m actually looking forward to beating them into the ground as they so richly deserve), and of course, get ready for the new week. I also just realized this is the first Sunday morning I’ve not dreaded the start of my new week, too.

Progress for sure.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines, and will most likely be back some time later. Have a fabulous Sunday in the meantime!

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How Do You Do?

Saturday morning and I feel good. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day outside–yesterday and the day before were gorgeous–and I don’t feel exhausted or fatigued or tired. My muscles are a bit fatigued, but they aren’t sore, which is super great. I also woke up early for a Saturday, too. I am thinking this might turn out to be a terrific day. I am going to go drop books off for the library sale and get the mail and wash the car (it was attacked by a mob of birds, from the looks of it) before coming home and having a nice rest of my day–hopefully productive. I did have a productive day yesterday, too.

My legs are a bit fatigued from walking to the gym yesterday as well as going to Costco, but as opposed to PT, I wasn’t worn out from it nor did I fall asleep in my chair. I’m not sure what that means, really; is my stamina coming back? Does it have to do with the time of the day? I don’t know, but it was a lovely evening for a walk and the program I am doing on my own is relatively short; only eight different exercises. Huzzah! I honestly didn’t know how it would go, and having it go relatively easily was actually quite nice. We’ll see how this continues to go, and then I am going to get back into a regular three times per week routine after the therapy is all done. I am going to have a different mentality completely this time with exercise, as well–more concern about my health than trying to look good. Feeling better is much more desirable than looking better, if that makes sense? (I always tried to keep my mind on the benefit of working out rather than the physical improvement, but it rarely if ever worked because I was so hard on myself about not being in shape and not looking better and so on. Anxiety.)

I didn’t finish putting away everything from Costco last night, so I’ll have to finish that today. I also need to do some filing and organizing, and the floors definitely need to be worked on. I also want to get some reading and writing done, too. My plans for the weekend perhaps might be overly ambitious, but so be it; they always have been historically but you can’t get stuff done unless you’re overly ambitious. We shall see how the day goes, I suppose.

We watched the LSU Gymnastics last night, and then Paul went back upstairs to work some more while I relaxed downstairs and watched a true crime documentary called Down the Hill: The Delphi Murders, which…I don’t know. Doing a true crime documentary about an unsolved case seems…unsatisfying, at least to me as a viewer. (Granted, Murder on the Bayou and all the others about the Jeff Davis Eight also ended with no one being apprehended; yet it was very interesting all the way through.) I am not going to lie–watching true crime documentaries are often inspiring for me and give me ideas about stories and books to write, so I also have an ulterior motive in watching them. Down the Hill wasn’t that interesting of a story, to be honest, but the image of the railroad bridge that ended on the other side with no more tracks is one that will stick with me for a while. (I’m in the process of writing a short story called “The Haunted Bridge”, so that also is kind of helpful in some ways.)

I think this morning–before I run my errands–I may rewatch Saltburn so I can finish my essay about it. This is one of the few movies in recent memory that really resonated with me as I watched, seeing layers and possibilities within the story that straight people apparently didn’t pick up on? Which is why I think it’s important for me to talk about it from a gay male perspective, which sounds rather arrogant now that I’ve written it down, doesn’t it? But the gay perspective is so often not covered in media, and it’s the kind of lens that straight people have trouble seeing. (Hint: the one film that Saltburn reminded me the most of is one that no one ever mentioned, which…renders a lot of the criticisms directed at the film moot? And why on earth did no one compare it to The Great Gatsby, another book/film about someone infiltrating the world of the rich?)

As you can see, my mind is waking up. I’ve noticed this week that my mind seems clearer than it has in a long time, and the fog I’ve been dealing with since having COVID in the summer of 2022 seems to have finally lifted. I made it through the week with energy and not feeling tired and getting things done, as though my Type A personality has finally reemerged from a years-long sabbatical. Which means…that it’s time to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines this morning. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll undoubtedly be back later.