Category: writing

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!

Screenshot

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.

Could It Be Forever?

Work-at-home Friday, and what a full day I have in front of me. I have work at home duties to get done, a telephone appointment, and an on-line team meeting today. After I am done with my work duties, I get to head over to the gym to work out on my own for the first time since 2022 (!!!), and at some point we’ll be doing a Costco run. Yesterday was a very good day; it was the first time in years that I woke up feeling rested and awake and good to go–and it lasted all day. I wasn’t tired when I got home, despite picking up the mail and making groceries. I hung out with Sparky, watched this week’s episode of Feud, and made notes for writing to come. I also typed up notes for other stories, so I could create computer files. Paul got home in time for me to spend a little time with him before going to bed, and I slept very well. Apparently, overnight Sparky figured out how to get on top of my dresser and started knocking everything off, so all my stuff was put inside a drawer. Sigh. He really is too smart for our own good. He’s lucky he’s both sweet and adorable.

I also have some thoughts about stuff that’s been going on in the world and in my publishing world lately. They aren’t fully formed and ready to be vocalized as of yet, but I figure those thoughts will come together and written about at some point over this weekend to come. This is my first normal weekend after three straight abnormal ones (two weekends of parades followed by a trip to Alabama), so while I am probably vastly over-estimating how much I can or will get done, I am hopeful that I’ll get a lot of it done. I was pleased yesterday to see how much I had gotten done off my to-do list without consulting it, and I am also already feeling alert and awake and no longer tired, either. This was how yesterday went, so here’s hoping that today will be the same: energy and mental acuity all day.

It would be nice to get all these blog entries in draft form finished, too. We shall see. Tomorrow I’ll be taking books and beads out to donate in the morning, swing past the post office most likely afterwards, and then come home to clean and write. I also want to rewatch Saltburn this weekend so I can finish that entry–which is also more of an essay abstract. And I did write some more on my short story “When I Die,” which is getting longer but has finally started getting to the good part. I also have four more “where the idea for this book come from” entries on the Chanse series to finish as well. I also have some other chores around here this morning I need to take care of during breaks–the dishes, some filing, and some laundry. There’s trash to take out, too, and I kind of want to really start making progress on the apartment. I want to get the floors done this weekend and I want to move furniture in the kitchen for cleaning and so forth, too. As I said, I am feeling ambitious about this weekend, and since I am not going into the weekend exhausted and needing rest…I have high hopes.

I also need to get my entry about Carol Goodman’s River Road finished. I really enjoyed it, and if you aren’t reading her books, the good news is it’s never too late to start and there’s a terrific backlist.

And on that note, a load of laundry is finished and needs to be folded, so I am heading into the spice mines for the day. No worries, I am sure I will be back again later, okay? Have a lovely Friday in the meantime!

Back Off Boogaloo

I realized while washing my face this morning that it’s Thursday already, which was an enormously satisfying moment. I was productive last night after work–shocking, right? I came straight home, played with Sparky for a bit, then folded laundry, unloaded the dishwasher, and straightened the kitchen up a bit. It’s always nice to come down to clean counters and a kitchen that doesn’t look like a natural disaster went through. I also slept really well and don’t feel groggy this morning (a little when I first got up, but my brain cleared very quickly). I’m also a bit excited this morning because I also did some decent writing work yesterday. Yay! Not many words were written, but a lot of figuring things out for these stories that hopefully I will finish tonight or tomorrow so I can move on to something else. I am really looking forward to this weekend, I must admit, and all the writing and cleaning to come.

I’ve also been ordering things for the house that hopefully will make things more organized and efficient around here. I got a shoe rack for the bedroom, a rolling cart to replace the little table next to my desk (with the intent of emptying some drawers to make more room for things), and several other things, too. I still need to order blinds for the kitchen and air filters, too.

What an exciting life I lead.

But it’s that very simplicity, that minutiae, that makes me feel like I am living my life again. I’m no longer going home from work, collapsing into my easy chair, and mindlessly letting Youtube videos play on continuously while I doom scroll through social media on my iPad, or dipping into a nonfiction ebook there. I’m beginning to get excited to be writing again, and realized, yet again, what a monumentally shit year 2023 was. I realized this morning that it really did start with me injuring my arm–which kept me out of the gym for well over a year now, and that snowballed my emotional state and life stability. Then came Mom, and yeah, it never really did get better over the course of the year….and of course the surgery was the final derailment. Creativity is overflowing my brain again, and I am trying to make sufficient notes and create the proper computer files so that nothing ever gets lost or forgotten ever again. I got so many ideas over the weekend in Alabama, and they’ve still continued coming since I got back, which is great.

I also made a phenomenal sandwich for dinner last night. I am eating somewhat healthier, and am hoping to keep that momentum going as I head back to the gym tomorrow morning in the first time in over a year. YIKES. But I am not going to be doing a whole lot, just focused shoulder/back/arm stuff, and I’ll have to ask my PT guy next Friday about other body parts. It would be hard to do chest or back, but what about legs? Inquiring minds want to know! But I can certainly do crunches, one would think. I am a bit excited about getting back to the gym, in case you couldn’t tell.

Tonight, I am going to pick up the mail and make a few groceries; then I am coming home to empty the dishwasher and do another load, do some more writing, and maybe organize beads and books to donate. I also need to get gas on the way home tonight, heavy heaving sigh. But I do kind of feel like I am starting to get a grasp on my life and entering a new normal period for me. Woo-hoo!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Thursday, Constant Reader, and you never know; I may be back later.

Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

Ah, Third Chanse.

If you will recall from my last entry about the Chanse series, I had a new editor for the second book in the series. I had also written a proposal for the follow-up, Murder in the Rue St. Claude, which was going to be about a nursing home and an angel of death. The second book ended with a tragedy for Chanse, and the last scene of the book was Chanse saying goodbye to someone before their life-support was turned off. I did a trickery and was going to have the person be in the nursing home, still living, only a suspicious death happens there and one of the workers talks to Chanse about her fears. The editor wasn’t the most professional or organized person, and I had to send the proposal to her three times on request with no contract offer. I was very irritated by this, but there were also a lot of changes going on there–including moving the offices from LA to New York, which I thought was an incredibly stupid business decision…and I wound up with yet another new editor right before Katrina hit. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would go back to writing ever again–one of the lulls in my career–but things eventually settled down and I started house sitting for a friend in Hammond over on the north shore while I waited for the city to reopen so I could drive into the city and get some more things from the house. I did, my friends’ trip was cut short, and I was going to return to Kentucky to my parents’ after one more swing by the apartment to pick up things. Imagine my surprise that my mail service was open, my grocery store and bank were open, and so was my gym. We’d moved into the main house from the carriage house, which hadn’t been rented yet as it needed some work before the hurricane, and so….I just moved back into the carriage house and cleaned up around the property and kept an eye on the main house, as well as emptying out the water from the machines that were trying to keep the insides of the apartments dry (the roof was gone).

While I was in Hammond, my new editor got me to reluctantly co-edit an anthology about New Orleans called Love, Bourbon Street (a title I hate to this day), and he was trying to talk me into writing a Chanse book about Katrina. I didn’t really want to, but he kept insisting and finally, I gave in and agreed to write it. However, the nursing home I was researching was a place they left people to die in–wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole–and it occurred to me that I could wrap the case around Hurricane Katrina. He was hired by the client the Friday before Katrina, and obviously he couldn’t do the job now.

And that was the seed from which Murder in the Rue Chartres (no title at the time of contract) grew.1

This is the original cover from Alyson Books.
This is the new cover for the Bold Strokes ebook

It was six weeks before I returned to my broken city.

Usually when I drove home from the west, as soon as I crossed onto dry land again in Kenner, excitement would bubble up inside and I’d start to smile. Almost home, I’d think, and let out a sigh of relief. New Orleans was home for me, and I hated leaving for any reason. I’d never regretted moving there after graduating from LSU. It was the first place I’d ever felt at home, like I belonged. I’d hated the little town in east Texas where I’d grown up. All I could think about was getting old enough to escape. Baton Rouge for college had been merely a way station—it never occurred to me to permanently settle there. New Orleans was where I belonged, and I’d known that the first time I’d ever set foot in the city. It was a crazy quilt of eccentricities, frivolities, and irritations sweltering in the damp heat, a city where you could buy a drink at any time of day, a place where you could easily believe in magic. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Any time I’d taken a trip before, within a few days I’d get homesick and started counting the hours until it was time to come home.

But this time wasn’t like the others. This time, I hadn’t been able to come home, and had no idea how long it would be before I could. Now, I was nervous, my stomach clenched into knots, my palms sweating on the steering wheel as I sang along to Vicki Sue Robinson’s “Turn the Beat Around” on the radio. It was everything I’d feared for the last few weeks when I thought about coming home, the anxiety building as the odometer clocked off another mile and I got closer to home.

It was different.

The most obvious thing was the lack of traffic. Even outside the airport, the traffic was usually heavy, sometimes slowing to a complete standstill. But other than a couple of military vehicles, a cement mixer, and a couple of dirty and tired looking sedans, I-10 was deserted. There was a film of dirt on everything as far as I could see, tinting my vision sepia. Huge trees lay toppled and debris was everywhere. Signs that used to advertise hotels, motels, restaurants, storage facilities, and pretty much any kind of business you could think of were now just poles, the signs gone except for the support skeleton. Buildings had been blown over, fences were wrecked and down, and almost everywhere I looked blue tarps hung on roofs, their edges lifting in the slight breeze. My breath started coming a little faster, my eyes filled, and I bit down on my lower lip as I focused back on the road.

No cars joined at the airport on-ramp, or the one at Williams Boulevard just beyond it. No planes were landing or taking off.

Most of the writing I did in the fall of 2005 was my blog, which at the time was on Livejournal. (The old stuff is still there, but I started making things private after a year because of plagiarism; I guess people thought they could steal my words if they were on a blog.) I documented as much of the experience as I could, so people outside of Louisiana could see that the city wasn’t fully recovered despite no longer being in the news. American attention had moved past New Orleans by the spring of 2006.

When I started writing the book, I was really glad I had done that with the blog, because more than anything else it reminded me of the emotions I was going through, that horrible depression and not remembering things from day to day, the need for medications, panic attacks, depression, and the way the entire city just seemed dead. I did repurpose a lot of stuff that was on the blog–rewritten and edited, of course–and I could tell, as I wrote the book, that I was either doing some of the best work of my life to that point or I was overwriting it mercilessly. You never can be sure.

But I also needed to flesh out the murder mystery I came up with, and I also wanted to write about a historical real life tragedy of the Quarter. The client who hired him that Friday before Katrina roared into the Gulf and came ashore was engaged, and she wanted Chanse to find her father, who’d disappeared from their lives when she and her brothers were very young. But what happened to her father? Who killed her, and why? Was her murder a reaction to her looking for him?

I had started using Tennessee Williams quotes to open my New Orleans novels with the third (Jackson Square Jazz: “A good looking boy like you is always wanted” from Orpheus Descending) and I liked the conceit so much I kept doing it. I knew someone who’d built a crime novel around the basic set up of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and I thought, what if the person who knows all the answers has been in a mental hospital for decades? Then what if Mrs. Venable had succeeded in getting Catherine locked up with all of Sebastian’s secrets lobotomized out of her head?

I named the family Verlaine as a nod to the Venables, and aged Mrs. Venable as well as gender swapping her (this was also a bit influenced by The Big Sleep), and I was off to the races.

My editor wrote me when he finished reading the manuscript and told me it was one of the best mysteries he’d ever read. The reviews! My word, I still can’t believe the reviews, and how good they were. I got a rave in the Times-Picayune, Library Journal and Publishers Weekly.

And yes, it won a Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Mystery.

  1. The irony that two books I wanted nothing to do with, let alone write or edit, ended up with each winning Lambda Literary Awards, does not escape me. ↩︎

Marshall’s Portable Music Machine

Wednesday morning and the downhill slide into the weekend. Today I have to see my surgeon before I go into the office, which means this might get posted later than my usual. I am awake and feeling pretty good, actually. I am going to the gym to do my physical therapy on my own Friday, which is kind of scary. But I will muddle through somehow, and take my time with it rather than trying to rush through the way I always used to.

I made groceries after work last night and picked up the mail, so I don’t have to pick it up again until the weekend. I am going to be doing a lot, it seems, on Saturday morning. But this is the first free weekend I’ve had that’s normal in a while. I finished watching the Netflix Alexander when I got home, with Sparky asleep in my lap. I folded laundry, too. All in all, a slightly productive night, as I also worked on a short story a bit. I hope to get both of these (one a first draft, the other a revision) by the weekend, so I can work on other things over the weekend. We were super busy at work yesterday; it’ll be a bit slower today but still busier than usual. The post Mardi Gras boost in testing, I suppose.

I’m not sure what project to work on next. I’m actually thinking that this longer story I am writing could close the short story collection…the manuscript itself is sitting at about 72000 words right now, so either story could run long and the book would be finished and can be turned in. This is of course great news; I would also need to write an introduction to it as well, but maybe–just maybe–I could get it turned in by the end of the month, too. I also have to finish the sequel to Death Drop–which means revising what I’ve already written so I am back into Jem’s head and into his life and story again, which is also fine. I feel like I can really do the book justice now more so than any time since the surgery.

I also need to get back on the promotion interstate highway again, too.

But the appointment with my surgeon went well. I don’t have to see him again unless I have pain or something odd going on with my arm again, and I am going to be gradually phasing out the PT now. I should be fully healed by the sixth month (which would be April) but he thinks I’ll be fully healed before then, since everything has progressed so nicely with the healing thus far. I won’t be completely back to absolute normal, most likely, for at least a year. But the strength therapy will be enormously helpful in that; the real curiosity is wondering, when can I start working my chest and back and legs again? I don’t think legs would be too much of an issue, other than lifting the weight plates. I’ll have to ask my therapist next Friday when I see him again. But yay, right? Huzzah for progress! But the weather is also starting to get nice again, so I think it’s time for me to start taking walks regularly again. It’s staying light longer, too. I also need to start stretching at least every other day, too.

And the festivals are nigh, too. Woo-hoo!

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close so I can eat my lunch and answer some emails. May you have a Wednesday that is as awesome as you are , Constant Reader.

Alone Again (Naturally)

Monday morning and up too early for PT before work. Heavy sigh. My body aches this morning–my back is especially tight–which means today will be exhausting. It’s a paperwork/admin day anyway–unless I have to cover for someone–and it’s also terribly cold this morning: 41 degrees, to be exact. I collapsed into bed last night somewhere around nine, and was dead to the world in a matter of minutes. It was a good night’s sleep, but I really need to sleep late sometime soon–probably not till this weekend, alas.

I did listen to River Road by Carol Goodman in the car both ways instead of The Drowning Tree, and as always, loved every minute of it. I still had some time left to listen to something, but only had a short time left, so I went ahead and started an Amazon Short by Zakiya Dalila Harris, “His Happy Place”, which was decidedly creepy but also extremely well done. More on both to come, of course, once I’ve gotten back into (what passes for) a normal routine around here. This will probably be a rough, tiring week, but I hope to manage. This weekend I am going to drop off beads and books for donations, and will also hopefully keep working on the apartment.

The coffee is starting to work, which is nice. My brain and body are starting to wake up, which is great. I’m also a bit hungry, so will probably make something to eat before I leave. I have dry noodles at the office to have for lunch, and will take some breakfast snacky things with me. Tomorrow I know we are going to be super-busy in the clinic, which will make for a rough day as well. Fortunately, I enjoy my job! But this weekend will be the hard reset I need, and I just have to make it through this week, which seems to be stretching out far into the distance and is a bit overwhelming to contemplate. I also need to make a grocery list, and today I have to run some errands after I get off work. Tomorrow I’ll make groceries after work, and hopefully I’ll start feeling more settled in. Sparky was a bit stand-offish when I got home yesterday–just mewed at me reproachfully for a while, but after a few hours he forgave me and was very affectionate, obviously having missed me while I was gone. I do kind of feel like our earlier cats were more Paul’s than mine, but Sparky is kind of mine. Of course, I was chair bound for almost three weeks, so he had a place to cuddle and sleep and hang out all day, and now of course no one’s home with him all day. Once the Festivals are over, he’ll be home more and then he and Sparky can bond some more.

So really, my return to normality after Carnival has been pushed back on the calendar because of the trip over the weekend. My word, how my imagination was out of control while driving and staying in Alabama. I remembered stories and ideas I’d forgotten about as well as having more ideas (just what I need, right?) and I also figured out how to finish off my short story collection. I am hoping to get some more stories finished this week and get off to submissions while working and planning my next book. I also have a shit ton of unfinished drafts here I’d like to get done at some point so I can clear out the drafts folder.

I also took a lot of pictures this weekend, to help me describe places when I write about Alabama some more. I also realized that fictionalizing the place where I was born means it doesn’t have to be exactly the same in my work than it is in real life, you know? But that’s also my own stubborn brain trying to make everything correct when it doesn’t have to be, which happens a lot. It’s not like New Orleans, which appears as it is in my work. Corinth County is based on where we’re from, but it’s not the same. I had an idea for something completely new on my way up there; there was an In Cold Blood-kind of slaying there in the late 1960’s; a couple who ran a corner store were brutally killed and robbed, and so when I got home I started looking for information about it on-line (I’ve done this before, but not for a potential writing project; more out of idle curiosity when I was writing Bury Me in Shadows) and interestingly enough, there have been any number of crimes down there over the last forty or so decades; in fact, in one article about another murder I read a quote from someone at a café in town that the county “seems to be cursed”–which I must have read before because that has always been the underlying theme of the fictional county; it’s even in Bury Me in Shadows with people saying “the history of this county is written in blood.” Anyway, I would be interested in writing about that 1967 shooting–either fictionally or as true-crime.

And on that note, I need to get ready for PT and then heading straight to work from there. Have a lovely Monday; I may be back later as one never truly knows.

Country Roads (Take Me Home)

I’ll be driving back to New Orleans in a little bit, and I am exhausted. I went to bed last night ridiculously early–so early that I don’t want to admit to it publicly. I was very tired when I got here Friday afternoon. I made very good time despite some highway construction stupidity in Mississippi (which is always) but for the most part it was a nice drive and I got up here relatively easily. I stopped to get gas and eat in Toomsuba, which I’ve not done in a long time, and as I feared, once I slowed down and sat down to eat lunch, fatigue set in. I did have PT yesterday morning and left afterwards (and a few errands for good measure) and so, like always, was worn out by the time I got here.

It’s also cold here, which is hard for me to get used to as I haven’t been here during the winter very often in my life, so I always think of home as being hot and humid and muggy and miserable (going to Murder in the Magic City and Murder on the Menu doesn’t count because that doesn’t involve my kin in any way). It was bitterly cold here today as we drove around with Dad showing me places from his and my childhood. We went down to the bottoms of the Sipsey River on what used to be my grandfather’s land, which I hadn’t been to since I was a kid, and the river was really high and rushing quickly because of all the rain. (It rained really hard on Friday night). I actually slept well–which should be an indication of how tired I was, as sleeping in a hotel isn’t usually easy for me. Maybe the new drugs have helped in that regard too? I was very calm as I drove and didn’t feel the pressure of the ticking clock or the need to get there as fast as I could and feeling frustrated and irritated by any delays en route. I do not miss my anxiety in the least.

But, oh the memories that came back to me as we drove past my grandmother’s house (now crumbling and in disrepair) which was an indelible part of my childhood. My grandfather’s house, where my dad was born and raised, is also gone. I was also getting all kinds of ideas, as I always do when I come to or through this part of the state, and started really getting into this idea of a sequel to Bury Me in Shadows, only with Beau Hackworth was the main character. I really do want to write more about Alabama, and several other ideas of stories that are either in progress or exist in a very rough draft. It even occurred to me that I could do an entire collection of short stories set in Alabama. I have already published a couple of them, and I have enough ideas for another collection just for those alone–but I suppose I should finish my next one first before I think about another one, right?

This place will always have a hold on me, and it does worry me a bit that once Dad goes, my last connection to the county and my childhood summers here. And yes, I am aware that I am looking back through the nostalgic rose-colored glasses of sentiment. But summers here–how to describe them? Hot and humid, dragonflies and dirt daubers and five o’clocks, fried baloney sandwiches and buttermilk, sweat tea and cobblers, mosquitoes and watermelon and fresh blackberries from the woods, trips to town to the Piggly Wiggly and the library, long rows of cotton and corn and watermelon vines, red dust and orange clay roads, heat shimmering up from blacktop roads and how everything was so still in the lazy heat of the mid-afternoon, ghost stories and Civil War legends and lost treasure.

I miss my mom. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the idea that she’s buried here, that her remains are there under the ground between the big HERREN headstone and the foot-stone with her name and the dates underneath. It was such a cruel twist of fate for her to go on Valentine’s Day, which was also the anniversary of their first date sixty-six years ago. But in this time since she died I’ve also spent a lot more time with Dad and have gotten closer to him, which is really nice. I’ve also spent more time with the rest of the family, too, which is even nicer.

I know I’ll be exhausted tomorrow and I am starting the day with PT, so I will be really tired when I get home tomorrow night. I guarantee when the weekend rolls around again, I am sleeping as late as I feel like on Saturday, period.

Well, I didn’t get to post this before Dad called my room to get me to come downstairs for breakfast, after which I helped him load up his truck, I loaded my car, and we said our goodbyes and I headed for New Orleans while he made a detour on his way to Kentucky to say goodbye to Mom again.

The drive back to New Orleans was easy, little traffic, and I made it in slightly under four and a half hours, which is excellent time. I was exhausted once I got home, and then Paul and I got caught up on Abbott Elementary, we watched an unsettling documentary (but really, aren’t they all?) and then I started watching Alexander. Paul went upstairs to work, and so I did some chores and then remembered I never posted this. Not really sure what I’ll write about tomorrow morning, if anything at all. It’s going to be a long, tiring day.

And on that note, I am going to go sit in my chair and finish watching Alexander on Netflix. Maybe I can talk about that tomorrow? Have a lovely evening.