Tuesday and we made it through Monday. Hurray for small victories!
I sent the book in last night. I would have done it yesterday on my lunch break, but unfortunately I hadn’t saved the final chapter, so when I tried to open it at work and load it into the main file of the entire manuscript I didn’t have the right version, so it had to wait until I got home. But that’s done, I have a few more things I need to get done right away, and then I can dig into the revision of Mississippi River Mischief, which is going to be more vexing and harder work. But I know how to fix it; the problem is going to be timing because there’s a lot to fix. But it should be okay. It’s not like I’m not used to producing quickly on a deadline or anything. I’d like to be finished before I leave for Malice, but I don’t think that’s going to happen; I know myself far too well.
We binged another three episodes of The Night Agent last night and I have to say, as bonkers as this show as, as little as the plot makes sense when you think about it, and as wooden as the male lead is (he is super hot, though), the show is very entertaining and keeps us curious to see what happens next. I won’t even attempt to explain the basics of the plot; just know that it all kicks off because the main character is assigned to work the night shift in a windowless room in the basement of the White House, and his only job is to answer the phone if it rings. It never does, and then one night it finally does and the “night agent” gets dragged into an incredibly complicated plot built around a national security threat and possible treason by an insider at the White House. Like I said, it’s entertaining enough and if you don’t think about the plot too much you can overlook the plot holes and everything else that is campy and silly about the show. We aren’t taking it terribly seriously; it’s just kind of addictively fun to watch but won’t be winning any awards any time soon.
I also stopped and made groceries on the way home from work yesterday–I’d forgotten a few things when I went over the weekend–and started the dishes and a load of laundry that I’ll need to finish both tonight; Paul came down to watch television while I was doing the dishes and so I didn’t finish. I also was dragging a little bit this morning; it was hard to get out of bed and get going this morning. I feel fine and not tired or sleepy or groggy at all, but I do believe I was in the grip of the “finished the draft malaise’ that always comes about when I turn in a manuscript. Tonight I need to run by the post office on my way home from work; and I also made a to-do list yesterday that hopefully I will consult and stick to…I am not sure when I stopped making the lists (or paying attention to them if I did make one), but one of the reasons I was always able to get so much done was–you guessed it–because I made to-do lists regularly and worked my way through them. At some point, probably around the start of the pandemic, I stopped making lists and started trying to rely on my memory, which doesn’t exactly work the way it should anymore. (The reason I started making lists in the first place was to prevent me forgetting to do something that needed doing.) I started this because my memory was getting bad and stopped when it got the worst its ever been.
I am, indeed, such a Greg.
Sigh.
But I have made just such a to-do list, and while it may not be as comprehensive as I would like–the other problem with making a to-do list is you have to remember what you have to do, or add things as it comes up; like the Constitution my to-do list need to be a living, breathing document–it is there, it is in place, and I need to, every time I sit down at a desk, at work or at him, pull out my spiral notebook and open it to that page and place it prominently in my sight-line. No point to having a to-do list if you aren’t going to be looking at it.
Ah, well.
And on that note I am going to bring this entry to a close and head into the spice mines because I’m boring myself. Have a lovely day, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.
The Lady Tigers dominated Iowa yesterday to the point of it being embarrassing. They scored over a hundred points–a first for a NCAA women’s title game–and won LSU’s first national title in an NCAA championship tournament in program history.
PAUL: When LSU wins it’s going to bring all the racists out because Iowa is all white and LSU is all Black.
He wasn’t wrong. All the racists who watched to see the white girls win were out in force on Twitter, and like all racists, the hypocrisy and idiocy was strong. Then again, you have to be both hypocritical and idiotic to be a racist in the first place.
And later that evening, LSU Gymnastics qualified (thanks to a tie-breaker) for Nationals as well. All in all, it was a good day for women’s athletics down here in bayou country.
LSU! LSU! LSU! LSU! So proud of our young women!
Well, I finished the revision yesterday. I just need to go over it one last time to make sure there are no screaming, glaring errors (like a chapter missing, that sort of thing) and will send it off today. I am rather pleased with it; it wasn’t nearly the enormous mess that I thought it was originally, and it didn’t need nearly as much work as I had originally feared. One of the primary problems with being older and having had COVID-related memory issues as a writer is I can’t remember sometimes what I’ve already written. As someone who has a very bad habit of writing the same scene twice at different spaces in the book, or sometimes will make a change to the story in the middle of a later chapter that needs correcting or being set up earlier in the book…yes, it’s a serious problem for me. But its done, finished and completed and now I can move on to fixing the mess that is the Scotty book, Mississippi River Mischief, which might not be as easy as this one was–the problem with it is systemic and runs through the entire book, from beginning to end–but I am getting there. Hopefully by the end of April it will be completed and I can move on from both of these, other than copy edits and proofing.
It feels like I’ve been working on these two manuscripts forever.
I also went down a bit of a rabbit hole I’ve visited before on the web; Princess Alice of Monaco, the first American-born Monegasque princess and was from New Orleans: Alice Heine. She fascinates me, and it’s amazing how little she is known in the United States, let alone New Orleans. There are no biographies of her and her colorful life, which included an early marriage to the Duc deRichelieu and a second marriage to the prince of Monaco. She built the Monte Carlo opera house and I believe she also founded the Monegasque ballet as well. She and the prince were unhappy, and she left him, moving to Paris where she was a patroness of the arts, was known for her fabulous salons, and took lots of lovers. The only book I found by looking her up was Anne Edwards’ The Grimaldis of Monaco, and it’s really a history of the 800 year old royal family. I bought the ebook of it, and look forward to reading about Princess Alice. Were I a biographer and/or a historian, I would probably do a biography of her. She fascinates me. For a little while I even thought she’d make an interesting heroine for a period series about an amateur sleuth; the Princess of Monaco as an amateur sleuth in Paris around the turn of the century? The Dreyfus affair? The trial of Oscar Wilde, whom I am sure was a friend of hers?
I also finished reading Robert Caro’s immense opus The Power Broker this weekend. It was a fascinating study of Robert Moses, an incredibly driven and smart man who rose to great power without ever being elected–by building highways, bridges and parks, not just in New York City but the entire state. I did note something during the course of the 1100+ pages; something I’d also noticed with in-depth biographies of Lyndon Johnson (also Caro) and Huey Long: these men were all forward-thinking and progressive, and tried to effect change only to be thwarted by those in power…so the three men out-thunk their enemies, outplayed them, and amassed enormous power in order to get the things they wanted accomplished. They fought dirty, certainly weren’t opposed to corruption in order to get what they needed/wanted, but eventually…as in every case, overplayed their hands. Johnson left office a tattered old man with his reputation in ruins; Moses lost all his power and control; and Long of course was murdered. My next non-fiction read will be David McCullough’s The Johnstown Flood, methinks.
I’m a bit sleepy and groggy this morning; I didn’t sleep great or deeply last night but it was restful physically; more of a mental thing, really; it felt like my mind never really went into the sleep mode. But that’s fine. I have a mentally challenging day at the office ahead of me today, so hopefully sleep will come tonight. We also watched a couple more episodes of The Night Agent, which is getting better and more interesting. Hong Chau is fantastic in it (as she is in everything) and the male lead is certainly good-looking and hot enough to make up for his wooden delivery of his lines–but it actually works for his character, who is supposed to be an unemotional do-your-job kind of guy; though there are times when it’s just cringy.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning.
Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and feeling fine. I did get sucker-punched yesterday morning; I got an email about Mother’s Day gifts already (isn’t it in MAY, for Christ’s sake?) and yeah, wasn’t expecting that tidal wave of sadness and overwhelming grief. However, I took that as a sign to walk away from my computer and get my errands run, which is precisely what I did. Sigh. I guess I have Mother’s Day and the holidays without Mom to look forward to this year. Yay? Sigh again.
Ah, well, it’s not like I’m the first person to go through this. Just because it’s new to me doesn’t mean anything profound, really.
Yesterday was a good day. I made some excellent progress on the book–the revision should be finished today, praise Jesus–and did get some things done. I made groceries and went to get the mail. I also dropped off two boxes of books to the library sale. I did some of the dishes and made some progress on the apartment, which was lovely. We got caught up on Yellowjackets and started watching The Night Agent on Netflix, which isn’t bad. It’s not great, either–it’s a spy show, involving skullduggery probably within the government structure–but it’s entertaining enough, and the lead actor (whose name I cannot recall) is handsome enough. And then I had a very lovely night’s sleep to top everything off. This morning I feel rested and relaxed–which is always a good thing–while for some reason Scooter wants to sleep in my lap while I am sitting here working this morning. I don’t mind, of course–he’s such a sweet thing, really; and he’s getting older, so I know that a day will come where I will regret not cuddling with him every time he wanted me to.
I’m not feeling burnt out, which is also a good thing. It’s hard to believe it’s April already–I’ve got to get my taxes ready–and already I am way behind on all of my plans for this year. That was to be expected–even under the best of circumstances I will always tend to get lazy and put things off–and of course I hadn’t counted on a death in the family, which has impacted me far more than I ever could have realized (I guess there’s no way of knowing until you actually experience it). I was thinking last night that now all of my surviving aunts and uncles, with one exception, are all widowed now; and the only one where both are still alive…well one probably won’t last much longer. I guess I am now understanding how my dad felt after his mother, the last in her generation, went; the time will come far sooner than I would like when my generation will be the oldest surviving one in the family. It’s a somber thought, and I guess I should also realize how lucky we are as a family that my generation is still intact.
Today LSU’s women’s basketball team plays Iowa for the national title. I probably won’t watch–I haven’t really enjoyed basketball much since the advent of the three point shot and the shot clock (which should give you an indication of how long ago that was), so it’s unlikely. I have to finish the revision today anyway, and the game is this afternoon, I think. I doubt I’ll be finished with the manuscript by then, either, and that’s the most important thing. Much as I would love to go read a book this morning as I rev up to write and revise, I’m not going to because of the danger of getting deeply involved in reading and I won’t want to put the book down and get back to work. Instead, I am going to finish the dishes and do some filing–gah, my computer files will take weeks to get organized, not to mention how bad I am with the paper files. I’d hoped to take a week off this summer to clean out the storage attic, divest myself of a lot of these paper files, and get rid of a lot more books, while also working to get my electronic storage straightened up. But I am going to probably have to use at least part of that week going to see Dad up north; I’ll just have to be a lot more efficient with my time than I usually am when I take time off, I suppose (good luck with that, right?). But I also plan to start being better about some other things in the meantime. I want to reactivate my gym membership for May, and in the meantime I want to start stretching several times a week as well as using that back-roller thing to loosen the muscles in my back (which are tight and knotted, imagine that). I also am going to have to baby myself when I go back because of this issue with my left arm, which is irritating, although I suppose all of this is part-and-parcel of getting older and the slow, steady slide into the grave.
LSU Gymnastics is also in the regional final tonight, too.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow–before I head to work.
Saturday and all is well within the Lost Apartment. I slept really well last night, and woke up early this morning. I guess I slept in yesterday till eight so today my body was all “what the hell, dude? GET UP”so I did. My coffee is brewing, and I have a lot to do today. I have errands to run later, cleaning to do, and writing to do as well. Paul has his trainer later this morning and will probably go to the gym after; he’s been really good about that since the Festivals are now over. As soon as my toe is fine again, I plan on starting up again. It’s been over a year, and I think I can hang with returning to the gym again, testing out my left biceps, and seeing how long it takes me to get back into the groove. I need to lose some weight–I’ve not weighed in months–but my shorts are getting to the point where they don’t really fit comfortably anymore and same with my jeans; getting back into shape and starting to eat a more healthy diet can’t hurt, either.
I got some good work done on the revision yesterday; my goal is to get it finished this weekend and turned back in so I can get back to work on another revision I have to get done quickly. This one will require a lot more work than the other, so here’s hoping I can get it all done in April. I really do want to get these out of the way so I can go back to the ones I really want to be working on. I went down a Michelangelo wormhole this week, thanks to the stupidity of the David statue controversy, and I really want to write that book at some point–not quite yet, I don’t think; it’s also going to require another trip to Italy. Paul and I are thinking about doing an Amsterdam-Berlin jaunt at some point; I’ve always wanted to see both cities. I’d also like to do Greece and Spain before I die, too; Egypt is probably never going to happen (Mom always wanted to see the pyramids), but that’s also fine. Who knows? I could die in my sleep tonight, too. And of course, I have always wanted to go to France, too. Heavy heaving sigh. Ah, well. As little as I enjoy traveling domestically, not so sure how I will do on another international flight.
We finished watching season three of Outer Banks last night and it was terribly disappointing. I’m not entirely sure what went wrong with this season, but it was nowhere near as fun as the first two. Without giving spoilers, the treasure hunt that has been the basis of the first three seasons ends with the third; with a potential set up for a fourth season that’s a whole new treasure hunt coming at the very end. I’m not sure if the magic will return, but I suspect the writers ran into the problem that so many do; you have to keep going bigger, and eventually it becomes farcical. The writing was particularly bad in this third season; so much that didn’t make sense, and of course they wasted the first half of the season setting up the second half, which then felt incredibly rushed and nonsensical and stupid. It was disappointing, of course–we’d been looking forward to its return, too. Ah, well. Now that A Knock at the Cabin is streaming, we’ll probably just watch movies tonight; The Pale Blue Eye is also something I’d like to watch.
And what a night for LSU yesterday, as the women’s basketball team won to make it to the National Championship game for the first time in school history, where they will be facing Iowa. That game is tomorrow–I also think it’s Iowa’s first time playing for the national title–but I am not sure that I’ll watch. I used to love basketball, but stopped watching when they kept changing the rules to try to make it more exciting. LSU’s Gymnastics team is competing for a shot in the final four in that sport as well; not sure if they’ll make it out of the group of eight, but you never know. GEAUX TIGERS! And the baseball team is kicking ass this year, too. Looks like that athletic director that replaced the idiot one who went along with all the program abuses (I also like to remind people he was the same guy who blew the Duke lacrosse case) knows what he’s doing.
I also want to spend some time with Margot Douaihy’s Scorched Grace this morning (her last name is pronounced like Hawaii–only with a d. Doo-wa-eee), which looks fantastic. I am taking books to the library sale this morning, and want to do some more purging over the weekend, too. I’m starting to feel. like i have my life back again–the gym is the last piece of the puzzle to snap back into place–and I’m kind of enjoying myself again. It’s been quite a ride since Mom’s initial stroke–the grief still sneaks up on me every once in a while–but I also hadn’t realized what a subconscious weight her health had put on my shoulders. I don’t clench up and my stomach doesn’t knot when I get a text message anymore. I guess with all the other weight I was carrying around from other things I didn’t really notice? I think my compartmentalization is probably not as healthy as I would have liked to believe. But you know, you live and you learn. I’m realizing a lot of things now about life (mine in particular) and seeing things I couldn’t see before. I think the past few months, with everything going on with Mom and all the writing I had to do and the readjustments at my day job, was just so much that I just was kind of coasting along, doing what I needed to get by and trying not to get overwhelmed by focusing on one thing at a time. I also think, hard as it was to be a Festival widow this year, that it was probably good for me to have all that time in the evenings to myself. I could have been a lot more productive, but I think that was also part of the grieving process?
I just feel sort of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and have finally woken up.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader; I certainly intend to!
And it’s Friday this morning, in which I get to work at home and do chores around the house when I need to get up and away from my computer. Huzzah! Alas, some of those chores will have to wait, as we had a notice that the city is turning off our water between 10 and 5 today to do some repair work. Great, so laundry and dishes are out until this evening, but that’s okay. I have work to do, and as always, there’s always filing and organizing and the floors. At least I have enough water for my morning coffee, which is tasting really good this morning. I slept in a bit–always a pleasure on Friday mornings–and slept deeply and well. I feel very well rested this morning, which is a good thing. I did soak the dishes in soapy water over night, so all I have to do is rinse everything before putting it in the dishwasher; and I probably don’t even need to do that. I can just empty it and add the new stuff, and then run it once the water is back on. Why couldn’t they have done this yesterday while I was at work? Because that’s just not how Greg’s life works, everyone. Tis a pity, but also tis a fact.
I slept well last night and feel really rested this morning, which is lovely. I am also having to get used to having Paul at home in the evenings; I was a Festival widow this year for far longer than usual and I really didn’t care for it much. I did get some writing done last night before he came home, and we settled in for some more episodes of season 3 of Outer Banks, which kind of lost its way at first but seems to be settling into that cheesy, over-the-top writing that we so loved the first two seasons. I was getting a bit worried–the storyline of John B’s father’s return from the dead isn’t really working for me, plus it was some terrible casting; more on that when I’ve finished watching the season. I also want to watch some of the movies that are available to stream now, especially The Pale Blue Eye, based on Louis Bayard’s wonderful novel, and there’s another, too, that I really want to watch but I can’t think of the name of it now–the great joys of old brain combined with long COVID brain, hurray!
I do have to make groceries at some point this weekend and I also have to get the mail at some point. I do need some French bread because I’d like to make pasta this evening; I also have clean the refrigerator on the weekend chore list, and I also would like to start cleaning out my cabinets; I have a tendency to buy stuff and forget about it–which is annoying–and then it expires and sits in my cabinets for years because I never check or look at those things until, of course, I need it and well, it’s not any good anymore. I really need to reorganize my cabinets, and I’d also like to make at least one box of books to drop off at the library sale tomorrow–I’d also like to wash and clean out the car, which would be really lovely. I also want to start, I don’t know, taking more control and charge of my life than I have been? It’s incredibly easy to feel tired and just collapse into a chair and do nothing, of course, and scroll through videos on Youtube and then binge television shows once Paul is home. But that isn’t getting me anywhere, and really, I’ve also been operating without a to-do list for a couple of weeks now, too; perhaps I should add make a to-do list to the chores list for this weekend? Yes, perhaps I should. I also want to spend some time reading Scorched Grace this weekend; I need to get back into my regular reading schedule else I will never finish all these books I want to read–and I’ve limited myself to how many books I can buy until I make some progress in getting rid of some of these books I have on hand that I’ve not read yet, and that means actually reading them. And I have so many great books on hand to read, too; and there are more coming out all the time. This year will see new books by Laura Lippman, Megan Abbott, S. A. Cosby, Lisa Unger (so behind on Lisa Unger it’s not even funny), and so many others whose work I both admire and appreciate and respect. So I clearly need to get back to reading. Perhaps today I can find some time this evening, around writing and chores and making dinner and so forth? Stranger things have, in fact, happened before and will probably happen again at some point.
And of course, my major project for the summer is cleaning out the storage attic, which will wind up being an enormous pain in the ass–which is why I’ve not started it yet–as well as cleaning off the tops of the cabinets in the kitchen, which has kind of turned into a catch-all storage place, too–seriously, I have papers and books packed into boxes every-fucking-where in this apartment–and one of the things I really would like to do this year is somehow get my hoarding and apartment back into some kind of control and in some kind of livable order. I only have two definite author trips left this year–Malice Domestic at the end of April and Bouchercon at the end of August–and I’ll also have to do some family visiting this year as well–Mom’s death means I need to check in with Dad a lot more often than I ever have before–but hopefully my vacation time will start accruing and building back up over the course of the year.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.
Thursday morning and all is well in the Lost Apartment…at least so far.
It was cold here yesterday; not that bad, really, but after the humidity and the over-eighty degree temperatures we’ve had over the weekend, the sudden twenty or so degree drop was a shock to the system, let me tell you. I was cold all day at the office (it’s always freezing at the office, no matter what) and so had to wear a hat most of the day. One of the drawbacks to being hair-free on my scalp is you feel the cold a lot more on your head. But it more than makes up for that in cost savings in hair products and haircuts, as well as the time saved not needing to wash and dry it.
And that’s my TED talk on why bald is best.
It’s cold again this morning, but the high for the day is 78, so I am assuming this cold spell is ending.
I did manage to get some work done on the book yesterday, but I also spent a lot of the day remembering and still processing this week’s episode of Ted Lasso. It really is such a phenomenally well-written show, and I went down all kinds of Internet fan wormholes–the fans are quite devoted–about theories and predictions and so forth for the rest of the season. In fact, after I finishing writing yesterday I rewatched it; that’s how much I enjoyed it, and I wanted to catch things I may not have during the first viewing (I used to watch each episode of Schitt’s Creek twice as well; what can I say, I am obsessive), which I did. And it’s weird, even when you know what happens, you enjoy just as much, if not more, than you did the first time. It really is a remarkably well done show, on every level; but the cast is absolutely perfect. We also caught up on The Mandalorian and started the new season of Yellowjackets before diving into the new season of Outer Banks, which isn’t…grabbing me the way it used to? We’ll keep watching, but we aren’t as addicted as we used to be; I’m not sure why that is. But the show is starting to pick up some; the first few episodes weren’t as gripping or entertaining as the previous seasons. I will report back, as I imagine we’ll probably finish it off this weekend sometime.
We’ve not been super busy this week at work, which has been enormously helpful with my reentry into reality. I am all caught up on my day job duties, which is a lovely thing. I am getting back to work on the book after the interruption of the weekend, and while it hasn’t been as smooth a reentry as returning to the office was, it’s getting there. A strong push tonight and over the weekend and I can get this all turned in, if I’m lucky, no later than Monday; but it might take a bit longer. I need to get this one finished so I can turn around and get the Scotty done, and I also have another manuscript to edit. I want to start reading some more, as well. If all goes well, by the time I am home from Malice I should be all freed up to get back to work on some other things, and I am really looking forward to that. Part of my writing impatience during the process of revising drafts is because I want to get back to work on the next thing, and I also think my familiarity with my own work is part of the reason I am so critical of it, if that makes sense? I had that insight yesterday; of course by the time the book comes out I am so heartily sick of it and familiar with it that it seems trite and bad; I’ve been through it so many times I’ve lost the ability to be able to judge it fairly and impartially. Familiarity does breed contempt, whoever said that was absolutely one thousand percent correct. The trick is fooling your brain into forgetting that familiarity, and I have yet to succeed in that effort.
It’s also kind of nice not having to spend so much of my time dealing with emails, frankly.
And of course, there’s always the disaster area that is the house. It’s been nice having Paul home this week–I am going to have to get used to having him home in the evenings, and it’s also going to take me a while to get used to potentially making dinner at night again; it’s literally been months since I’ve had to make dinner regularly. I still need to figure out what I need to get at the grocery store, and we need to start eating healthier for both of our sakes. I have also last track of the month; I was actually thinking this morning that there was still another week to get through before April rolls around but April is actually this weekend, isn’t it? Heavy sigh. I mean, the first quarter of the year has already passed–but then again, New Year’s feels like it was about a thousand years ago. It’s been quite a 2023 for me thus far, but hey–I’m still here. The jury’s still out on whether or not that is a good thing…
But it’s been a decent week thus far, if a bit off–as weeks after events inevitably are, but I didn’t seem to resent giving up the authorly life for reality quite as much this time as I usually do, and I do think that’s a good thing. Maybe I am finally starting to meld the different compartments of my life into one rather than continuing to keep them segregated from each other and never the twain shall meet. Is it better to have all aspects of my life integrated into one? It’s so weird, because I started living different lives so very young in my life that it’s really all I know, and having such a clear demarcation line before between the “who I really am” life and “who I have to pretend to be to live in the world” life kind of carried over and spilled over into the rest of my life after I came out and tried to make my personal life all one world…but I somehow kept having different worlds. Day job versus writing; New Orleans non-writing friends versus writing friends; friends in New Orleans versus friends outside of New Orleans, and so on and so on and so on, that it’s kind of become my way of navigating my overall life, and I am not entirely sure now–at sixty-one going on sixty-two–how unhealthy that actually might be. It’s always worked for me, but just because something works doesn’t make it healthy, you know?
Tomorrow I get to sleep late and work at home, which is always a lovely and quite marvelous thing. I am really going to miss my work-at-home Fridays, when they are eventually and gradually eliminated (as we know they inevitably must be). I slept well again last night and yet again didn’t really want to get up this morning, but I don’t necessarily feel tired or even physically asleep (which isn’t a pleasant feeling, frankly) which I am taking as a win. I have been released from Twitter jail, but the whole experience didn’t exactly leave me with a desire to return there, to be honest. It really is a cesspool, and I am much quicker to anger–the subconscious grief–than I usually am (and I’ve always had a low boiling point to begin with), so avoiding that hellscape is probably also more healthy for me mentally.I really need to figure out how to curate it better so I don’t find myself getting angry (it isn’t irrational) at the monsters and trolls who love to hang out there and be the assholes they don’t have the courage to be in person. Even though I could do nothing but doomscroll yesterday. I did check out some trending hashtags about Ted Lasso, and I am very pleased to see that the Collin Hughes is closeted story-line enraged the homophobes, who are now accusing it of being “woke” and aren’t going to watch anymore. Rather than enraging me with the why can’t they ever just keep their mouths fucking shut and let us enjoy something instead I got smug and happy becausehomophobes shouldn’t be able to watch and love the joy that is Ted Lasso. You don’t get to be an asshole and find joy in the magic of this show, and if it’s taken you three seasons to figure out the show is “woke” (however the hell the rage-monsters define that now), you’re kind of stupid. The message of the show is kindness and helping others to be their best selves, really, and those connections are the most important. Where precisely does bigotry and hatred fit into that message, precisely? So, stop watching. It’ll still air and will always be available to stream, and oh, one last thing: The CEO of Apple is a gay man. Ted Lasso is an Apple TV show. Did you really think Apple would air a homophobic show? You really are too fucking stupid to live…and you shouldn’t be allowed to breed.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a happy March 30th, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.
Wednesday and Pay the Bills Day again. Huzzah? Huzzah, I suppose. Dark is pushing against my windows again this morning, and yet again I didn’t want to leave my bed this morning. I’m not sure what that’s about, probably lingering tiredness from the weekend, most likely. But I had a good day yesterday. I got some work on the book done and it wasn’t like pulling teeth in the least, which is always a good sign, and I think the book is taking shape rather well. Huzzah!
Paul was home last night, which was wonderful and something I’ve missed, frankly. He even went to the gym for the first time in months! I’d forgotten how nice it was to have Paul and Scooter lying on the couch cuddling while we watched television (Scooter always sleeps in my lap for a little bit so I don’t feel neglected before moving to the couch; he even gives me a guilty look, like he’s saying “sorry but Daddy is more comfy” before he decamps)–and we watched Ted Lasso. I really love this show so much! It’s amazing how it’s funny and charming at the same time; and how much I’ve genuinely come to care for the characters; it’s end is going to be as heartbreaking as when Schitt’s Creek ended. If someone would have told me that one of my favorite characters in Season 3 would be Jamie “did you just call me pre-Madonna?” Tartt, I would have laughed my ass off. Like Schitt’s Creek, I think the reason this show resonates so deeply with its fanbase is because of the character growth, and no one (except Rupert) is an actual asshole. And (spoiler!) yes, I did think Colin might be gay before we actually found out for sure last night, and what an excellent episode it was–handling beautifully the issue of what it’s like to be gay and on a professional sports team in a mostly homophobic world. Anyone who’s ever played a sport and was closeted can absolutely relate to the moment when Isaac said something homophobic in the locker room and despite yourself, you involuntarily flinch slightly, shrivel a little bit, and then just take a deep breath and shake it off. It also made me even more excited to see the rest of the season and what they have in store for us.
Needless to say, I love this show and while I definitely hate the thought of it ending, I also want to see how it ends and watch it all again. (I may have to watch last night’s again, in case I missed things. I actually do generally watch every episode twice, so I can catch the things I overlooked while laughing or didn’t pay as much attention to the first time around. Obsessive? Just a bit. Some things never change, you know?)
Hilariously, I am now banned from posting on Twitter for up to a week for calling out a phony right-winger because I committed “hateful conduct” while J. K. Rowling is out there happily and gleefully being a homophobic TERF piece of shit multiple times a day. But at the same time, I’m kind of glad; Twitter is a cesspool and of course, since the needle-dicked South African racist homophobe emerald mine heir who thinks he’s a business genius took over. I need to figure out how to keep Twitter a space that makes me happy; I have a lot of friends who are on Twitter that I enjoy interacting with there, and ironically, the reason I even responded to the snowflake on the Wisconsin Supreme Court in the first place is because her un-American tweets somehow showed up on the hashtag thread for Ted Lasso I was reading this morning. But the fact that a Supreme Court justice at the state level’s intern went crying to Twitter about my replies about her lack of understanding of how the Constitution and the government work says everything I need to know about their hypocrisy and lies as well as exposing how much worse Twitter is now; people I’ve reported for straight up homophobia and transphobia do not “violate” their rules. They also put an adult content warning on my blog yesterday because it had a picture of the statue of David in it. Yes, Twitter agrees with Florida that Michelangelo’s David is pornographic; and that’s really all we need to know about Twitter, isn’t it?
I also don’t like that being there makes me angry. If I had a dollar for every response I started writing only to delete…yeah, Twitter is very unpleasant. A dark place that speaks to the darker impulses that lurk within all of us.
Today feels colder than it’s been in a while; probably because it rained yesterday. Yup, it’s only 58 degrees today, which is why it was so cold in the apartment (the air was on yesterday rather than the heat) this morning and why I really didn’t want to get out of bed, either. I am going to head straight home from work today, too; no errands that need to be run but certainly there are any number of chores that need doing. I just wish Scooter wouldn’t demand my lap the entire time I am writing so when I am finished and acquiesce, him purring and sleeping on me always puts me into a relaxed don’t want to get up and do anything mood, which is why the Lost Apartment continues to be a disgusting mess all day every day, which is seriously aggravating.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day. Constant Reader!
About nine years ago or so (Lord, has it really been that long?) Paul and I got an opportunity to go visit Italy. It remains, to this day, the best trip of my life and one of the high points. We visited Pisa, Tuscany, Venice and Florence. I fell in love with Italy and once there, understood why the Renaissance happened there–the colors, the light, the beauty, everywhere you looked; I’ve never been anywhere so gorgeous and scenic in my life (and yes, I do include Hawaii in that; Hawaii was also gorgeous and scenic but in an entirely different way). And of course, we went to the Accademia della Galleria in Florence so we could view Michelangelo’s crowning achievement, the magnificent David.
To say that I was awestruck is a vast understatement.
I was also not prepared for its sheer size. Having only seen photographs before, I’d assumed it was larger than life but not that much larger (I am still surprised by how small the Hope Diamond was; sure, it’s enormous for a diamond, but I had always thought it was fist-sized, at least. It’s not. I’ve also hear the Mona Lisa isn’t very big–someday when I get to the Louvre I’ll find out), but it is fricking huge.
I’ll never forget that moment when we walked around the corner–having already examined some lovely art–and there he was.
I audibly gasped. (The unfinished sculptures along this hallway were all by Michelangelo; there were stunning because you could see how they were taking shape and how he worked, five hundred years later.)
We were also incredibly lucky because the Accademia della Galleria wasn’t very crowded, either. And because it wasn’t very crowded, we got to spend a lot of time staring and admiring him. I also, as is my wont, started wondering if the statue had come from Michelangelo’s imagination, or if he had used a model; and how amazing would it be to have been the model?
See how few people there were? I could walk all around and take his picture.
Anyway, as I was saying, I started thinking about the model. Who was he? Apparently in the 1980’s, a small sculpture was found that historians think might have been what Michelangelo have used when making the larger scale work. But we still don’t know who the model might have been. So, as I walked around, staring in sheer wonder at what human beings are capable of creating, awestruck, I kept thinking about the model.
And then I had this image of a young man, in fifteenth century attire–you know, tights and so forth–walking through the Piazza della Signoria–with all kinds of other things going on; and Michelangelo, stopping on his way to his work studio to buy bread and cheese, seeing this incredibly beautiful young man and being as awestruck as we are when we see the sculpture. I didn’t know about the smaller sculpture that people now think was the model, so I thought wouldn’t it be cool if Michelangelo had the beautiful young man pose for him for his sketchbook? And maybe he fell in love with the boy who didn’t love him back, and he painted him from one of the sketches as David and gifted it to him, and it became a legendary lost masterpiece?
And how much would that painting be worth today?
I really liked the idea.
There is, however, no question that the statue is magnificent, an incredible achievement and probably one of the greatest sculptures of all time. I mean, look at the detail on the hand, on the arms, and those veins! This was carved from marble.
It just blows me away.
And he looks different from every angle; his facial expression and pose seem to signal something different depending on where you are looking at him from.
Incredible.
The idea that a work of art as timeless and stunning and precious as Michelangelo’s David is too much for children is vile, disgusting, and indicative of the filthy minds of those who think nudity equals sin. The fact that they also use religion as an excuse to censor great art is equally disgusting; our bodies–no matter how they are shaped, how they are formed, what size and color and so forth–are, per their religion, creations of God and therefore perfect as they are. Denying that means denying God, and that seems like a very egregious sin to me; at least from what I remember of the Bible and Sunday school (all of which is etched into my brain with acid) those who denied God and His marvels didn’t do well.
It is the arts that are the foundation of civilization; it is the arts that show what wonders humanity is capable of creating, and think how dark and barren the world would be without the arts. Denying children exposure to great art is a greater abuse than anything that could ever happen at the hands of a drag queen during Story Hour.
Don’t I wish? Paul and I periodically talk about taking an actual vacation that is a vacation for both of us (he sometimes comes to crime conferences with me as a vacation for him), but the problem is always time. I have to use my vacation time from work to go to these conferences, not to mention visit my family since they live over seven hundred miles away, which makes saving some time for an actual, I don’t know, vacation at a beach resort or something hard for me to do. I think the last actual vacation-for-both-of-us that we took was Italy all those years ago. And after this weekend I am thinking that in the future I am going to have to take time off from work for Saints & Sinners the way I used to, so that I can enjoy it a lot more, the way I used to be able to do. We must have had someone feed Skittle for us back in the day? And Scooter? Or did we board them? I honestly don’t remember. Boarding Scooter would probably be the easiest because then I wouldn’t have to commute at all; the easiest of course would be to park the car at the hotel but I am NOT paying for Hotel Monteleone parking, which is INSANELY expensive. It would cost over a hundred dollars to park at the hotel, at least.
And yeah, I don’t want to pay that when I’d only use the car sporadically anyway.
Sigh. The trials and tribulations of living in New Orleans when there’s a literary event going on in the city.
I was very tired and dragging yesterday; I was definitely operating on Accessory and not recharging. I somehow made it through my work day (I was amazed, what can I say?) and got my work done, cleaned out my email inbox, etc. etc. etc. It’s always so humdrum and sad when you go back to your regular life after getting to be an AUTHOR for the entire weekend, you know? Paul was home, so we actually got to spend the evening together for the first time in I don’t know how long; we watched Ted Lasso and The Mandalorian, which was nice. I just love Ted Lasso, and who would have thought way back in season one that Jamie Tartt would become one of the more likable characters on the show? I hate that it’s the last season, but at the same time I love that they aren’t deviating from the original plan for the show’s story arc despite it’s success, and sometimes it’s best to walk away when you’re on top. There was a wonderful scene for Brett Goldstein in episode 2 that also kind of reflected that mentality; where he ponders whether his decision, when he realized that he was getting older and starting to slow down, to leave Chelsea before he just became an old geezer and was dropped; leaving on his own terms rather than being asked–which is kind of what Ted Lasso as a show is doing.
As I was so tired and dragging when I got home last night, I didn’t get any work on the book done. I intend to make up for that tonight. I slept great last night–I feel rested which is lovely–and feel like I can get back on track today after yesterday’s transitional day. There’s always a bit of decompression after a weekend of being an author, and this year was a bit interesting. I’ve become a bit more reflective, and since turning sixty, as you well know, I’ve started looking back over my life. Paul said last night that since it was the twentieth Saints and Sinners, he’d been doing it for a third of his life–which made me realize I’ve been an author for a third of mine. When you look at it in those kinds of terms its a bit more staggering, isn’t it? My first book came out twenty-one years ago; my first published fiction came out twenty-three years ago. I’ve been doing this for a very long time, haven’t I? I guess it’s about time that I stopped being self-deprecating and started appreciating what I’ve accomplished? (Author friends have been trying to get me to change that about myself for years now; it’s still very hard for me to do what I consider ‘bragging’, because as a child it was hammered into my head that you only praised other people and it was up to other people to praise you; but I am also beginning to realize that isn’t very emotionally healthy, and it’s incredibly self-defeating, which is the last thing I need more of in my life.)
It’s also raining again this morning; while it would have been a pain in the ass for it to have rained over the weekend I kind of wish it had–that would have taken care of the humidity, so I wouldn’t have been a disgusting sweat rag most of the time. The rain of course makes me want to curl back up under a blanket with a book and let Scooter sleep in my lap, but alas, I must go into the office and do my job so I can get paid so I can continue to be a functioning member of American society. Tonight on the way home from work I have to swing uptown to get the mail and make groceries–I didn’t get around the refrigerator last night, so I’ll have to do that tonight–and then I want to work on my book for a while and then do some more catch-up cleaning. I need to make a new to-do list, and I also need to work on the living room, which has been out of control for quite some time now, and the books are a complete and utter disaster. I also want to get started reading Scorched Grace tonight, too. I also have to sort of get used to the idea of having Paul home in the evenings again–it’s not like he won’t be upstairs working on his computer, but it’ll be nice having him around and maybe Scooter will stop feeling so forlorn and abandoned. (The amount of guilt a cat can make you feel is really amazing.)
And on that note, I am going to grab my umbrella and head out into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.
I am tired this morning and really wishing I had taken the day off so I can sleep in and get my act together today; the apartment is a mess and there are errands that I should run not to mention chores that built up while I was Festing this weekend. I am also a bit drained, like my batteries need recharging. I slept decently last night (Scooter kept waking me up throughout the night) but I easily felt like I could sleep more. Ah, well, no choice but to buckle up and dive headfirst into the week and just go to bed early every night so I can get somewhat recharged. I think the weekend went very well; I just wish I could divide myself up (or have clones) so I can see and hang out with everyone I want to; the problem is there is so little time to see and do everything and it kind of slips through my fingers. I also should have taken more time off from work–today, for example–to make it easier on me both physically and intellectually, so that I can commute from home to take care of Scooter while still seeing people and getting to do a lot more. I had to leave last night after dinner and walked home (it was rather hot and humid all weekend, which is unusual for March so I was sweating a lot, which is also unpleasant because even after it dries you feel sticky still), and of course was soaked and tired when I got home. (I walked home twice from the Quarter this weekend, which is more walking than I’ve done since probably Carnival, 2018.) Probably not the best thing to do, but no streetcar ever passed me on the walk home either night, but once I started walking I just kept walking and after I walk past Poydras I’m like kind of dumb to catch a cab or call a Lyft now so wind up walking on. It’s usually once I’ve walked under the highway that I think yeah walking wasn’t the best decision here.
The panel I moderated went well, I thought; my panelists (Marco Carocari, John Copenhaver, Kelly J. Ford) were spectacular, witty, smart and presented themselves extremely well and made me look intelligent and like a good moderator, so thanks, y’all. We had a nice turnout and some good questions from the audience. My reading went well on Saturday (I was also glad to get a chance to read “This Town”, which I’ve not had a chance to do before), and of course, I had some lovely meals with friends during the course of the weekend. Everyone seemed to be having a good time over the course of the weekend (one of the best things, for me, about Saints and Sinners is how it’s so incredibly upbeat; everyone is in a collegial mood, if not a good one. I generally come away from S&S inspired and ready to get back to the keyboard–and I do feel that way this morning, or would if I didn’t feel so tired. (I really should have taken a Lyft home last night; it was a bad decision to walk…but the exercise was something I needed and I need to do more of, and just because I’m out of shape and not used to walking distances anymore should serve as a wake-up call to start getting back in shape.) But my coffee is doing the trick this morning, and I am waking up mentally. Physically everything is tired–my toe is sore, another reason I shouldn’t have walked home twice–but mentally I’m okay, and I bet my shower will wake me up this morning. I probably should have taken one before I went to bed.
And now it’s reality time again, and back to the ritual of sleep, work, write, cuddle with the cat while watching television. The apartment somehow is a mess–I don’t know how that happened when neither one of us was home for most of the weekend, but it’s the case. I have laundry to do and dishes to put away and I need to go through the refrigerator and clean out stuff that spoiled over the weekend (always a joy!) and rearrange the rugs and the floors need cleaning and…sigh. It really never ends, does it? And I need to get back to work on the book. I was going to bring it with me to the Monteleone so I could work on it over the weekend, but as I was packing I said to myself you always do this and then you never even THINK about it and my interior voice was 100% correct. I am going to probably take the first half of the revision to my easy chair tonight at some point and start doing a line edit on it. I don’t think my brain is functioning well enough today for me to be able to work on revising tonight, but a line edit to check for sentence structure and rhythm and overuse of the same words? That I can do with a purring kitty asleep in my life…and I may just go to bed early, too.
Gosh, so many options! But I definitely need to get gas soon. I’d forgotten that I didn’t get gas Friday morning, which was on my errands-list before heading to the Quarter. But what a lovely weekend it was, from beginning to end. I had drinks with friends–lots and lots of drinks–and some lovely meals (Palace Cafe, Mr. B’s Bistro–one can never go wrong with a Brennan restaurant), and lots of laughter and hilarity and good times. I love being around writers.
And now I can look ahead to my trip to Bethesda for Malice Domestic, which will be the next time I will be around writers for an entire weekend, which is marvelous. (After that, it won’t be until Bouchercon in San Diego, which is far too long.)
And I think I am definitely reading Scorched Grace next. I heard Margot Douaihy read from it this weekend, and after listening to her on panels… yeah, I need to read about the lesbian amateur private eye nun with a gold tooth sooner rather than later.
And on that note, I am going to drag my butt to the office and get this week going. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader.
Queer and Loathing in America 