Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Easter, which really should be the highest holy day of Christianity–but it’s not. That would be Christmas, which again–really doesn’t make sense. But at least the date of Jesus’ birth is fixed–as opposed to how the day of his death floats.

I overslept again this morning and I suspect my exhaustion–which carried me through yesterday as well–has everything to do with the situation on Friday. Yes, I know I am being vague, but I also never am sure about crossing a privacy line for someone else. Essentially, I lost the entire day, and let’s just say that I am glad I am on anxiety medication because my mind would have exploded this past week, probably. But it was exhausting and draining, both emotionally and physically, and that all kind of caught up with me yesterday. I did get some things done–laundry and I did run an errand–but was completely worn out yesterday and had excessive fatigue. I feel better this morning than I did yesterday, but I also have a lot to do today and hope that I can manage somehow. I feel motivated today, which I didn’t have the energy for yesterday, and as soon as I finish this I am going to get cleaned up and finish cleaning the kitchen and dive into my day.

Sounds good, anyway.

It’s also a very bright and cheery day out there–it’s been cold since around the festivals–and I am hoping to cook out today, too. We spent most of the day relaxing with the television on. I did read some of Last Summer, too, which I am really getting into, and I think my next read will be an old Michael Koryta, The Cypress House. He really is one of my favorite writers, and I need to read more of his backlist as well as get caught up on recent releases. I pruned the books a very little yesterday, and we did watch some great stuff yesterday. We watched Quiet on Set Friday night, which was grim and creepy and horrifying, and then yesterday we watched Thanksgiving and moved onto Will Trent, which we’d been meaning to get around to but kept forgetting–it’s quite good. Thanksgiving was another holiday slasher movie, kind of clever and didn’t take itself too seriously (always a plus in a slasher movie) and I enjoyed–but it didn’t say anything new or do anything wildly clever or original. Quiet on Set, on the other hand, was deeply disturbing–which brings me to another point about the falsity of the right and it’s anti-queer lies about grooming and pedophilia. Every day I see pieces posted on social media about another male (sometimes with a female accomplice) convicted of raping and/or sexually abusing children…and getting off with thirty days in prison, or three months, or suspended sentences.

Where is all the outrage about THAT? Judges and juries giving light sentences for raping children? That’s how I know the right is all smoke and mirrors when it comes to these issues. They chose to attack a small minority and accuse them of not being safe around children, but where is there concern about all these religious figures, church leaders, your counselors, and COPS who are getting away with destroying children? Watching Quiet on Set made me aware just how hypocritical they are. If they really cared about children and keeping them safe, they’d go after actual people who, you know, commit the crimes and the disgusting sentences they get for said crimes. It’s hard to take any country seriously who doesn’t punish actual perpetrators of crimes against children, but instead accuses innocent parties while looking the other way when the criminals don’t fit their narrative.

I’m tired of liars using children as a bait-and-switch to come for queer people.

Sigh. It’s easy to get frustrated and fearful these days with the world in the state it is currently in; I take no pleasure in seeing my predictions about the rise of modern American fascism, made in the early 1990s, coming true in my twilight years. You see, I recognized the rhetoric of the right, and how they were using queer people as scapegoats for everything, in the decade as the same language and dialogues that Germans used on Jews and queers in the 1930’s, and I also saw, with the rise of Fox News, the further decline of the American system and way of life. We’ve never really achieved, as a country, the democratic utopia the founders strove for–but it seems like a significant portion of the country no longer sees patriotism as country over party anymore. The Divine Right of Republicans to run the country was part of the unholy marriage of conservatives and evangelicals that Reagan fostered as a Machiavellian scheme to retain power. The right has been smearing the left as communists since the fall of the Tsar in 1917–it’s still a slur they sneer today (communist, commies, socialists) while painting themselves, quite offensively, as the real patriotic Americans.

Sometimes I think I am thinking overly optimistic and that more and more Americans are beginning to see the tin god as precisely that; a golden calf they worship despite their Holy Book’s continued warnings about false gods, false witness, and liars.

And for the record, I have always believed that faith in religion should be shown by works, not words. Anyone can say they are a Christian and they love Jesus–it’s their behavior and what they do that truly matters.

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

Kookie Kookie (Lend Me Your Comb)

Saturday morning, and I slept late. Yesterday was–well, I shouldn’t say wasted, but I spent most of the day dealing with the crisis that arose over the week and was thus unable to work at home, write, clean, or do much of anything. I started the laundry yesterday morning and wasn’t able to get back to it until we got home, and by then it was almost eight, so I was up until eleven finishing the bedding. I also managed to do some picking up around here in the morning before leaving the house, but there’s a lot still to be done. I have to empty the dishwasher and refill it to do another load and empty the sinks. The recycling needs to go out, and I still need to finish unpacking Paul from last weekend, and get that stuff out of the living room so I can get back to work on the floors. I need to write a lot this weekend; I need to edit and revise a short story for a deadline tomorrow. The house is a disaster area and that needs to be rectified today if it kills me (it won’t).

I did have the time to read some more of Evan Hunter’s Last Summer, and I am slowly being sucked into the story, and there’s this dark sense of foreboding which is absolutely marvelous, stylistically. I am looking forward to finishing reading it today between chores and writing and things, and then I am going to read something a little heavier, I think. I really need to get back on the reading horse. I am going to clear out some books for the library sale today too, I think; I am feeling like I want my life to be more uncluttered, and I know I am. never going to read all these books I have on hand. I feel like the disappearance of my anxiety thanks to medications (it’s not completely gone, it will never be completely gone, but it doesn’t control me anymore) has also freed me from the need to be surrounded at home by piles and stacks of books that have overflowed out of the bookcases, which are also stuffed to capacity.

Sparky also wreaked havoc on the kitchen while we were gone yesterday, so I have to kind of put my workspace and the kitchen back together this morning, too. Heavy heaving sigh. I was exhausted when I got home last night, though–to give myself a little credit and not be so hard on myself. I’ve also not eaten a whole lot over the last couple of days, which is not a good thing physically even if it means I dropped a couple of pounds or so. I need to get back to the gym to do my exercises to keep strengthening my arm and shoulder, and gradually return to a normal workout for me. I definitely need to redo my to-do list for the week, and I also need to focus today. It would be ridiculously easy to just blow off the entire day today, but that isn’t in the cards–I can’t start my work week Monday this far behind on everything, as tempting as it is to just sit in my chair with my coffee and Last Summer this morning. For one thing, I slept late so got a late start on the day–and now my sleep schedule has been disrupted by going to bed so late last night and getting up late this morning.

Okay, this mess isn’t going to clean itself up anytime soon, so I am going to make this brief and head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will most likely be back later.

Lavender Blue

Friday morning and I’ve taken the day off. Yes, it was going to be a work-at-home Friday, but a personal crisis has interfered with my daily routine and I ended up having to take the day off. (I also had to leave work early yesterday, but I will save the tale of the personal crisis until it has passed, thank you for your understanding during this trying time; which of course leaves me in a quandary about what to write about this morning–so please bear with me.)

I did read some more of Evan Hunter’s Last Summer, and I am not sure what to make of it thus far. I think I read this book when I was a kid, but I’m not remembering it, and it’s similarities to Summer of ’42 (which would now be banned as a grooming novel/movie) may have confused me into thinking I’d read both. I don’t know that I’m enjoying it as much as I am supposed to as the reader; I do like the sparing style Hunter used to write the book, which reminds me of James M. Cain. I’ve also not read any of his Ed McBain novels, but those are considered classics in the subgenre of police procedurals; one of those holes in my education as a crime writer that I always deplore (the list is appallingly long and would contains authors that would both shock and scandalize you). I’ll keep reading the book, but it’s taking me longer than it should because I can only take bits of it to absorb at a time; there’s this marvelous sense of foreboding in the narrative voice that I am loving, and I am also trying to figure out how he manages to do that. (Every novel I read is an education of some sort, whether I’m enjoying or not. I no longer finish books I’m not enjoying–before I would do it as a puzzle for me–how would I write this better? That may seem arrogant, but it’s not. Just because I don’t enjoy a book doesn’t make it a bad book, it’s always a matter of personal taste.)

I also slept late this morning. I was exhausted when I tumbled into bed last night, and Sparky even slept with me in the bed, which he has started doing more often lately. I do like that; there’s something about a purring cat sleeping pressed up against you. I also woke up this morning to some rather lengthy bloody scratches on my hand. I went to bed just before ten thirty last night and woke up at nine, grateful I didn’t miss PT (which ended last Friday) or got a late start to my work-at-home day. I’ve got a very messy apartment to work on, and hopefully the crisis will pass today and things will return to some semblance of normal around here. I also need to get back on my writing horse, answer a shit ton of emails, and pick up the reins of my life again. I was sort of letting things slide this week while I was writing so much and so well, and now those chickens have come home to roost. Laundry to do and put away, dishes to put away, filing to do and floors to clean; it never ends for one Gregalicious. I was also kind of running on a low internal battery charge all week, which meant tiring early and being exhausted by the time I went to bed. (I always realize these things after the fact, but at least no longer berate myself for not being more productive.)

I’m going to sit here and finish this while enjoying my morning coffee. The coffee tastes really good this morning and I am going to need to eat something; I was so caught up yesterday in the crisis that I never did eat anything after breakfast, which isn’t good for me or anyone, really.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never can be sure about these things.

Waterloo

Thursday and Work-at-Home Day Eve.

I did have a pretty good day yesterday; although I did start flagging a bit in the afternoon. I paid the bills, always depressing, and then stopped on the way home to make groceries and cleaned things up a bit around the apartment. I wrote last night and made some progress on the book–not enough, but it’s never enough–and also started working on another short story for a submissions call that I think’s deadline is next month sometime? It may even be later, one truly never knows unless one checks–and I really need to be better about putting deadlines for submission calls on my calendar. But that would make sense and be efficient!

You see where this is going, don’t you? Yes, I am starting to come out from under a bit, and yes, I am pretty pleased about it. My email inbox is down to almost nothing, and I’m starting to feel like my old self again–creative, with my mind zapping around in a million directions at all times, but now again able to zone in with extreme focus again when I need to. Whew. That’s quite a relief. I wasn’t terribly stressed; I just figured I’d have to figure out another way to push myself back into the writing somehow. I do wonder sometimes if not having stress and anxiety would become a problem for me in and of itself–but that is a vestige of the stress and anxiety, isn’t it? I’m so unused to this! I feel like I have so much more time than I did before, if that makes sense? My life has pared down in many ways, on every level, and I kind of like it like this. I like not getting worn out by the emotional rollercoaster of anxiety and all of its horrific side effects. I like being relaxed instead of tightly spooled. I like sleeping at night, and not being tired in the morning. I hated that feeling of drowning, not being able to keep up, and always falling further and further behind on everything.

I slept well again last night, which was great. I feel rested today, which is great, and my brain is actually functioning this morning. Let’s hope this is a good omen for the weekend, shall we? After I wrote last night, I did some cleaning around here and watched news clips on Youtube to catch up on what’s going on around the world. The Key Bridge collapse yesterday was a horrible event, and of course the right decided that it was somehow Pete Buttigieg’s fault that a container ship lost power and hit the bridge? Honestly, they are such garbage, and we’re lucky as a nation that we have someone compassionate, driven, and smart as Secretary of Transportation. After all, Maryland is a pretty consistent blue state, so why would they deserve any help from the White House had the coup attempt succeeded? We’d be living in a different country, for one thing, and we need to be sure that different country never happens. I think Dobbs and the Alabama Supreme Court decision on IVF were bridges too far for most Americans, as the special election in Alabama showed us this week. Women and men are PISSED OFF, and just because the media wants to keep shoving the right down our throats while undermining the left doesn’t mean a fucking thing. All the polling in Alabama was distinctly off, and it was a 35 point swing from the 2022 election. The Democrats need to keep hammering them on their discrimination and their contempt for women as anything other than brood mares; incubators for their children.

And how lovely would it be if a blue Congress codified the right to choose, the freedom to marry? The best fuck you ever to Alito and Thomas, the worst and most corrupt justices since Roger P. Taney. Congressional Republicans also exposed themselves by voting down IVF protections. And my guess is there will be another insurrection when Don Poorleone loses in November, count on it. The difference this time will be that the National Guard will be there in no-time, and if they kill more traitors like Ashli Babbitt, so be it.

And for the record, everyone involved in January 6th? We sent the Rosenbergs to the chair. Stop whining and do your time. You’re not patriots, you’re traitors. And for the record, conservatives in 1775 were Tories, i.e. were on the side of the British. Sorry you can’t read and aren’t capable of coherent, logical thought, but if you don’t know any history it’s probably best if you don’t bring it up. That’s why the Tea Party particularly infuriated me; they adopted an “iconic” Revolutionary War event, dressed themselves up that way, and called themselves “patriots”–for opposing the Affordable Care Act. In other words, they were calling themselves the modern-day equivalents of people protesting a massive corporate tax cut. What? That’s right, the tea tax was also a tax break for the East India Company, so they could sell tea in the American colonies more cheaply than American vendors, which also raised the question (again) of “taxation without representation.” The Affordable Care Act was definitely not taxation without representation–and the Tea Party was the root source of the MAGAts, and Sarah Palin was once its queen and shining star. Remember when we thought she was the worst the Republicans could inflict on the country? Ah, for the innocence of 2008 again; when grifting became a major player in American politics.

Heavy heaving sigh.

I have long been tired of the idea that the only real Americans live in the country and small towns, are Christians, and thus are the real patriots. Cities are the economic engines that drive the country, for the record. The point of our system is that we all cooperate together; the entire point of the government is compromise; not demand things all be your way and if you don’t get your way, you throw a tantrum and bring everything crashing down. There’s also no one way to be an American, either. The hijacking of patriotism by the right–by people who don’t understand their country or its government–is something I’ve long deplored. The goal was never perfection–the founders were very aware of human frailties and weaknesses–but to always strive to be better. And are red states better places to live than blue ones? Our new governor here in Louisiana seems determined to out-Desantis Desantis; who knows how much worse things are going to be here once he is finished doing the job of utter destruction of Louisiana that Bobby Jindal started?

I wish I had more time to devote to studying our politics here in Louisiana so I could write about it more.

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.



(Now and Then There’s) A Fool Such As I

Wednesday and Pay the Bills Day has rolled around yet again, which is fine. I was tired when I got home from work (I also picked up the mail), so just was kind of blah. I got about 1800 words done yesterday, which was good. They were not good words, but they were words, and I am counting that as a win and progress. Paul is still not feeling quite up to snuff yet, so it was a rather quiet evening at home. We’re watching Palm Royale, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m still not really sure what it is, to be honest, but it’s okay, I guess? Maybe another episode, and I’ll see if I want to continue. The cast is really quite good, but I’m not really sure what the show is all about, or what it’s supposed to be, if that makes any sense? I mean, I know I should feel some sympathy for the main character, but what she wants and needs is inexplicable to me so far. Ah, well.

I slept really well last night and feel pretty rested this morning. Whether that means I’ll make it through the day feeling that way is another question, of course. But I feel like I’m back into my normal groove, whatever that may be now, and like I said, I did get some writing done last night, so hopefully tonight I’ll be able to do more. I also need to get into the gym one night this week, probably not tonight, but potentially tomorrow will work as well.

It’s kind of nice to realize that, stamina issues aside, I am healed and whole for the first time since January 2023. And now I need to figure out a lot of stuff, as always. But it’s nice to feel clear-headed for a change, and rested, and relaxed. I had literally no idea how much I’d accepted my high anxiety as normal, and how lovely it is to have that constant inner voice silenced. I’m doing good work when writing, too–the first drafts are of course horrible, but I am very pleased with the revisions. I also need to update my to-do list, so I have a better idea of everything I want to submit to and try to time out my work going forward. I know I need to get this last short story I wrote revised by Sunday, and I’d like to finish the one I started last week. I need to finish “When I Die” and another one for the collection and then it is finished; praise Jesus and pass the ammunition. I also think I’ll be able to get this other y/a revised this year and submitted as well. And I want to write a story for an anthology about Hollywood crime; and I think I can actually revise the first chapter of Chlorine and use it for this–not that I won’t use it for Chlorine, either; I am a writer so I can do whatever I want with my words whenever I want, can’t I?

And I am really leaning into turning that unfinished Paige manuscript from all those years ago into a Scotty book, and it will be lovely killing off (a fictionalized) Ann Coulter. It’s funny when I think about how politicized I became after the stolen election of 2000 (you want to deny the 2020 results, well, I can deny the 2000 one as well. I will never believe Bush won that election; the Supreme Court interfered and disenfranchised God only knows how many Floridians, and look where that horrible decision got us); I started my political reeducation in the 1990’s. I’d been brought up to be a conservative Republican, but I also stopped hating myself when I walked away from that “value” system. But the Reagan/Republican/Evangelical response to HIV/AIDS in the 1980’s showed me how meaningless and empty those values were, and contraindicated by my religious upbringing. Jesus did not come as a destroyer, He came as a peacemaker with a message of God’s love and forgiveness. The entire concept that He would return to oversee the end of the world and the final battle between good and evil is some pagan-style nonsense. In the 1990s, as my parents got sucked into Fox News (it really was the perfect news station for them), I began questioning everything. I couldn’t vote Republican because they think I’m a second-class citizen (if even that high), and were perfectly content to treat me that way with no discount on my taxes. But I’d also been raised to believe that Democrats were evil and Communist and America-haters–but when I started delving more into it, and actually following the news and reading books (on both sides), I began to see something strange. Democrats, and books by and about them, were generally about helping people and policies to make people’s lives better; Republicans seemed to only be interested in power, consolidating that power, and gaming the Democrats. The 2000 election was a slap in the face–and I was furious that Democrats rolled over so easily (see how Republicans tried to subvert an election loss in 2020? I am also not convinced 2016 was legitimate, either; two can play that game). I don’t bother to trying to understand both sides anymore; the explosion of idiocy, lunacy, and racism that Obama’s election in 2008 unleased was probably one of the most disgusting things I’ve had the misfortune to bear witness to in my lifetime. I don’t need to find common ground with people who want to strip me of my rights as an American–that my books shouldn’t be published, call me a groomer and a pedophile. Those people want me dead, and no one should ever have to explain to other humans why they are deserving of the same treatment as everyone else. Sorry, they are and always have been my enemy, have spent most of my life trying to destroy me, and won’t be happy until the world is free of the scourge of queer people.

They want me gone? I want THEM gone–because I also don’t see them making life anything but miserable for people who are not like them, whether it’s sexuality or gender identity or the amount of melanin in their skin.

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

Guitar Boogie Shuffle

Good morning, Tuesday, and back to the office today. I am very glad that I took yesterday off, as I was completely exhausted. Once I finished my blog yesterday morning, I started trying to get caught up on everything that had slid over the weekend (dishes, laundry, etc.) but ran out of steam around eleven and was so tired I ached. So, no errands, no gym, no writing, not much of anything was truly done yesterday, but I was so tired I was fine with it. I am still fine with it this morning, frankly. I slept deeply and well last night, and of course, was very relaxed and comfortable this morning and didn’t want the night to end. But I am awake, my brain is coming alive and my coffee is tasting pretty good this morning. I am not sure what my day at the office is going to look like yet but I’ll let it be a surprise. I will have to pick up the mail today after work, but that’s fine.

I’ll probably snap back to normalcy tomorrow morning. I also have a lot of email that has accumulated since Friday to take care of, too. Heavy sigh.

But I still feel a little charged from the weekend, even if my own batteries are running low a bit. My legs and back don’t ache, for one thing, and my mind feels a bit less foggy than it did yesterday. Poor Paul got home yesterday afternoon and collapsed on the couch, from which he’s only moved to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink, so I hope he gets some seriously good rest today. (We watched the world skating championships and the SEC gymnastics championships before I went to bed.) I just didn’t have the energy to write yesterday, which was okay. I know I have a lot to do in order to get caught up in any way, but any work I would have done yesterday would have been terrible.

I did come up with some ideas for short stories over the weekend–not exactly what I want or need at the moment, but hey. I’ve been wanting to do more “Sherlock in 1916 New Orleans stories”; perhaps even a collection, and so it was kind of cool to come up with titles over the weekend (there’s a Sherlock novella I want to write, too, which would make the collection even more fun). I don’t need more ideas any more than I need a deep gaping hole in my skull, but the Sherlock thing is one I already had so I am not counting it as new but rather filling in the blanks for something already started.

But I am excited to roll up my sleeves and dive into the book again. The weekend was the kind of lovely recharge I need every now and then; which is what you can get from going to these types of events as a writer. Being around people who appreciate literature and writing and reading is a dream for me, and I love these occasional reminders that I am a part of the writing/publishing community–it’s very easy to feel removed from it when you don’t live near your writer friends and are only around them for brief spurts of times at conferences. There’s never enough time to talk to everyone, to catch up with everyone that I want to, as well as meet new people whose work you’ve yet to discover, and how wonderful it is to see the starry-eyed authors-to-be when they come to something like S&S for the first time. I saw several of those, and it’s also lovely that the short story and poetry anthologies are, in some cases, the writer’s first publication…and their reading at the festival is their first time doing so. I was very impressed by the poetry I heard Saturday night, particularly after talking to Steven Reigns about poetry on Friday night. I think I’ll start with T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land.

And so now it is time to officially return to the spice mines. I doubt I’ll be back later, but then again, one never knows. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader!

Red River Rock

Monday morning after Saints and Sinners and I am exhausted. (I took today off, thank God.) It was such a lovely weekend–as it always is–but I wasn’t at 100% yet, and it definitely took its toll on me. I walked home quite a lot–every night since Thursday except for Friday night, when I was so damned tired I took a Lyft home. I also walked down to the Quarter yesterday, walked to and from the BK House in the lower Quarter from the hotel on Friday night (hence the exhaustion that night). But I am very pleased to report that I was able to do a reading and moderate a panel with no stage fright or high anxiety, which was so fucking lovely I kind of wish that I’d been on the proper medications for a lot longer, because I was able to thoroughly enjoy myself instead of having an adrenal spike and the panic-sweat and so forth–and now I understand how other people experience panels and readings. It was a wonderful experience.

But I am so exhausted this morning! My legs are ridiculously tired, and my lower back and shoulders are a bit sore this morning. I’m glad I did all that walking, tiring as it was, because I need to start working on getting back into shape now that I am done with the physical therapy. I should go to the gym today, actually, and perhaps will later on in the day. Paul will come home from the hotel today, but will most likely sleep most of the day away and he’s entitled, poor thing. He was so exhausted yesterday! But it was a marvelous weekend and I know he enjoyed himself a lot, despite working 18 hours a day. There were a lot of new faces this year–young aspiring writers–and they were so excited and thrilled to be a part of the weekend. That’s always been a concern of Paul’s–how to draw in and attract new panelists and readers, especially younger people–but somehow they all seemed to find US this year, which was lovely. I did some things this weekend I generally don’t do–went to the anthology launch, came to the closing in time to hear all the poets read. They were all amazing, and that, along with a conversation with noted poet Steven Reigns on Friday night, actually sparked an interest in poetry, and I’ve decided that one is never too old to appreciate a new to them literary interest–so I am going to start reading poetry and learn to appreciate it, and maybe even try writing it at some point. I’ve always found poets make terrific fiction writers (Margot Douaihy is the latest–and one of the greatest–examples of this), and so maybe this could be a way to improving my own writing.

One never knows.

But as I sit here this morning swilling coffee and feeling my aching body slowly coming back to life, I am also a little bit sad that it’s all over. S&S is always so good for my soul, for my creativity, and my inspiration. It was the perfect way to end a week where I finally snapped out of the 2023 malaise and got back into both reading and writing, which has been wonderful. I should also make groceries today, but I am feeling so tired I am thinking it may not be the best idea, since I have to go back to the office tomorrow morning and am already exhausted. I should probably just chill around here, order a pizza for dinner, and do some chores and writing while I let my body rest and relax.

I suppose this is the time to announce that I am going to be the guest judge for the S&S short fiction contest next year, which should be interesting. I spend so much time reading crime fiction that I don’t really read outside my genre as much as I should to get a more rounded experience, and this is a good opportunity for me. It’s been a very long time since I’ve read outside the genre, and as much as I need to get caught up on my crime fiction reading, I also should not just read crime fiction, either; I’ve always believed that writers should read across all genres and forms of fiction as a method of keeping your own work fresh and not derivative, which is always a danger when you write within the confines of a genre–I just haven’t been very good with it to begin with myself for a number of years now. Maybe this year.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day–actually right now, i am going to finish some chores and then go to the easy chair with the book I am reading now, and hopefully get some rest and relaxation. Have a great Monday, I may be back later, and I’m looking forward to getting some writing done today.

It’s Just a Matter of Time

Sunday morning and the last day of Saints & Sinners. It’s been a lot of fun, if tiring. I headed down there yesterday afternoon in a Lyft, hung out in our suite for a bit and practiced for my reading–I read my story “The Ditch” from School of Hard Knox, and I think it went very well. It was a terrific reading session; Rob Byrnes, Jean Redmann, Marco Carocari, David Slayton, David Pederson and one other person whose name I can’t recall off the top of my head; my apologies because I really enjoyed what he read.I then went back up to our suite and came back down for the anthology launch with Paul. Those readings were also fantastic–and I am looking forward to reading the book more than I already was. I am also the judge for next year, so I’ll be reading a lot of stories in the fall. That will suffice as my volunteer work for 2024, so don’t bother to ask; the answer will be no.

I started reading an old Evan Hunter novel yesterday, Last Summer. It was a book I’d always wanted to read when I was younger, and I was reminded of it sometime during the pandemic, so I got a copy of it and its sequel, Come Winter, from eBay and so I started reading it at long last yesterday. I’ve never seen the film, either; but I do remember Barbara Hershey and Richard Thomas (aka John-Boy Walton) starred in it. It also put me in mind of another trope from that era of publishing; books with teenagers as protagonists (and/or antagonists) were almost always set during the summer, and so many were set on coastal islands–this one, Summer of ’42, A Summer Place, etc. It of course makes sense; teenagers had a lot of free time to get into shenanigans during the summer, especially when they were on a vacation somewhere. I’ve actually fallen into that trope a couple of times myself–Dark Tide, Lake Thirteen–and numerous other stories I would like to tell at some point. I do like the idea of gradually getting rid of all this paper around here by digitizing or disposing of things that I’ll never get around to writing. I don’t want to start writing fast in a frenzied attempt to write everything I want to before I die–and there’s always new ideas, too. But i know I’d really like to eventually get back to that novel where I based the victim on Ann Coulter…hmmm, maybe that could be the next Scotty. That’s actually a very good idea. Hmmmm.

It’s so nice to be around writers. It really is a balm for my soul. I did write some yesterday morning, but I am not going to even try today. I am very tired–I’ve done a lot of walking this weekend–and of course having to be “on” is tiring. The truth is I am not at 100% yet, much as I want to believe that I am, and there’s nothing wrong with that. One exciting development of the weekend is that I experienced no stress, anxiety or stage fright for my reading yesterday. Not only was I calm and not sweating buckets, I was actually able to relax and enjoy the experience. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before? It was wild. I’ve actually been relaxed the entire weekend; I don’t believe I understood before how much my anxiety impacted me at events like this. Having a calm and quiet head is a lovely thing, and now that the creativity has come back, I might actually start enjoying my life again.

I’ve also been spending a lot of time reminiscing about past S&S weekends, too; remembering how it all started, how much of it was done on a fraying shoestring because there was no money for it, and held in donated spaces at gay bars. It also used to be in May, so the weather was a LOT hotter. Paul and I used to always get the pool suite at the Olivier House for our home base, and people always used to wind up in our room later in the evening to drink and socialize and have a lot of fun. I couldn’t do that now–as it is, i stayed up past my usual bedtime Friday night and paid for it all day yesterday (legs are tired today, too). I also came up with a title for my memoir should I ever try to write one: Unreliable Narrator.

And LSU won the SEC women’s gymnastics championships last night in very dominant style. They weren’t as on as they usually are, and still set an incredibly high score and really have the potential to win the national title this year, too. And the US had a great outcome at the World Figure Skating Championships, winning two golds (men’s and ice dance) and a silver (women’s).

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll most likely see you tomorrow.

A Big Hunk o’ Love

Saturday morning and I slept late, and feel a bit fatigued. I graduated from PT yesterday, which was awesome–but I’ll miss going. I really liked my therapist.

I headed down to the Quarter in a Lyft yesterday after finishing my work-at-home duties, and didn’t have time to write yesterday, which I hope to do this morning. We (Paul) have that lovely suite up on the fourteenth floor of the Monteleone again–but of course I come home every night to take care of Sparky (who was waiting in the window when I got home). I went to the opening reception at the Keyes House in the Quarter (it’s called BK House now instead of its old name; in which the B stands for the general who started the Civil War–he was from New Orleans), which is an absolutely beautiful space, and I just realized I didn’t take any pictures, which I should do more of today and tonight. After the reception, where I ran into any number of delightful people (namedropping here–but amongst those I ran into were Rob Byrnes, Carol Rosenfeld, Amie Evans, Eric Andrews-Katz, Susan Larson, Trebor Healey, and Margot Douaihy), I went to eat (well, to watch them eat) with Steven Reigns, Karl (K. M.) Soehnlein, Marco Carocari, his husband Mark, and Trebor Healey. We went to that bar that used to be Yo Mama’s but has a different name now. It was lovely going down memory lane with Steven over all the years of Saints & Sinners, and remembering how it all happened in the first place all those years ago. Twenty-one years now, which is pretty amazing for a queer lit fest.

Then again, I married a pretty remarkable person.

I have to read today, and I think I have settled on my story from School of Hard Knox, “The Ditch,” because it’s an Alabama story and I can pull out my accent for it. Maybe not at first, but as I get into the story more, absolutely. I’ll also need to rehearse a bit this afternoon before I head down there again. I think today I’ll wear more sensible shoes than I did yesterday, so I can take the streetcar down and walk home at the end of the evening. It’s a lovely walk and the evenings are so cool and temperate…I really wanted to walk home last night rather than taking a Lyft home, but my shoes–I was wearing my new black-and-white saddle shoes, and I worried about walking all that way in them. Not that they would be uncomfortable, but the wear-and-tear on them for that long of a walk–that’s what my Adidas are for. I also noticed on the way to the Quarter in a Lyft (thanks, Tedzin, for the ride) that the Appellate Court building on Camp Street was named for John Minor Wisdom, who’d served there with distinction for over twenty years; it just struck me as funny yesterday that a Federal Appellate court building was named minor wisdom, which I am going to have to use in a book sometime.

I also did some chores and filing and straightening up around here yesterday, so the workspace is a lot less cluttered and a lot more functional now. I’ve also decided on a major project for this summer–getting rid of paper files. I don’t need a paper file for anything that isn’t really something in progress right now, but it’s also a massive undertaking that would require going through all the files…and there are so many files…but condensing them and cleaning out the files that I don’t really need much anymore would also make the workspace more functional and the apartment far less cluttered looking. I have so many ideas I won’t be able to write them all unless I not only live to well over a hundred but don’t get any NEW ideas for the rest of my life.

I think it’s safe to assume that’s never going to happen.

Sigh, I also have to start pulling my taxes together for my accountant. Sigh. What an odious chore, but like I’ve always said–there’s nothing more patriotic than paying your taxes so the country continues to be funded. That doesn’t mean I don’t take every deduction I can and try to get the bill down as much as possible, but I don’t ever complain about paying taxes. I kind of like paved roads and infrastructure and so forth. Call me a libtard; I wear it as a badge of honor–unlike the con(servative) artists out there, or the cosplay Christians who missed all the important messages of their religion to be better people.

And on that note, I think I am going to go sit and read for a bit before I amp up for writing. Have a great day, Constant Reader–I doubt I’ll be back later, but stranger things have happened.

There Goes My Baby

Work at home Friday, my last PT appointment, and the opening reception of Saints and Sinners is tonight. Woo-hoo! I also revised and edited and rewrote chapter two of the book, and started writing a new short story and did some more research on that elusive book I hope to write in the second half of the year if I stay motivated and on track.

I had dinner with friends last night after work, too. We ate at Besame, on South Rampart on the uptown side of Canal. It’s a fusion place, I think Peruvian? I had fish (Mahi-Mahi, pan seared) and grits. The fish was in this amazing green chile sauce that was insanely delicious, and the grits were a variation I’d never had before, but also were quite delicious. It really is amazing how good the food in New Orleans is, which I always forget–like I always forget how stunningly beautiful it is here, and how lucky I am to have gotten to live here for a third of my life, almost half, really; I was thirty-four when we moved here and I’ll be sixty-three this year. I also woke up to a fabulous thunderstorm, and I also have PT this morning–my very last session. I’ll miss the people at PhysioFit; it really was a terrific experience and they are all so friendly, helpful, and nice. It could have been so much worse…

It’s so lovely being creative again–I really was getting worried that it was gone for good. This was one of the longest fallow periods I’ve had since after Hurricane Katrina, really, and I think I will always be worried about the creativity drying up at some point; but it has always come back before so I should probably not worry about it. I’m also not used to having long fallow periods; usually it will only last about a month and then I just kick myself in the ass and get into gear again. I am hoping to get a lot of writing caught up on this weekend. I’ll be dipping in and out of S&S all weekend; not really needing to be down there until the afternoons, so I have my mornings to write before heading to the Quarter, and I am actually excited about that. I’ve also taken Monday off, to recover from the weekend and write some more.

Oh! The most important thing about last night was the night was clear after dinner. I’d taken a Lyft to the restaurant because it was raining, and I was going to take one home, too–but I decided to walk, and when I got tired or ran out of steam, would summon a driver then. Constant Reader, not only did I never run out of steam or get tired, I am not exhausted this morning, either–so I really think I may have snapped back into normalcy (for me) again. I did sleep super well after getting that writing finished (I started before leaving for dinner), and today after PT and work-at-home duties, I’m hoping to get some writing done before I head down for the opening reception at the BK (Beauregard-Keyes) House, which is beautiful; I always like going to events there. It’s across the street from the Ursulines Convent, and there’s a lovely view of it from the front porch of the BK House.

And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up for PT and head on out. Have a lovely Friday and–I may be back later. You never know.