And now it’s Thursday, the last day in the office for me this week, and I somehow made it through the entire week of going into the office without being tired by the end. The jury of course is still out about today–I’ll have to see how I feel at the end of the day, or mid-afternoon, of course–but I am very pleased to be awake and feeling rested this morning. I took it easy when I got home from work yesterday, spending some quality playtime with Sparky and watching some Real Housewives–my God, the Salt Lake City finale was some epic reality television–and couldn’t decide what to read next. I am leaning towards R. F. Kuang’s Yellowface (because I love me some publishing noir about authors behaving badly), but there are others in the running as well (most notably Tara Laskowski’s The Weekend Retreat). Tonight when I get home from work I will decide; I am coming home straight from work again; no need to run errands on the cusp of the weekend. I also need to get back to writing, and the sooner the better. I have high hopes for this weekend because it appears as though I won’t be tired going into the weekend, and the kitchen isn’t nearly as big a mess as it usually is on Thursdays–so if I can get the dishes handled tonight, I’ll be way ahead of things when I get home from PT tomorrow morning. I am seeing Dr. O’Brien at last on Saturday, so I am hoping to kiss the brace goodbye once and for all. LSU Gymnastics also has their first meet on Friday night, which is always fun to follow. The team is really loaded this year, too. GEAUX TIGERS!
I also want to get to the library sale this weekend to donate some books, too. Maybe I can spend some time tonight and tomorrow night pruning out more books. The laundry room is nearly under control again, but there are still even more books that can go.
And I should really started copy-editing Jackson Square Jazz so I can finally get that ebook up and available for readers. I am losing money every day that book isn’t available, and I might be able to run a promo when it becomes available (I am thinking of offering Bourbon Street Blues for free and Jackson Square Jazz for $1.99 for about a month or so). I mean, it makes sense: Scotty turns 21 this year, so I should be promoting the hell out of the Scotty series this year–and should really write another to get out this year, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’ve always focused more on writing the books than promoting them; I only have so much bandwidth, and writing/editing generally uses up the megabytes in my brain that have to do with writing/publishing. I’ve also been very shy about promo, too–which was the anxiety bedeviling me. Maybe now that I am on the right medications, that won’t be a problem going forward. It’s already helped me with some aspects of doing public stuff; so maybe my nervous aversion to doing things in public has become a thing of the past? Worth a try, at any rate, right?
I also need to work on the procrastination thing I’ve been dealing with for the majority of my life. Why do I always feel the need to wait until the last minute for everything? Why will I always goof off now instead of doing the things I need to do so I can goof off later? This would always immediately play into my anxiety, and always made my stress levels go off the charts. Was that what drove me to get so much done? Stress and anxiety and the pressure I used to put on myself? Will I be able to get as much done in the future now that the anxiety is medically handled? It does make me a bit worried, but I am sure I’ll get back on that horse when I need to.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again later, most likely.
One of the things I’ve always lamented is the shortage of Black Louisiana crime writers.
There have been Black characters who were the main characters in Louisiana crime series, but they were always written by white people and while I did enjoy some of the books, I always felt a little uncomfortable with reading them. Can a white person really do a Black main character in a Louisiana crime series justice? I am sure if I went back and reread them now I’d find them more problematic than I did in the first place.
So, when my friend Ellen Byron recommended that I should read Danielle Arseneaux’ debut novel, Glory Be, I couldn’t wait to get a copy and read it.
And I am so grateful that I did, because it’s an absolute joy.
Glory Broussard was tired of waiting. She figured this barista was new, and she would know since she was a regular at CC’s Coffee House. With each drink order, he nodded and flipped through the pages of a thick manual, going back and forth between the espresso machine and the book.
It didn’t help that he was grinning like a goddamn fool at that white woman. She was wearing a pink ribbed tank top, and as far as Glory could tell, no bra.Her jean shorts were so scant that you could see the bottom curve of her ass. Glory had seen enough of this recently at the Acadiana Mall to know it was not an accident but a trend, and a disgraceful one at that. Wet hair crept down to her waist, making her look like a creature that had crawled out of the Atchafalaya Swamp.
Glory edges up to the counter, closely behind the braless woman. “Excuse me,” she said to the barista. “Are you the only one working behind the counter? Y’all should be better staffed for the after-church crowd.”
“I’m not sure. I’m new here.”
“Clearly.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead, a useless gesture in Louisiana this time of year.
What made this even more exciting to me was the book wasn’t set in New Orleans–as so many inevitably are–but in Lafayette, which was also refreshing. Lafayette is a more Cajun city than New Orleans, and is the heart of what we call Acadiana here. I really like Lafayette; I went up there with some friends who were touring Louisiana and had a great time and some truly great food. It’s also a gorgeous little city, too, with lots of charm and its own Carnival, and very different than New Orleans.
The above is the opening sequence in which Arsenault introduces us to Glory Broussard, a deftly drawn, deeply complex character who worked as the produce manager at a grocery store for years until she got custody of her ex’s betting book in the divorce and took over for him, spending every Sunday after church at CC’s and taking bets. Glory is prickly and proud, and never takes any slight lightly. By the end of the first chapter her best friend, a nun she grew up with named Sister Amity Gay, has committed suicide. Glory doesn’t believe it for a minute and is furious when the police write it off as a suicide, even though she is certain Amity would have never committed suicide…so she decides to take it upon herself to investigate for them.
The investigation itself is worthy enough for reading, but the way the book is structured, the way Arsenault slowly plays out her cards letting us get to know Glory better by revealing why she is the way she is at the opening of the book truly kicks into gear where her lawyer daughter Delphine shows up, ostensibly to help her fight the condemnation of her house the city is processing because of complaints–and by showing the house through Delphine’s eyes, as well as her mother, gives us an entirely new perspective on Glory herself, as she also recruits Delphine to help her look into Amity’s death…and oddly enough, there are any number of motives for someone to want Amity out of the way–including the corruption behind a new petrochemical plant’s approval that Amity is fighting–as well as a connection to the drug kingpin of Acadiana.
I loved getting to know Glory, I loved seeing her take charge of her own life again after several years of depression, and the pages simply flew past. Arsenault has an amazing gift for a turn of phrase, all of them purely Louisiana, and a masterful authorial voice.
And here we are on the third day of the new year, and I am starting to feel more like me again, which is great. I did get tired yesterday afternoon at work (getting up at five for physical therapy truly sucks), but not as bad as I was last week–last week was horrifying, how tired I felt; literally like I needed a jump start or something. It’s also pay-the-bills day, and it has rained all night, which has made it a little warmer outside than it has been. The rain is supposed to let up by noonish, but the colder snap seems to be over for a little while, at least.
Yesterday when I got home I wasn’t super-exhausted, and I did some chores. I finished the laundry I’d started on New Year’s, and also did a load of dishes. I finished reading Glory Be by Danielle Arsenault (more on that later), but Paul was working upstairs once he got home, so I just sat in my chair and watched some documentaries on Youtube. Nothing interesting or new, just some more folklore and legends of the South on the “Dixie After Dark” channel–and all the stories are of murder and ghosts and vengeance and brutality…the South the Lost Cause folks don’t like to mention because it isn’t genteel enough to fit their narrative of a “lost civilization now gone with the wind”, and these stories kind of show up the lies that false narrative creates–like Aunt Jenny, whose husband was strung up in front of her and her children by the Home Guard, and made her sons swear on his corpse that they wouldn’t rest until the men who hanged their father (who opposed the war–Southerners opposed the war?) were all dead. And she got her revenge too, and used the skull of the captain to drink water from for the rest of her life. Learning the history of northwest Alabama in greater detail over the last few years has opened my eyes to a lot of things–and given tons more ideas for things to write.
Which is exactly what I need, right? More things to write?
But overall, it was a nice, relaxing evening and I can’t get over how awake and alive and like a Gregalicious I feel this morning. It’s been a hot minute, you know, and I’m glad to see my decision to not be a slug as much as I would like in the new year is already working out for me. I see my surgeon on Saturday and hopefully can say goodbye to this goddamned brace once and for all. I did also work on the book a bit last night, which also felt good to be getting back into that groove again. I can head straight home from work after my time in the office today, and hopefully will be able to do some writing in addition to cleaning and organizing. I cleared out a shelf in the cabinets last night, and am going to use it for some things I store in the bottom cabinet (espresso machine, milk frother, coffee grinder) which will open up some more room on that side of the kitchen.
I’m not sure what I am going to read next, but the TBR pile is chock full of great books by terrific writers, so I won’t be disappointed by anything I choose. I was thinking about revisiting Larry Kramer’s Faggots, thinking that it might be interesting to revisit it now with the perspective of being in my sixties and looking back at those wild and crazy 1970’s in Manhattan and on Fire Island…but if I am going to do that, I also need to revisit its flip side, Andrew Holleran’s Dancer from the Dance, which I’ve also not read in decades. Or I could just read another mystery. So many choices, so many options.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back later, most likely.
Up ungodly early to start off the new year with PT and then off to work. I slept well last night, and feel rested this morning; there was no tangle of blankets this morning, so I wasn’t restless, and I don’t feel very tired this morning, which is good. The other nice thing is now getting up at six tomorrow will feel like I’ve actually slept in some. I feel like I’ve rested enough now, although all the time off from the holidays is going to make going back to work five days a week challenging, to say the least.
Yesterday was a decent day, really. It was a low energy day, for some reason, and while I did get some chores and things done yesterday, I didn’t do much of anything for the day. I did read quite a bit of Danielle Arsenault’s Glory Be, which I am really enjoying, and then settled in to watch the LSU game, which they did finally win in the last minutes, 35-31. I think the offense going into next year is in pretty good shape, but the defense needs a lot of work still. We then watched Michigan rally to beat Alabama, and I watched some of the Washington game before going to bed–and woke up to see the national title game will be between Michigan and Washington. Good for them, and now I have no need whatsoever to watch that game, either.
And it’s a new year, which means all the things I’ve not been paying attention to, or responding to, has to be picked up and taken care of this week–like emails; I definitely need to clean out the inbox. I also am behind on day job in the office duties that I will have to get back on top of this week as well. I need to do some things around here when I get home tonight, too, so I hope I am not terribly tired when I get home the way I was last week when I had to get up early for PT. I will have to get the mail on the way home, and maybe even swing by the grocery store…I don’t know. Tomorrow is also pay day and pay-the-bills day, too. (It always seems a little brutal when the first pay day of the new year is in the first week of January, a brutal reminder that bills never take time off as we start a new year.)
I have finally started feeling more like myself lately, which has been really nice, too. I have felt a little off ever since the surgery, which I suppose is normal. I really don’t think I need the PT anymore, but I don’t see Dr. O’Brien again until this next Saturday morning, so I won’t officially be released from it until then. I am also hoping to be freed from the brace this weekend, fingers crossed and prayers aloft. I don’t really think I need it anymore, but I also don’t want to take it off arbitrarily until I am officially cleared either. The arm seems to be doing better, frankly, which pleases me enormously. Overall, this whole experience wasn’t terrible, other than that first terrifying week after the surgery when I was essentially trapped in my easy chair for eight days before I was finally off the ice machine and could return to my bed for sleeping. That seems like a million years ago now…
It’s also only forty degrees out there this morning, with a predicted high of a mere fifty for the day. Woo-hoo. I haven’t been feeling the cold as much this year, but I’ve also not been going outside a whole lot lately, either. But it’s definitely been helping me sleep at night, and the bed has been feeling super-comfortable lately. I feel as though my sleep is finally under control with the new meds, which is awesome, and I don’t feel as tired and groggy as I used to be before the medication switch. And to think, this could have been the case all along had I had a decent primary care physician at any point in the last eight or so years. But no sense weeping about what should have been or what might have been. It won’t change anything, and the past can never be undone–which is why I spent so much of my life never looking back. But looking back doesn’t mean missing the past or wishing it had been different, either; neither extreme is the best option, really. I’ve been doing more of that since Mom died (almost a year ago), and it hasn’t been bad at all. In some ways, it’s been helpful. My pre-thirties life was kind of miserable and unhappy and unfulfilled, and so I never wanted to remember either the 70s or the 80s. But it doesn’t hurt or hinder the present by looking back without regret, either. For me, it’s been more about “okay, why do I handle things like this instead of like that?” and remembering the root cause of so many of my anxiety-driven neuroses has actually kind of helped unlock the neurosis and freed me from it. I am still, at sixty-two, very much a work in progress.
And on that note, I am going to get cleaned up and head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back with you soon, if not later today.
2024, to be exact. LSU plays at eleven this morning, and I’ve let a lot of things slide these last few days. Yesterday was a lazy day; I read for awhile, watched the Saints game (they won!), and then we started watching movies. First up was a gay horror film, Midnight Kiss, which was much better than I expected it to be; followed by The Holdovers, which I also enjoyed; and the evening was capped off with The Exorcist: Believers which was so fucking terrible I cannot imagine how much money they had to throw at Ellen Burstyn to reprise her role of Chris MacNeil. (I mean, the movie seemed to have listened to my observation that any religion that ever gets drawn into a horror story inevitably postulates that Catholicism is real, and therefore the only true Christianity, as it expounded exorcism out and beyond Catholicism into other faiths, which was the only nice thing about the movie.)
Sometimes sequels are nothing more than money grabs that demean the original. Just saying.
Today is going to be mostly about college football with some chores tossed in for good measure. I have early morning physical therapy tomorrow, so won’t be able to see the end of the Washington-Texas game, but I’ll check the score when I rise.
So here we are on the first morning of 2024, and as usual, I am thinking about the new year yawning before me like an open blank book and I want to set some attainable goals for it as well as roll over the ones that didn’t get done last year.
I suppose the first and most important goal for me as far as 2024 is concerned is to continue my physical therapy and recovery from my surgery, and to carry that through to eating better and a regular workout routine of some sort, whether it’s simply stretching, walking, or weight training. I want to stay strong and have energy, and being in better physical condition will help me stay injury-free and healthy. I need to eat better, and I’d like to get down to maybe somewhere between 190 and 200 by the end of this year. I had let this slide for a very long time, and it’s going to be hard to get back into the swing of things again at over sixty, but it can be done.
I’m not going to add “get an agent” for this year, as it’s been a goal for longer than this blog has existed and so making it a goal doesn’t mean it’ll happen or get done. I am going to put “finish designing my website” on this list, though. I’ve not had the best luck with that over the years, and I really didn’t/don’t have the time to do it myself, or teach myself how to do it. I did get started on a simple site, but have completely forgotten everything I learned doing it and will essentially have to start over; and probably won’t finish and will end up forgetting everything I learned all over again. But if I steal some time every Saturday or Sunday morning now that football season is almost over…it could be do-able.
I do want to continue working on myself and becoming a better person overall; a lot of that requires self-reflection as well as remembering the past and situations that triggered future behavioral responses in me and hopefully putting that anxiety-ridden trauma to rest once and for all. The self-work includes better educating myself about the world, and viewing history with a more jaundiced eye–and my eye was already more jaundiced than most.
I also would like to read more, and read more for pleasure rather than quite so analytically. It took me a long time to shake over reading as a reviewer, and the easiest way for me to shake that was switching to reading as an editor–which I have also struggled to stop doing. But I think I am there, at last–and so I want to get back into reading a lot more–especially if all I am doing is scrolling on my phone. I do want to spend less time on social media for sure.
I also want to be better about marketing. My issues with promotion and marketing and public appearances were always anxiety-related, and I have finally learned how to control that…plus the new medications should go a long way to making me loosen up and relax a lot more when it comes to those sorts of things. The panel I stepped in to moderate at the last minute at Bouchercon was actually one of the best experiences I’ve had with and on a panel. I hope that there will be more of those experiences, and I am not going to let myself get worked up into knots before hand anymore.
I’m also letting go of a lot of hard feelings. I don’t know if anyone was actually trying to genuinely damage or hurt me, so most of the pettiness is being let go of; I don’t want anyone like that having space in my head or draining any of my energy anymore. I won’t forget or forgive, of course–I just won’t care anymore.
And I want to continue to push myself and grow as a writer. I think I want to try writing a romance.
I slept well last night but my blankets were all tangled up this morning, indicating the sleep was more restless than it has been for weeks. I also wasn’t in the mood to write my blog when I first woke up, so I decided to read, drink my coffee, and maybe have some breakfast before getting cleaned up. I usually write this over my morning coffee, and since I don’t reread or re-edit once it’s written, that could explain the run-on sentences, word repetitions, and occasional poor grammar no one ever points out to me. This blog began nineteen years ago (!!!) on Livejournal (the anniversary was 12/26), migrated over here in about 2016 or so, and still somehow keeps chugging along. It always surprises me that people read it, to be honest. It was always meant mainly for me, and was originally intended as a daily exercise to get me writing again. I guess it worked. When I started I had published four novels, a few anthologies, and some short stories. Nineteen years later, I’ve way surpassed that total, despite some fallow years in which I produced nothing.
I did some more picking up around here yesterday while watching football games. It was fun watching Mississippi beat Penn State, and don’t even get me started on the Florida State-Georgia game. I get the disappointment at not making the play-offs, but you also knew you were scheduled to play Georgia, another team disappointed in not making the play-offs, but instead of showing everyone that the committee was wrong and showing up to beat Georgia…and Georgia also had star players injured and over a dozen opting out and even more entering the transfer portal. This would have been a play-off game had either Auburn or Georgia beaten Alabama this year, but that’s how things go. Auburn went 13-0 in 2004 and wasn’t invited to the BCS title game. You don’t always get what you want in life or sport, and the question is how you handle that. If this was going to be the case, don’t accept the damned bowl bid. Your fans spent a lot of money to go to that game, and it was incredibly disrespectful to the team, the fanbase, and the university to show up and get embarrassed like that. After Coach O was fired in 2021, LSU went to its bowl game with 39 scholarship players and got trounced by Kansas State….but how does it appear in the record books? KSU 42, LSU 21. Twenty years from now when people look back at the history of college football and bowl games, it will read Georgia 63, Florida State 3. It’s a program and culture problem, and all the FSU fans apologizing for this disgraceful beating–do you quit when you don’t get a raise or promotion you worked hard for and feel like you deserved? The word for that is quitter…and for the record, Georgia played it’s back-ups, walk-ons and so forth in the second half and still beat your ass 21-0.
And if LSU went 12-0 and didn’t get picked for the play-offs…and pulled the same shit? Sure, I’d be angry about the play-offs but I’d also call out the Tigers for embarrassing the state and the university that way.
I’m really enjoying Danielle Arsenault’s Glory Be, and am savoring every word. What a fresh and unique voice! I have to say I am so glad I realized I needed to be better about my reading choices and should read more diverse writers. It’s been a great education for me as a reader, a writer, a person and a citizen. I’m still learning how to be better about race and gender and gender identity and sexuality; and I strongly encourage other readers to do the same. Crime fiction is so much stronger and healthier when it represents everyone, I think, and while I don’t consider reading diverse writers to be the total education I need on any social issues facing the country–I need to read more non-fiction and theory.
I rewatched The Birds yesterday after the football games, and it was pretty much as I remembered it. I’d only seen it twice before; originally as a child edited for television, when it frightened me so badly that I had nightmares (I was prone to them growing up) and for years could never see crows on a jungle gym or a wire without feeling uneasy and then again as a rental in college after I’d read the short story again and wanted to see how faithful the film was to the story. I didn’t care as much for it the second time around–the acting is really terrible and so is the script–but the suspenseful parts still held up and were scary. This third time around confirmed my second viewing; and I noticed some other flaws in the picture. Rod Taylor’s mother isn’t much older than he is, and why is there about a thirty year age gap between him and his sister? I think the short story is better than the film, but I can also see why people like it. I do consider it one of Hitchcock’s lesser films.
Since tomorrow is a day for thinking ahead and coming up with some goals for the new year, I suppose today should be a recap of sorts of this past year. It was, as I mentioned in a previous entry, a rather up-and-down rollercoaster of highs and lows with very little level ground in the middle. The recognition of mainstream award nominations for my work–even queer work–was a delightful surprise this past year. But even more important than that is I think my work is getting better. I had felt, some years ago, that my writing was becoming stale and that I wasn’t growing as a writer anymore; I’d become stagnant and that was one of my biggest fears. I wound up deciding to take some time away from writing books on deadline and write things just for me, things that I wanted to write but also wanted to take the time to do correctly. It was during this time that I worked on both #shedeservedit and Bury Me in Shadows in early drafts, and also started the novellas and working more intently on my short stories. I accepted the challenge of writing stories to themed anthologies, and produced some terrific ones of which I am really proud. When I dove back into series work with Royal Street Reveillon, I wanted to write something non-formulaic for the Scotty series. I also wanted to shake things up with Scotty a bit, as the series was getting a bit too comfortable and safe for me. Royal Street Reveillon certainly was neither comfortable nor safe, and neither was Mississippi River Mischief.
Bury Me in Shadows was not easy for me to write. When I went back to the book after setting it aside for awhile, I realized several things: I couldn’t ignore race and racism, I had to address the Lost Cause narrative, and I also had realized while doing more reading and research that the stories my paternal grandmother used to tell me about the Civil War and Alabama and the family were apocryphal stories you can turn up about almost everywhere in the rural South. The book wasn’t working, in fact, because I was trying to elide those issues because I was afraid of doing it wrong…so it pushed me to do better. And actually addressing those issues made the book easier to write. The same thing was true of #shedeservedit; I’d been working on this book in one form or another since I actually lived in Kansas. But again, I realized when I went back to it that what I was doing didn’t work because I wasn’t going there with toxic masculinity and rape culture because it wasn’t personal enough for my main character, and so I bit the bullet and made it more personal for him. It dredged up a lot of memories, some of them painful, but it also made the book better and stronger. I had been wanting to write a cozy for the longest time, and decided to try it for something different and new–and that became A Streetcar Named Murder. I was also very pleased with it, even though the deadline and the turnaround on it was a bit insane…but I still managed to take my time and turned it into something I was proud of when I got the final author copies.
My two releases of this year–Death Drop and Mississippi River Mischief–are also books of which I feel proud. I also published three terrific short stories this year: “Solace in a Dying Hour” in This Fresh Hell; “The Ditch” in School of Hard Knox; and “The Rosary of Broken Promises” in Dancing in the Shadows.
I think I’m settling finally into an acceptance that I am pretty good at what I do. I may not have the master’s or PhD in creative writing or literature of any kind; but I’ve never really wanted to be an academic writer. I never wanted to be Faulkner, but Faulkner did inspire me to interconnect novels and stories in my own fictional world (also Stephen King). I would like to do some non-fiction studies of genre and writers I enjoy, but in an accessible rather than academic way. Academics used to make me feel stupid and uneducated, and I also used to envy those writers who had that kind of background because I felt it made their work stronger than mine, or gave them insights into writing and building a novel that I’d never had, which made me and my work somehow lesser. But that wasn’t on them; that was on me. I was the one who felt inferior and lesser, not talented or good enough. That chip was on my shoulder and I was the one who put it there. My peers actually consider me a peer, and newer writers look at my longevity and my CV and are impressed by the prodigious output, if nothing else. I used to think all the award nominations were kind of hollow because I so rarely won; which was incredibly ungracious because some writers are never nominated for anything…but it doesn’t mean their work isn’t good. Now, I just find myself grateful to make a short-list of five out of all the possibilities for that slot, you know? I’m lucky, and I’m blessed.
I’ve reflected a lot on my life and my career this past year–Mom’s death had something to do with that–and I’ve identified, in many cases, why I am the way am by remembering the event that triggered the response in my brain of “okay, never want to experience that again” which led to so many self-toxic and self-defeating behaviors. But the bottom line of it all is I’ve finally accepted myself for who I am, have determined to stop self-deprecating, and take some pride in myself and my career and my life. I know the most amazing people and have the most incredible friends. I have a day job where I make a difference in people’s lives. I have an awesome life-partner, an enviable writing career, and I get to live in New Orleans.
Good morning and happy New Year’s Eve eve. It’s cold again in New Orleans this morning–a mere forty-one degrees–which will make today’s errands a challenge, or at least something I will want to get over with quickly. Mail, prescription, and groceries will be dealt with as quickly as possible so I can get back into the warmth of the apartment.
Yesterday I actually felt like myself for the first time since the surgery, which was an absolutely lovely thing. I slept a ridiculously long time Thursday night, and felt like I’d caught up on my sleep adequately. I woke up at seven this morning, laid around in bed for another quarter of an hour before rising and digging into coffee and breakfast pastries. I did do a lot of straightening and catching up on household chores yesterday after my work-at-home duties were completed. I started watching the Cotton Bowl last night, but Paul came downstairs at half-time, and we watched this week’s Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (Paul slept) and Reacher. I also started reading Glory Be by Danielle Arsenault yesterday and I am enjoying it so far. I am probably going to have bowl games on after I get home from the errands while I continue to read and do some clean-up around here.
I was also pretty pleased to check the final score of the Cotton Bowl to see that Missouri–who only lost to LSU and Georgia this year–had rallied to defeat Ohio State 14-3. GO MIZZOU!
Tomorrow is the last day of 2023, and there’s no telling what 2024 will bring. It’s an election year (groan)–which of course means my rights as an American are up for a vote again–and also means that it could be just as horrible as 2016 and 2020. But I am going to go into 2024 with my head up and my Wonder Woman bracelets on to deflect any and all negativity that comes my way. I want to have a good year this year, and I do believe if I keep focusing on positivity, and keeping a positive mindset, that I can have a positive outcome for the year. Overall, 2023 was difficult personally but excellent professionally; the excellent professional developments, both at my day job and as a writer, made dealing with the grief somewhat easier on me emotionally. I’m sure the new and proper medications are working their magic within the brain synapses that don’t fire properly, which has had a lot to do with my feeling more centered these last few weeks, and sleeping so well. I do have a lot of PT to get through yet–we haven’t even started trying to strengthen the left biceps again, and that’s going to be harder and more painful than the dexterity PY, but I am also hoping to ride that into going back to the gym regularly. Paul and I are also committed to eating better in the new year, which means more ground chicken and turkey and less red meat; and more fat-free products than not, including my creamer. (I also have a recipe for making my own, which would be healthier since less chemicals, but I also don’t know how long that will be good after making, either.) I’ve started making turkey sandwiches to take for lunch at the office this past week, and I am going to try to keep that going. I do have some unhealthy fare still that will need to be consumed, which I plan to start easing out throughout January.
I also feel pretty good this morning. I got some great books for research this week–a bio of 90’s porn star Joey Stefano, Creole: The History and Legacy of Louisiana’s Free People of Color, edited by Sybil Klein1, White Flight: Atlanta and the Making of Modern Conservatism by Kevin M. Kruse, and some fiction as well–Hayley Scrivenor’s Dirt Town and Penny Mickelbury’s Two Wings to Fly Away, and having spent a lot of yesterday pruning and rearranging the books–I still need to work on the laundry room–I am very excited to start digging into my TBR pile. I think I am getting more books today, too–I think some stuff arrived yesterday at the post office–and I am looking forward to delving into those as well. I was also looking through the research books I’ve acquired over the years with book projects in mind, and there’s a lot. I also spent some time brainstorming free-form last night, and of course, came up with great titles for books or stories and some more ideas for both. Heavy sigh–the last thing I need is more ideas, really.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. I have those errands to run and some more clean-up around the house that needs to be done, and I do want to spend some time writing and catching up on emails. Have a terrific Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, you never know.
Despite being published by LSU Press, one always has to read anything about Louisiana history carefully, because so much of it is rumor, legend and made up. But the free people of color before the war have always interested me, and I want to know more about them. ↩︎
One Gregalicious was exhausted yesterday when he got off work. (Actually started flagging in the middle of the afternoon, then had to persevere until four thirty, which meant running errands and heading all the way Uptown before coming home and basically locking myself in for a few days. I managed to get the mail, but the line at the pharmacy was so insanely long there was no way I could stand there and wait, so I headed home.
I’ll make groceries on Saturday; no need for me to leave the house today for anything other than taking out trash and so forth. My goal is to finish the kitchen, which I was too tired to fuck with when I got home last night. I was soooo tired; so much more so than the night before, which I thought was pretty damned tired…so of course, stay tuned, tomorrow will be worse! My new meds continue to work beautifully; I can also tell when I didn’t take my meds–yesterday afternoon I realized they were still in the container I put them in to bring them to work, and they sat on my desk all day until about three, when I noticed they were still sitting there and finally took them.
Yay, drugs!
But I came home to a lovely surprise–Paul worked at home and was doing the laundry! I had to teach him how to use our space-age washing machine right before the surgery, and since then he’s been very helpful with that chore. Needless to say, this pleased me enormously; I had already decided to postpone the growing pile of dirty dishes in the sink until today, but knew the laundry had to be done and was dreading in. So I was able to collapse into my easy chair, where I rewatched The Last of Sheila on TCM (such an amazing movie! One of my favorites, and probably more on that later), and then started watching bowl games while my mind wandered. Sparky climbed up in my lap and fell asleep, yet using his magical purr healing powers to completely relax me, and I felt much better by the time I went to bed around ten. I slept super great last night, and slept in a bit this morning, which also felt amazing–I’ve never believed that story that you can never catch up on lost sleep–and I feel great this morning. It’s cold here, the wind chill is theoretically making it feel like twenty degrees outside. A lot of southeastern Louisiana was in a freeze warning last night, but not New Orleans. It’s supposed to stay chilly until Sunday, when it’ll get up to about seventy degrees in the afternoon before dropping again at night. I always forget how bipolar the winter weather is here.
I’ll do chores around my work-at-home duties today–some things that have to be done before the end of the year, so definitely am pushing it–and then I have the long weekend to do whatever I please, which is pretty awesome. I did spend some time last night straightening the kitchen as much as I could without doing the dishes, so all the counters are finally cleared and everything is either in the sink or near it or put away. Clean counters make such a difference…so I guess I am still kind of a neat freak, I just don’t obsess about it anymore. Better living through chemistry indeed.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Those at-home duties won’t do themselves, and they need to be done. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again probably later.
Up ungodly early for PT, and yikes, it is waaaay too early for Gregalicious to already be awake and starting my day–if six am is an unspeakably early time to get up, try five; I don’t think I’ll be complaining about six too much next week when I have to get up at five again on Tuesday. It’s only forty-five degrees this morning, which is horrifying; the high for the day is a mere fifty-three. Yikes. It was so cold at the office yesterday, I can’t even begin to tell you how miserable I was all day. The cold makes me sleepier, so I never really felt yesterday like I was present, you know? All day long I felt like I literally could just curl up and fall asleep again. But I made it through the day, which was great, and ran an errand on the way home–I love this week, because school is out and traffic is practically non-existent–and I also have errands to run after work tonight, too. Tomorrow is work-at-home Friday, which means I can sleep in a bit before rising and working, and I am really looking forward to not getting up until after the sun rises. And it’s also a lovely three-day weekend, with bowl games to watch and enjoy as I do things around the house. LSU plays on New Year’s, which will be a preview of next year’s starting quarterback, so we’ll get sort of a taste of what LSU will be like next fall, when they have that brutal schedule–USC, UCLA, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas and Oklahoma–as a new era of college football begins.
I also need to start promoting the two books that were released right before my surgery–terrible timing, you know? But it’s never too late, which is the true (and perhaps only) beauty of the modern era of publishing. Once the season your new release has passed, you used to be finished. But with ebooks and e-everything these days, you can keep on doing promotion until people stop following you and start unfriending you everywhere, LOL.
We finished off the first season of War of the Worlds last night, and have two more seasons to get through. It’s that odd week between holidays where most shows go on hiatus, so no new episodes of a lot of things I watch (looking at you, Bravo), so we have to find things to watch. I think War of the Worlds will safely get us to next week, and everything returns next week anyway.
I was tired when I got home last night, and knowing I had to get up early this morning didn’t motivate me a whole lot to get things done. The kitchen is a mess still, and there will always be more laundry to do and dishes to wash and/or put away. Sigh. The life of a housewife, seriously…make that a working housewife, and seriously, I understand why all those suburban wives and mothers were taking pills in the 50s and 60s. The endless drudgery…I used to always get a bit of a thrill when I cleaned and the house was all neat and organized. It was satisfying. It still is, but it’s not a compulsion the way it used to be, where I didn’t feel comfortable or could relax in the house as long as it was messy. I also realized where this obsessive cleaning mentality came from, and yes, I was still trying to please my mother. I could hear her voice, with the shudder, saying “how can anyone live like that?”
Today I am swinging by to get the mail on my way home, and picking up a prescription and some Claritin-D, too. I doubt I’ll be in the mood to do any cleaning tonight, or have the energy to do so, but that’s fine. I can clean up around work-at-home duties tomorrow. I’ll also have to run some other errands–I really need to wash the car, seriously–and dig into Danielle Arsenault’s debut novel.
And maybe do some writing. It certainly can’t hurt.
And now I am heading to the spice mines. Have a good Thursday, Constant Reader.
I’ve been putting my cats into my books now for quite some time.
It’s kind of funny, because I never wanted to be one of those people–posting pictures of my pets, writing them into my books–until, of course, I actually acquired a pet. It never occurred to me to put Skittle into any of my books, until we lost him to a very rapidly advancing cancer when he was only seven.
Skittle was such a beautiful cat.
Skittle came to us when he was about six months old, when we were still living in the carriage house. (We’d gotten a mouse, and were advised by friends, neighbors and landlady to just get a cat…to which were both like “Really? We don’t want a cat and we know nothing about them” but after the third mouse sighting, it was, yeah, we need a cat. We got Skittle on Christmas Eve, 2003, as a bit of a Christmas present to ourselves. (We never saw the mouse again.) And cute and tiny as he was, we had no idea what a cat was like or what was normal behavior for them…and he had us completely charmed and under his thumb by the end of the day–head butts, making biscuits, cuddling and a non-stop purr machine. Skittle was beautiful, but was afraid of the outside for a while. He’d been found at about two weeks old in the middle of the road in a rainstorm, so the sound of cars scared him for a long time, and he was terrified of going outside for the first few years. Then one night I was coming home from a party–Paul was staying in the Quarter for the TW Fest, and I was home taking care of the cat–and the front door didn’t latch. When I got up the next morning the door was wide open, and Skittle was nowhere to be found. I called him a few times, and he came out from under the main house and sat down on the walk, nonchalantly cleaning himself as a very-relieved me ran and grabbed him.
After that, we had to watch and make sure the door closed because he’d dash out if he had the chance. He always let us catch him eventually, but he liked to explore and check for vermin and other live toys to torture. He was a great hunter, and could take a palmetto bug out of mid-air with a massive leap. He loved to play fetch, was very affectionate, and loved people, always winning them over by winding through their legs and rubbing against them, begging to be petted. He was also long-haired and I swear he shed that entire coat at least three or four times a year; his hair was everywhere. He also was smart–he trained me to know what four different noises he made were: food, water, litter box to be cleaned, and I either want to be petted and go to sleep on you in your chair. When I had a laptop as my primary computer (from 2003-2010), I had it sitting on a metal tray at eye level while I used a separate keyboard, and Skittle loved to go to sleep up there. When I got an actual desktop computer again, he lost his place to sleep while I worked, and he did. Not. Like. That. One. Bit.
He got sick first over Memorial Day that weekend, and he was dehydrated. The vet rehydrated him again and he was back to his normal self…but over Labor Day he was sick again. It was cancer, and from the first diagnosis that Tuesday after Labor Day and when we took him back a few weeks later….it had spread to all of his organs, and it became just a matter of time. Keeping him alive would require three months in the hospital, thousands of dollars, and no guarantee he would make it through.
We were both devastated when we brought him home that Wednesday night, and we made an appointment to send him over the Rainbow Bridge for Saturday. We spoiled him that Thursday and Friday–treats and tuna, as much as he wanted. Ironically, those last few days, he seemed like himself again to the point that I had to be the monster on Saturday morning and convince Paul it was better to let him go now, rather than watch him decline because he wasn’t getting any better; it was almost like he knew so he wanted us to remember him the way he always was. Paul spent that entire day after we got back in bed, while I was an empty shell of myself, removing all reminders–toys, food, etc. because every time I found one I’d start crying again, so I rounded them all up.
I wanted to get another cat, but Paul was so heartbroken, he wasn’t sure he could handle another so soon. (I was also heartbroken, but I also knew we had to rescue another one.)
Scooter was such a handsome fellow, too.
Thursday the vet called to let me know Skittle’s ashes were ready for us to pick up, so I went over there on my way to work in the morning and picked them up. They had some cats there for adoption from the SPCA, and there was a beautiful orange boy, named Texas, who was so sweet I wanted to take him home right then. But I didn’t know if Paul would be upset if I brought home a replacement cat, so I didn’t, but I remembered him and thought I’ll talk to Paul about it tonight.
Paul was asleep on the couch when I got home from work that night, and so I turned on the television and thought, “I’ll ask him about Texas when he wakes up.” I read while something was on television–a Real Housewives marathon, I think–and about an hour later, Paul sat up on the couch, completely freaked out that he’d just seen a mouse looking at him from the top of the recycling bin. I hadn’t seen anything. He was just dreaming–and his subconscious was letting him know it was okay to get another cat. Thirteen years later, he still insists there was a mouse. So I told him about Texas, told him to go by and look at home and if he wanted him, to make all the arrangements and I’d pick him up after work. Paul fell in love with Texas, and nothing would do except that I pick HIM up from work and we’d go together to get him.
Scooter jumped out of the crate and hid under the coffee table, which was a bit concerning. But after about an hour of us leaving him alone, he came out, crawled onto the couch and onto Paul, laid down on his chest and started purring and headbutting him, and then he came over to me and did the same. We renamed him Scooter that first night, and for thirteen years, we had this incredibly sweet ginger boy.
Such a sweet boy. Around this time was when I realized that if I started putting MY cats into my work meant they would live forever. So I gave Chanse’s friend Paige (who hadn’t yet appeared in a Scotty book an orange and white cat named Skittle. I gave Scotty a cat named Scooter, and I can’t remember which cat I gave to Valerie in my cozy series; it was either Skittle or Scooter. Jem also has a black cat in Death Drop, but he is fictional–what else but Shade?
We had Scooter for thirteen years. He had a bout with diabetes, but insulin shots cleared that up (thank God; I hated giving him those shots) and he was mostly healthy. One morning last summer before I went to work I noticed Scooter was huffing–and having trouble breathing. I tried to soothe him, but I could tell he was terrified…and thought, Oh no, this is probably it for him, how am I going to break it to Paul? Later that morning he called me at work to tell me we needed to take Scooter in, and we were probably going to lose him. We took him over that morning, and they called us later to let us know it was congestive, and he wasn’t going to make it. They had him comfortable, but whenever they took him out of the oxygen thing he’d start huffing again. It was, alas, fatal, so I walked over there and held him while they put him to sleep and he crossed the rainbow bridge. I sobbed all the way home, and still can’t think about him without tearing up.
The house felt so empty without a cat. But finally we steeled ourselves and headed to the SPCA to pick out a new rescue.
Sparky!
And we brought Sparky home, and I’ve been entertaining you all with tales of the kitten here ever since. He’s a darling, and he’s getting so much bigger than the little kitten with a big voice and adorable energy. He picked us out–just as Skittle did–and I love that he’s got orange coloring, as you can see above.
And I guess I’ll have to start another series so I can immortalize Sparky, too.
Queer and Loathing in America 