Tag: A Haunting on the Hill

Cemetery Drive

Sunday!

This morning, I got up earlier than I have all weekend, and I don’t mind. It rained overnight, so I slept deeply and well. I also had a rather productive day yesterday–one that was going to be a mostly easy day of maybe picking things up around the apartment and maybe doing some reading. After LSU lost (I knew they were overrated) to Vanderbilt1, I lost interest in watching games for the rest of the day; I had the television on, but mostly for background noise. Everyone I was pulling for yesterday lost (with the exception of the Alabama-Tennessee game), so it kind of turned into a theme for the day. So, I would sit in my chair and read (or scribble notes in my journal) while doing things around the apartment, which looks a lot better this morning than it usually does on Sunday mornings. I also shaved my head again–it’s been a hot minute–and did a lot of filing. I am also trying to get my writing projects better organized, and managed to throw out a bunch of shit yesterday, too.

I started reading Elizabeth Hand’s Hokolua Road yesterday, and am enjoying it so far. I didn’t get deep into the book, but it’s set during the pandemic and quarantines, on one of the Hawaiian Islands (I think Hand made the island up wholesale, which is okay with me; I love Hawaii and have always wanted to write a book set on the islands). I love how she writes, honestly; I had one of her books already when A Haunting on the Hill, which was an authorized sequel to The Haunting of Hill House (one of my favorite books of all time), came out, so I thought I’d check out more of her work. I also spent some time rereading sections of Stephen King’s Danse Macabre–the sections about Shirley Jackon’s class novel, to help me prepare to write a long form essay on the book, and dove into the New Orleans/Louisiana sections of Colin Dickey’s marvelous Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places, which also gave me some ideas for future projects. Yes, my mind is flourishing in creative ways again, which is absolutely lovely. I also need to organize/outline my thoughts for an essay series for the newsletter about masculinity, and my prickly relationship with it. (I knew it was going to be long, so it makes sense to plan it, outline it, and publish it in parts.) I also have tons of notes from my rewatch of Scream, too. I also made some decisions about the prep work I need to do to bring Chlorine to its conclusion, which I am hoping to do in November.

It feels good to be thinking about writing again and getting ideas all the time again. The last three years haven’t been easy for me, physically or emotionally, and so I got derailed to the point of not enjoying the writing or creating; it had turned into an odious chore, which I didn’t like, and had me considering walking away/retiring from the whole business for good. Whew, glad to know that’s passed, or that it’s not time for me to stop just yet. I”m also very tired of living in interesting times, you know? I’m still not physically able to go to protests, so I wasn’t able to attend the No Kings event here in New Orleans–but what a turnout all over the world, not just here in the USA, and that gives me some hope that this nightmare will eventually end. Maybe not the way I’d like–guillotines and a basement in Ekaterinberg–but you can’t always get what you want.

But I feel rested and good this morning, which is nice and the point of the weekend, really. I am going to be in clinic four days again this week, and by myself the last two, so I am feeling pretty certain that I’ll be exhausted when the weekends roll around again. But the summer is over, we’re moving into the cooler season here, and the weather is going to be sunny and low 80’s/high 70’s during the days, but dipping into the frigid 60’s at night.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am going to do some filing before reading for a while, and getting cleaned up while maybe finishing the floors. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back on the morrow.

  1. Congratulations to Vanderbilt, by the way, and good luck with the rest of your season. Your coach is pretty phenomenal! ↩︎

Let’s Get Serious

Tuesday morning and I feel bleary.

It has turned cold (for New Orleans) here; the high yesterday was in the mid-sixties, and I felt cold all day. I had to run uptown to the Sports Medicine institute to get my letter for jury duty and then had to drive to City Park for a work thing. And, thanks to the strange vagaries of New Orleans geography, it turns out Tulane University’s campus is closer to City Park than it is to my house. I still can’t wrap my mind around that logic, but as it starts to spiral off I just think yes, but that weird geography is part of what makes the city unique and then I can stop thinking about it for a while. From there we went to the Dillard University campus for a training (they served us lunch) and from there to Ralph’s on the Park for a final presentation and dinner. I discover that I can eat pasta and meatballs and softer bread; I was able to have the soup and blackened redfish for dinner, which also worked. I would have rather had the steak filet, but I felt pretty certain that wouldn’t work for me. I then came home, and we started watching The Fall of the House of Usher, which spans a lot of Poe’s work, and repaired to bed relatively early. I slept well, but feel a bit under-rested this morning. I certainly don’t feel as awake and alert as I did yesterday. I think we have a busy day at the office, too. This weekend is also going to be a bit off for me; I have a wedding to attend Saturday afternoon, and I believe I have dinner plans with a friend from out of town for Sunday. I have to swing uptown after work tonight to get the mail; tomorrow after work I’ll make groceries, I think.

I’ve selected Angel Luis Colón’s Infested as my next read; it’s a middle grade or y/a, methinks, from the MTV Fear imprint of MTV Entertainment Books. I enjoy Angel’s work; I think we met in either Toronto or St. Petersburg? I could be wrong. But I know I read some of this short stories from his collection Meat City on Fire, and I always have meant to go back and read more. I am hoping to get through it this week, spending the weekend rereading The Dead Zone, and then moving on to Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield. I’d like to get to Elizabeth Hand’s Curious Toys after that, if there’s still time; I may let it spill over into November. I really enjoyed her A Haunting on the Hill and want to read more of her work, and apparently her backlist is pretty deep, which is cool. I also want to get to Lou Berney’s new one Dark Ride, and then I am definitely going to start working my way through the rest of the TBR pile, which is staggeringly enormous and deep.

I suspect I’ll be doing a lot of reading after my surgery next month, too. At least I hope so, at any rate.

As I was saying the other day, having my routines messed with always throws me off track. This weekend I got a lot of rest, did some reading, and cleaned and organized because of the unknown delivery time of the new refrigerator, but I was also clearing my mind and looking ahead to see what needs to be done, and when. I made a to-do list for the week on Sunday but yesterday not being a normal Monday messed me up, and I keep thinking today is Monday, which it most definitely is not. I want to get back to work on writing things; I know I have a short story to finish by the end of the month for a deadline and I know there are some other places open for submissions that I would like to get something sent in for. Whether that will work or not remains to be seen. LSU plays Army this weekend, and it’s a night game, so I should be able to get home from the wedding in time to catch at least part of the game, and then its two weeks until the next game–at Alabama; as usual, the game that can make or break the season. I have no idea how that will go, but Nick Saban’s Alabama has rarely lost to the same team two years in a row; the exceptions being LSU (2010 and 2011) and Mississippi (2014 and 2015). Obviously, I’d love for the Tigers to win out, take the West again and go to Atlanta to face Georgia–but I’m not sure how distant from reality that hope might be. I guess we will find out that weekend.

We also have a very busy week here ahead of me in the clinic, which can be exhausting.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and enjoy the colder weather!

Up Where We Belong

Shirley Jackson never explained.

I’ve always loved The Haunting of Hill House, and Jackson has always been one of my favorite writers. I’ve long ago lost count of how many times I’ve reread the book, and of course I love the original film version from 1963, directed by Robert Wise and starring Julie Harris in one of her best screen roles as Nell. The sense of dread and fear contained within the pages of that incredibly short novel are astounding. I’ve always believed that one of the book’s greatest strengths was its lack of explanation; horror novels, or ghost stories, or whatever you want to call Jackson’s novel, inevitably always get hung up on explanations of who or what caused the place to become haunted and/or accursed. Jackson never bothered, knowing instinctively that the unknown is far more unsettling and terrifying than any understanding or explanation she could provide to her readers; she just never explained. “The Lottery” offers no clues as to why the villagers have developed this annual ritual, it simply happens and she shows it to us without explanation…which again makes it that much more unsettling. In the years since I originally discovered and read a very cheap copy of The Haunting of Hill House at a used book store, with its Gothic-style cover depicting a beautiful Nell with long flowing hair and a long flowing gown, holding a candle while climbing the horrible spiral staircase in the library, I’ve read more of Jackson and become an even bigger fan of her work than I already was. The Haunting of Hill House and “The Lottery” firmly cemented Jackson’s deserved place in American literature; the rest of her equally brilliant, disturbing and unsettling work serve to heighten that place and elevate it even more.

I am not a purist. A long time ago I realized that films and television programs adapted from books would almost always be disappointing for a fan of the book; ones that are actually better than the book (The Exorcist, The Godfather) are few and far between. I stopped getting irritated by these changes a long time ago. I also learned to stop being bothered by such things; it’s an adaptation, after all, and that means changes because it’s now a different medium. (I have already mentioned my amusement at how militant fans can be about these things; particularly when it comes to things like Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys.) I hated the 1999 remake of The Haunting; it was special effects nightmare that made little to no sense; the whole point of the story was you never see what it is that’s going on and never are really sure; this second film version ignored that and therefore, it wasn’t The Haunting but just another haunted house movie. I greatly enjoyed the Netflix adaptation mini-series by Mike Flanagan; it was a different interpretation–again, you never see anything–and I thought it was a brilliant modernization/adaptation.

But I did approach this book, said to be a retelling of the story, with a bit of trepidation. I’d heard of Ms. Hand before, of course–I have a copy of Curious Toys, which I bought when she on the Shirley Jackson Award for it, and had been meaning to get to her work at some point.

I left the rental just as the sun poked its head above the nearby mountains, and golden light filled the broad stretch of river that ran alongside the little town. Nisa was still curled up in bed, beathing deeply, her dark curls stuck to her cheek. I brushed them aside but she never stirred. Nisa slept like a child. Unlike me, she was never troubled by nightmares or insomnia. It would be another hour or two before she woke. Longer, maybe. Probably.

I kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent–lilac-and-freesia perfume mingled with my own Jasmin et Tabac, one of my few luxuries–and ran my hand along her bare shoulder. I was tempted to crawl back in bed beside her, but I also felt an odd restlessness, a nagging sense that there was somewhere I needed to be. There wasn’t–we knew no on around here except for Theresa and Giorgio, and both would be at work at their home offices overlooking the river.

I kissed Nisa again: if she woke, I’d take it as a sign, and remain here. But she didn’t wake.

I scrawled a note on a piece of paper–Nisa often forgot to turn her notifications off, she’d be grumpy all morning if a text woke her. Going for a drive, back with provisions. Love you.

This book isn’t a retelling of the Jackson novel, but rather a kind of sequel, picking up at Hill House some sixty years after poor Nell drove her car into the tree after the turn in the driveway as she realized she’d been wrong about everything but only too late. This is a new story of Hill House, and our main character, Holly Sherwin, is staying upstate with her lover Nisa in an Air BnB, and bored, wakes up early and goes for a drive. A playwright, she’s recently won a grant to help cover expenses while she works on her play, Witching Night, which is based on an old sixteenth century manuscript she came across by chance. It’s the story of an old woman accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake, based on a real event; her girlfriend Nisa is an accomplished rising singer/songwriter, who is rewriting old murder ballads to use as the soundtrack/backdrop of the play. She goes for a drive and finds herself at Hill House…which draws her in much as it did Nell in the original Jackson and she decides to rent the house for two weeks, move in with her cast (her bisexual friend Stevie, a former child star molested on set and now an amazing sound tech) and Amanda, a brilliant aging actress whose career took a turn when a costar fell to his death–and of course people wondered if she pushed him. Holly herself has a bit of a checkered past; someone had told her a story that she adapted into a play; the original person threatened to sue her but before anything can be done that person commits suicide. That derailed her playwriting career–and believe me, Hand does an excellent job of depicting what the excitement that a burnt-out creative experiences when inspiration, an opportunity to flex those creaky muscles and create again, feels like.

All four of the characters are beautifully rendered and are completely real, and one of the things I liked was how Hand slyly also referenced the Flanagan mini-series as a part of the Hill House continuity. Hand’s Hill House has similarities to Jackson’s, and there are more than enough nods for the Jackson fan to recognize and smile about. Hand also does an incredible job of creating that claustrophobic dream-like feel Jackson used for her book, but Hand doesn’t mimic Jackson’s style; the style of this novel is entirely Hand’s, but one has to marvel at Hand’s mastery of creating that same feeling in her reader but in an entirely different way. The language she uses is flawless and rhythmic, just like Jackson’s was, but again completely different. There are also moments that mirror the original novel beautifully; call backs to the original story that I personally felt like little secrets Hand was sharing with me the reader. It’s a very intimate story, and I felt like I was there with them, the characters were people I understood and knew and cared about. Hand also tells the story in alternating points of view, which helps create the off-balance slightly skewed perspective the story needs; Holly tells the story in the first person, but the others are from a third person point of view.

It was terrific, and I look forward to reading more of Hand’s work.

Cupid/I’ve Loved You For a Long Time

My, what a gorgeous day it was yesterday–the kind that reminds me why I love it here so much and helps me forget the horror that is July-August (although I believe the summer horror began in late May this year). I made groceries in the morning and also retrieved everything from the carriage house to put in the new refrigerator; it’s lovely. I hadn’t realized what a pain in the ass it was making do with the shitty old one. I didn’t get all that filing worked on, but I did make some material progress that will help get me started working on it all again this week. I have more appointments this week–primary care doctor on Wednesday afternoon, and I have to actually go into the office on Friday for a benefits meeting. Our insurance is changing to a new carrier in the new year, which is why it was so important for me to get all this medical shit out of the way while I still have insurance that will take care of everything, or at least I understand how it operates. I absolutely hate the idea that I will have to relearn all my insurance stuff again in the new year.

It makes me tired.

I slept well today, and don’t have to go into the office at all. We’re having a “professional development day”, which starts at City Park at ten this morning and goes all day, from place to place–we go to Dillard University and later to Ralph’s on the Park–before coming home at six pm. Tomorrow goes back to normal. I didn’t want to get up this morning–Tug also wanted me to stay in bed; he followed me downstairs and is sleeping in my lap while I am typing this (Paul has started calling him Sparky, which kinds of fits…) but is also very sweet. He spent most of yesterday either chasing the laser light, playing with an old catnip toy of Scooter’s (catnip didn’t affect Scooter; Tug/Sparky is an entirely different story), or sleeping in my lap. I spent most of the day in my chair finishing Elizabeth Hand’s marvelous A Haunting on the Hill, which I will talk about in more detail in another entry. I also started reading Rival Queens as my new non-fiction read; it’s about Catherine de Medici and her daughter Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre (aka Queen Margot) and of course, this is one of my favorite periods of history and two of my favorite, most interesting sixteenth century queens; Catherine de Medici is fascinating. A version of Game of Thrones played out in France between 1559 and 1594, and I’m always kind of amazed that it’s not written about more–but Americans are always more interested in English history, if they have any interest in history at all.

It’s a pity, because I’ve always found French history more interesting.

While I was reading A Haunting on the Hill yesterday an old idea of mine–a sort of sideways sequel to Bury Me in Shadows started developing in my mind; another Corinth County novel, only this time with Beau, Jake’s boyfriend from the University of Alabama and an archaeology/Alabama history major, as the main character. I’ve had this idea for a short story for a very long time–set in Corinth County–called “Children of the Stone Circle”, which I think I may have even written an entire first draft a long time ago; just could never tell how to make it work and make it real. It came to me while reading the Elizabeth Hand–I always get inspired when I read books that are well-written that I enjoy–and I made copious notes in my journal. That felt good–it felt good to power down my brain for most of the weekend and kind of relax. I am delighted to have finished the Hand–and for reasons that I will explain when I write about the book, I decided the reread of The Haunting of Hill House–which I still want to do–wasn’t a necessary follow up to the Hand. I am going to read Angel Luis Colon’s Infested next, and perhaps some more y/a middle-grade horror. I do want to reread King’s The Dead Zone, too; it’s been quite a while.

I also watched another episode of Moonlighting last night, which I am really enjoying the rewatch of. There were some cultural references to the time that don’t work–last night’s episode had Addison make a reference to a highly popular ad campaign that was already over but still very much a part of the zeitgeist when the show started–but overall, it’s still a great show. Cybill Shepherd was just stunningly beautiful, and she made a great straight man character for Willis to bounce his antics and humor off, and the chemistry between the two of them was simply off the charts. I had also forgotten how utterly charming the character of Miss DiPesto (“My name’s Agnes, but my friends call me Miss DiPesto”) as played by Allyce Beasley was; I was already a fan of hers when the show started because of her turn in one of the best episodes of Cheers, where she played Coach’s daughter.

“But Gregalicious, I thought you were rewatching Friday the 13th the Series this month in honor of Halloween?” I was, but the episodes are on Youtube, the quality of some are terrible (they were clearly uploaded and digitized from old VCR recordings, and for those of us who remember using VCR’s, we also still remember how bad some of those recordings were–especially when you were re-using cassettes) and it became annoying, and then Moonlighting dropped. So yes, I am not devoting myself to all things horror this month the way I had intended to, and no, I’ve not been taking the walks every night like I wanted to when the weather turned. Partly because I am tired when I get home every night from work, and partly because Tug/Sparky needs attention when I walk through the door and I am more than willing to give the adorable little kitty whatever he wants. He fell asleep in my lap yesterday once while still sitting up–his head was still up, not resting on anything, and he was sound asleep, which I’ve never seen anyone or anything do before.

And when he gets comfortable and is deep in dreamland, he sprawls in the most adorable ways. He also was happy in his sleep at one point, too–he started making biscuits on the arm of my easy chair while purring, but was sound asleep.

Yes, he’s adorable and yes, he is now master of the apartment.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will see you later.

Sexy Eyes

Well, we survived a Friday the 13th in October–terrifying!

It was actually a rather beautiful day in New Orleans, in all honesty. I had a bit of a morning–there’s been some anxiety building inside my head since I got home from work on Wednesday to discover a jury duty summons in the mail. (For the record, I am not one of the majority of Americans who hate doing this little part of their responsibilities as a citizen; I always think, these are probably the same people who bitch constantly about our flawed criminal justice system–which is not incorrect–but you don’t get to complain about juries and the system when you resent serving on juries or try to get out of doing it. The system is only as good as the jurors selected, after all. Anyway, I digress. I got the summons on Wednesday afternoon, and I was supposed to report this morning. Obviously, it was delayed or went out late or something, but the last thing I need to do is deal with jury duty between now and my surgery; all those tests and appointments and so forth that i have to do before the surgery, etc. etc. I decided to fill out the form on-line and ask for a deferment; alas, it wasn’t until I finished registering that I found out if I wanted to be excused, I needed to go to the courthouse and ask in person as well as provide a note from my doctor. Wow, I thought, kind of like being back in high school. I had an MRI scheduled Friday morning, so I figured I’d ask them then. Well, my surgeon wasn’t in the office and no one else wanted to do it, suggesting I check with my primary care. As my primary care office is near the courthouse and I had to pick up a prescription there anyway, I went by. Primary care wans’t in, and was advised to try my surgeon. Jesus fucking Christ, apparently I woke up in a Kafka novel. So, I decided to go to the courthouse and see what happened….and they literally told me to have my doctor email it to the court clerk, gave me a card with her name and email address, and sent me home.

Who knew the Orleans Parish Courthouse would be the easiest, “no big deal” part of this? Certainly not one Gregalicious, that’s for sure.

I came home and did my work-at-home chores, as well as my laundry chores, and then Tug settled in for a nap in my lap while I finished reading the Riley Sager (which I enjoyed; more on that later) and started Elizabeth Hand’s A Haunting on the Hill and am quite liking it as well. Paul and I watched a horror film from 2007 called Trick r Treat, which was kind of clever yet neither of us had heard of it before. That was in honor of both Friday the 13th and it being spooky season and all. I do love fall in New Orleans. It was lovely running around this morning doing all that stuff with lovely sunny but cool weather; the kind where you can wear sleeves and jeans outside comfortably.

The refrigerator is being delivered today, so I have to make room for the delivery guys and hope that they come earlier rather than later. I have no control over this whatsoever, so I am just going to roll with it and see where things wind up. While I wait for the refrigerator I am going to try to get this done as well as some other things; trying not to get anxious or worry about things that cannot be controlled. They have my cell phone number, after all, and if I keep it with me…it’s really irrational to get anxious about things like this, isn’t it? Just like it was irrational to get so worked up and tense over the jury duty thing this morning. It’s just wasted energy and it just leaves me tired, and I really don’t need anything else in my life to make me tired; I can do that quite well and need no further assistance with that, thank you very much. UPDATE: it is out for delivery and expected between 3:30 and 7:30, which means most likely groceries will have to wait until tomorrow and I can actually spend the morning cleaning up down here and making it not quite the disaster area it currently appears to be. A quick glance at Twitter shows that Tulane won at Memphis last night, and apparently Colorado blew a big lead and lost to Stanford.

I slept really well last night–and woke up at five, like always. I fell back asleep until Tug (Paul has started calling him Sparky because he gets the zoomies–but the next time he does I’m getting the laser light out–nothing like the red dot to wear your kitten out of his BIg Kitten Energy.) wanted his breakfast at six–can’t blame him, and I’m kind of awake already anyway. I stayed in bed until about seven before rising, thinking that was a lot m rore rational than trying to stay in bed–especially since I knew the delivery window was between eight and eight; hope springs eternal that it was going to be a morning delivery. DENIED. Tug now is completely at home and curious about everything; there are bottle caps everywhere from him chasing them around, and of course I always have to be careful with what I leave on surfaces. It’s also election day here in Louisiana, and I must go vote so I can vote against our evil attorney general’s bid for governor, which would be a disaster so great people would start remembering Bobby Jindal’s disgraceful tenure in Baton Rouge with nostalgia.

The salt intrusion has been slowed significantly–the last I heard the salt water wouldn’t be here until around Thanksgiving–a month later than projected, and there was a chance it would dissipate before then, too. I should probably pay more attention, but I have a flat of water and a two-gallon jug (which I will save for hurricane season in the attic, if the salt doesn’t get up here after all, and I should always be prepared for hurricane season anyway), but probably won’t have to buy any more of that.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. There’s a lot I can get done this morning, and I intend to do it before curling up with my book with whatever game is on at eleven in the background. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader; I’ll probably be back later.

Biggest Part of Me

Well, I am not going to get my dentures until Monday; they just called and the dentist isn’t in today, so I can’t get them until Monday morning, which makes this weekend a bit more difficult–sigh, eating will be a bit of a challenge for me this weekend in Panama City Beach, but at least I get them Monday morning–which means I can get groceries and start eating normally again on Monday; which is fantastic and makes me incredibly happy. I think I can probably chew if I take the uppers out, but I hardly would want to be doing that in public. But Monday I can eat normally again, although I still have a lot of the softer food to get rid of without wasting. I’ve actually liked some of these options I’ve adapted to–who knew hot and spicy ramen would be so fucking good?–and I will miss the ice cream of course, but I didn’t really lose a lot of weight while on this diet (my body always adjusts very quickly) but I am hopeful that will become more of a reality for me (actual weight loss) once the teeth are done and the surgeries are over and I’ve recovered. The weather has become cool enough for me to take walks when I get home from work; I’ve just been so focused on bonding with li’l Tug that I’ve not really made use of the time as productively as perhaps I should have.

Tug is becoming more and more at home, and showing more and more Big Kitten Energy every day. When I got home from work there was a trail of…well, I won’t say destruction because that wasn’t what I found; but there was a lot more stuff on the floor when I got home than was there when I had left. Last night he slept a lot in my lap, but then would get the “wanna play!” zoomies, where he was running around knocking things off and playing with everything and chasing things. I read some more of Riley Sager’s Final Girls, which is quite interesting and holding my attention, and then switched over to some Youtube videos. I watched another old episode of Friday the 13th the Series, which is fun, as always; it also occurred to me that I’ve basically given a sort of the same set-up backstory to A Streetcar Named Murder that the show had; my main character inherited an antique shop from an old uncle of her husband’s she didn’t know, the first case involved an item from the store, etc. etc. etc. (I just last night put that together–there truly are no new stories under the sun, are there? This is what I mean when I say things like I have so many influences I can’t possibly list or remember them all–pretty much anything I’ve ever read and any movie/television show I’ve seen has influenced me in some way.) Paul had a meeting last night so he wasn’t home before I started falling asleep in my easy chair; Tug and I repaired to bed before Paul got home around ten and I slept until eight this morning; ten hours! That never happens, Constant Reader, and it felt great. I feel very rested and relaxed this morning before I dive into my work-at-home duties, of which there are quite a bit today. I also have some errands to run late this afternoon after work, and of course tomorrow mornign I have to get up early and get the oil changed–which means more of the Riley Sager. I’m also a little excited to listen to Stephen Graham Jones’ The Only Good Indians on the way over and back, and I want to finish the Sager this weekend so I can reread The Haunting of Hill House and The Dead Zone before moving on to Elizabeth Hand’s A Hanunting on the Hill–although I’ll reread the King before the Jackson, because it just makes more sense to pair the Jackson with Hand’s retelling of the same tale, doesn’t it?

The switch from blast-furnace summer heat to the coolness (relatively speaking) of fall has been wonderful, and I hope my Entergy bill reflects the cooling of the weather. The kitchen is a mess, as always on Friday mornings, so of course I have some things to do around here before I get started on my work-at-home chores or do some writing or reading or whatever I need to get done here around the house. The new season of Our Flag Means Death dropped last night, as well as other new episodes of our shows (Ahsoka, Only Murders in the Building, among others) and we also want to start The Changeling, based on Victor Lavalle’s superb novel.

So I am hoping for nice productive day at home. I feel rested and relaxed–always a plus–and maybe not as motivated as I would like, but hey, that’s on me and the coffee I have yet to finish consuming. I’m going to finish off my morning with a cup of cacao, because I am trying to get used to it and it would be great to wean myself entirely off coffee, but the cacao is taking some getting used to–it doesn’t really have the bitter bite of coffee, which is the part of the taste I prefer. Cacao is more like unsweetened hot chocolate–and it’s probably the real chocolate taste, as opposed to the insanely sweetened version Americans are used to. I’ll have to get up early tomorrow to get the oil changed in the car–since I’ll be on the West Bank, I should probably go ahead and grocery shop while I’m over there, and then I won’t have to worry about it when I get back on Sunday night, which does make the most sense.

And so, on a more cheery note than usual lately, I am going to take this chance to head into the spice mines. I may be back before tomorrow morning’s before the oil change at the crack of dawn, but one never can be sure. At any rate, have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll talk to you again soon.

Things We Do For Love

I love to write.

I do, I really do. I was thinking about this the other night; I was thinking about my trip this weekend to spend time with relatives I’ve not really talked to much over the last forty or so years. Rereading Jackson Square Jazz (I finished last night) has also been revelatory. It’s a pretty good book, and rather ambitious in its scope, but there are some things I’m going to need to revise out of it–primarily words and phrases that have since become problematic. (They were always problematic, but unfortunately we weren’t as aware of these things back then as we are now.) But the purpose of the book overall in the scheme of Scotty’s growth as a person and development of his character definitely played out here, and it definitely worked, so I was rather pleased with the reread.

But it was (is?) interesting to see how I’ve changed and grown as a writer in the ensuing twenty years. I was also a little impressed at how ambitious this book was, in its scope and its story-telling; I don’t remember being that ambitious when I was writing the book. I remember where the idea came from, and how long it gestated in my head before it became Scotty #2; ironically, this was the plot I was going to use to try to write a mainstream mystery with Paige as the main character…at least, that was how I first thought of it. I will have to go back through the manuscript and start making corrections and finding the errors–with the actual finished book on the table beside me to consult for corrections and so forth–and I am also going to need to have the iPad around, so I can do searches in the other Scotty books to verify things. There were also a couple of interesting things I noted in the book as I was rereading it–I did a really good job of setting up the big twist in Mississippi River Mischief that was twenty years in the making–but there were also some things in there that I’ve not followed up on or I’m pretty sure are incorrect; the way I described the apartment on the top floor of Scotty’s building is way off; I am going to have to reread Vieux Carre Voodoo again as well and see what other continuity errors I’ve made with that building over the years. I also kind of liked Scotty’s not-totally-an-adult yet voice; he was a bit of a Peter Pan throughout his twenties, and didn’t start settling down until he was well into his thirties, which was also kind of interesting to me. This book also contains my first car chase (and my first writing about a car accident, for those who keep track of how many accidents Scotty has been in–Chanse has been in a few, too) and some of its geography was wrong; so I am going to need to clean that scene up a bit as well. I guess the best thing to do is reread the version that came out in print next, and put sticky notes in the places where I think I made mistakes in the manuscript to see if it got cleaned up in the edits.

I mean, I really tried a lot of shit in this book, and it actually worked! Good for me!

I ran errands on the way home from work yesterday (mainly so I don’t have to again today) and was a bit tired by the time I got home. I did get started on the chores before Tug decided he needed my lap, and of course, once I was in the chair and he was in my lap it was all over. I did manage to put away the dishes and do another load, as well as get started on the laundry, which I will have to finish tonight. Tomorrow is a work-at-home day, which will be nice. I do need to take the car in for an oil change and tire rotation before I leave on Saturday; whether I do that tomorrow morning or Saturday will depend on a number of things–primarily whether I hear from the dentist that my temporary plates are ready; I really would like to have those before I leave for the weekend because I’d really rather not have to remain on the soft food diet and try to figure out what to stop and eat on the way there and back.

I also picked up two books yesterday, which will come in handy for Halloween Horror Month: Elizabeth Hand’s retelling of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, A Haunting on the Hill, and the Jonathan Maberry edited Weird Tales: 100 Years of Weirdness. I also got my three Anthony nominee certificates from this past Bouchercon in the mail, which was incredibly lovely and still doesn’t quite seem real to me yet. It still feels like it happened to someone else. I never got the certificates from the previous years–I didn’t know they actually made them for us–and the first time I actually picked one up was at Malice, when they gave out the ones for the Agathas (which was the first time I found out that they make these for the nominees. Just as well–I don’t have that much wall space and boy did that ever sound arrogant!) this past spring. It’s very nice to have these, too, but I am not sure where I can put them. Like I said, I don’t have much open space left on the walls of my kitchen/office. On the other hand, it may be time to mix that all up, anyway, and rehang things or replace things that have been up forever. Do I really need the glamour shots of Joan, Bette and Kate? Probably not.

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