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.
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and if you don’t–well, happy Monday off!
Yesterday was not a good day. I woke up feeling like crap, and it never really got much better until later in the day, when I realized it had started raining during the night. It rained all day, actually, and I was so tired and dragged out and felt so terrible that I didn’t put it together until late in the afternoon–oh, this is SINUS related, because of the rain–and took a Claritin-D, which made me feel somewhat better. I also slept super good and slept in, too. I did manage to get some things done yesterday too–I finished reading Buried in a Good Book (more on that later) and started reading another one. We also finished watching both Looking the series, and then watched the wrap-up film (more on that later as well). I am going to pick out my next read, spend some time with it this morning, and at some point today we are probably going to watch Saltburn. I also have to put the turkey breast in the slow cooker (pulled turkey is quite delicious) and put dishes away, but I also have tomorrow off, so am not overly concerned about getting things organized and cleaned up. I worked on the books some more and pruned some more out, and started learning how to use the microwave–which does make a difference.
Christmas is usually when I started looking back on the year, and 2023 was a bit of a rollercoaster for me (they usually are). My personal life really sucked balls this past year, but it was a very good year for me professionally. The year started with me behind on two deadlines, but I managed to getboth books finally finished and turned in, once I was able to turn MWA over to my successor, which was part of the delay on the books. In late January I injured my arm, and got misdiagnosed by my primary care physician. As we rolled into Mardi Gras, Mom had a massive stroke and I drove up to Kentucky to see her one last time in hospice. She didn’t really know me, she was pretty much unresponsive unless she was in pain, and it was rough. I drove home that Sunday, and she died on Valentine’s Day, so I had to drive up to Alabama that last weekend of Mardi Gras for the funeral. Not going to lie, it was tough losing my mother, and it’s been tough all year. I have sublimated most of my grief into worry about Dad, frankly. I went up and met him in Alabama for their anniversary, and we convoyed up to Kentucky, where I stayed for a week. I met Dad at my aunt and uncle’s place in Panama City Beach in October for their birthdays. When my primary care finally recognized what was wrong with my arm (torn biceps), I got referred to a orthopedic surgeon–but I needed a specialist. I had all my teeth removed finally in September, right after Labor Day, but didn’t get my new teeth until the week before the arm surgery, so was on a soft diet for two months which sucked….and then had to go back on it after the surgery because I couldn’t really cut up food. I also got hearing aids, which was great and has helped dramatically.
I also finally realized what the core mental issue was, thanks to a conversation with Dad–when I found out she suffered from generalized anxiety disorder and the light bulb went on over my head: that is exactly what is wrong with me, and all these years what I thought was “normal” because I didn’t know any different and I just always thought I was like Mom…yeah, I am like Mom, and all these years all I’ve been doing is treating symptoms and not the root cause. In consultation with my new primary care doctor, I weaned off the old medication and started treating the anxiety and the insomnia (anxiety related) properly, and it has made such an amazing difference in my life. I think more clearly, and I can analyze myself better. I’ve also started thinking about how most of my life I’ve tried to avoid confrontation (like Mom) and whenever something has happened that hurt me…well, I’ve tried to avoid those kind of situations again. My trust issues come from the anxiety and being hurt before, and I also realized that my socialization as a child was delayed and/or stunted because of being unable to control my brain. I had undiagnosed ADD as a child, and I feel pretty sure that’s carried over to my adulthood, as well. I couldn’t focus or concentrate because I didn’t know how to shut my brain off or keep it until control. The only time I could find peace, really, was reading or writing.
Professionally, I started off the year by getting nominated for a Lefty for Best Humorous for A Streetcar Named Murder, which was a very pleasant surprise. I debated going, but the timing was bad and with all the traveling I was having to do for family stuff, I had to conserve and preserve paid time off. This was followed up by an Agatha nomination for Best Children’s/Young Adult for #shedeservedit, and this time I did go. I lost to Enola Holmes, but I also became friends with Elizabeth Bunce (we’d been nominated together for an Anthony the year before) and Frances Schoonmaker, who was an absolute delight. I was nominated for three Anthonys at Bouchercon this year–Children’s/YA again; anthology for Land of 10000 Thrills, and Best Humorous for Streetcar again. None of those nominations ended with a win, but for me the nominations alone were the real win. I never ever thought I would be shortlisted for mainstream mystery awards, and what a delightful surprise.
I did publish two novels this year–a new series debuting with Death Drop, and the ninth Scotty, Mississippi River Mischief. I also got an (undeserved) editorial credit for School of Hard Knox, along with Donna Andrews and Art Taylor, for publisher Crippen and Landru–which meant working with my dear friend Jeffrey Marks. I have a story in the book, too–“The Ditch”–which was something I’d been working on forever. I also published two more short stories, “Solace in a Dying Hour” in This Fresh Hell, and “The Rosary of Broken Promises” for Dancing in the Shadows. I’m pleased with both stories, but I also need to get more. I have any number of incomplete projects that are nagging at me that I would like to finish in the new year. SO MANY PROJECTS.
But I feel good today, and very rested. I’d intended to take today as a do-nothing day, but I will probably do stuff because I am not really wired to not do anything all day.
And on that note, I will wish you happy holidays for the moment and head into the…well, not the spice mines, but perhaps a spice resort?
I can’t help hearing today’s title sung to the tune of that horrible story song from the 1970’s, “Run Joey Run.”
Yesterday was exhausting. I got up early to go get the oil changed (to discover that on my next visit the maintenance due–the car is going to be seven in January–will cost about $600, and I also will need to replace two tires eventually; but those are the two originals that are left, and over seven years for a tire is pretty great. I’ll deal with the $600 when I have to). I also went and made groceries, got gas, picked up a prescription, and treated myself to Five Guys. I got home at almost one; and then it started to rain and get colder. It was a perfect day for reading, and being exhausted…is there anything more cozy than reading a book while it’s raining and cold out and you’re under blankets with a sleeping, purring kitty in your lap? I think not. I did finish reading Calypso, Corpses, and Cooking (that Oxford comma is important in the title) by Raquel V. Reyes (more on that later), and started my next book, Buried in a Good Book by Tamara Berry–but only got a few pages in before I got antsy to start working on things. I slept really well last night, and even slept in a bit this morning, which was lovely and felt marvelous. I am going to be productive today–or at least as long as my energy lasts, at any rate. I’ve made a list of things that I absolutely have to get done today, and I am going to plug away at it until everything is marked off. We watched the last two available episodes of Reacher last night, and am enjoying it quite a bit. I recognized the opening scene at the ATM with the carjacking victim, but couldn’t remember which book it was from–turned out to be Bad Luck and Trouble, which fills in the rest of Reacher’s back story–the first was about his brother and family; this is his professional career, which makes sense for viewers who’ve not read the books–it answers a lot of questions about the character and opens the door to more adaptations of the book.
I also made chicken white bean chili yesterday, but by the time it was done and ready to eat I’d been snacking all afternoon and evening and wasn’t hungry for it. I have once again made more food than we can possibly eat for the week. Oh, well.
My body is starting to get back to normal, but it’s my stamina that needs to be worked on, seriously. This running out of energy by the time the sun sets (way too early, in my opinion) isn’t great–nor is the fact that I find it increasingly difficult to remember things I should remember. It could also be my body getting used to the new meds, which seem to working very well. I’ve not really felt much stress or anxiety since I switched, which is a very good thing. And the ease with which I am weaning off the others means I probably wasn’t addicted, which was a concern; I don’t think I have the energy or the time to go into Rehab for a stay, and realistically there aren’t many options for that in New Orleans. I feel a lot better, overall, and the adjustment to changing meds hasn’t been too terrible, frankly. There are some side effects of the new meds I could do without (cottonmouth being the main irritation for me), but overall I feel much calmer, more relaxed, and capable of taking things as they come without freaking out too much.
I also have to make time–and have the energy–to make a red velvet cheesecake for the office for our potluck on Thursday. Friday is the big day–follow-up appointment with my surgeon for stitch removal and another evaluation, and I am hoping to move to not needing the brace either all the time, or at all. It’s awkward sometimes, and sometimes it is really inconvenient. It tires me out more when I am typing because of the way the brace has to rest on the desk, which raises the left hand higher than the right, so it’s an adjustment for both wrists and forearms, which tires them out faster than normal typing ordinarily would. But if this is the worst outcome from the surgery, I seriously can live with it as long as I need to. It’s hard to believe it’s almost been four weeks since my surgery; Thursday is the month anniversary.
Yikes.
And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close. Have a terrific Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back probably a little later.
Wednesday morning, can’t trust that day. Not going to work on Monday messed my body clock up and thus set my brain on “not normal! not normal!” and so I am all messed up. All day yesterday I kept thinking it was Monday; this morning I woke up thinking it’s Tuesday, which it obviously is not. I am doing a really good job this morning of not letting anxiety take hold of my mind–it’s trying, really hard–because to complete the “leave” process from work I need a form filled out and signed by my surgeon. (My fault, had I paid more attention I would have known and could have taken it with me Monday morning; instead I had to fax it to his office yesterday and they will send it back today–which has me anxious.) It’s very weird to think that I’ll be out of work for three weeks–very very weird–this is the longest break from going in since the quarantine; and even then I had things to do at home. This is three weeks of not doing any day job work, having no day job responsibilities, and the entire days free to do with as I wish–within the context of being limited by the surgery recovery. I do plan on catching up on a lot of reading, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even be able to get some writing done, during my period of limited activity. At this point I really just want to be done with the surgery and be well into the recovery process.
I did a book event last night virtually with Tubby and Coo’s Bookstore, with Jean Redmann and H. N. Hirsch, which was a lot of fun and I really enjoyed it. Of course, having to use my brain and try to be smart and funny exhausted me, so Tug and I immediately repaired to my chair for an episode of Moonlighting, and some other Youtube videos before I finally went to bed. Paul didn’t get home until after I went to bed, so I didn’t get to see him at all yesterday; it’s that time of year again. I spent some time rereading Mississippi River Mischief and paging through Death Drop again; I’ve fallen behind on my blatant self-promotional posts because my creativity for that has kind of dried up–I’m not very good at it to begin with, really–but I know I need to do more, so I hoped looking through the books after talking about them for an hour would inspire me to find more things to post about them. We’ll see how that worked out today, won’t we?
I need to do some cooking this week, too–I wanted to make my mac-and-cheese (something else relatively soft but very delicious and filling) and I need to make a red velvet cheesecake, too. I don’t think I am going to go into the office on Friday, after all–Tug has to get another shot that morning, and there’s something else I have to do but can’t quite remember what it is as of yet, and at some point I need to take Paul to Costco to pick up his new glasses. But that means I’d have to do all this cooking and baking tonight, and I feel pretty confident in saying “yeah, I’m not going to be in the mood to do that tonight” because it’s a lot of fucking work and I also need to run errands on my way home. (See what I mean about it being later in the week than I think it is? I keep thinking oh you can do it tomorrow night because no I can’t.) I guess it will depend on how I feel when I get finished with everything I have to do tonight, and how much attention my sweet little needy kitten will need once I get home–because once I am in that chair and he’s a purring kitty donut, it’s over for the night. One thing I do find adorable about him (there are many many things I find adorable about him) is the way he sleeps on me. He’ll start out as a kitty donut, and then gradually stretch out on his back until his is sprawled across me full length on his back, legs akimbo, and dead to the world with his neck fully extended. I’m so glad we got him and I’m so glad he feels so safe and comfortable and loved and at home. (He did make a few appearances in the on-line event last night.)
I also have those questions we were asked last night, so I probably could turn those into a self-interview as a means of self-promotion. I’ve done that before, after all, and it always works. Hmmm. Something to ponder the rest of this morning, no doubt.
I am finding the imminent death of Twitter or the Social Medium Formerly Known as Twitter slow and painful to watch, yet for some reason I cannot seem to bring myself to deactivate my account there. I don’t worry that someone else will grab my user name and create a fraudulent Greg Herren account; why would anyone do that to me when there are any number of other, more important people you could impersonate to greater effect than me, after all. (Besides, there’s nothing stopping anyone from impersonating me on social media as it is; someone could be doing it as I type this and I have no idea) Social media used to be a lot of fun in the olden days before Q-Anon and MAGA and conspiracy theories and so forth; in other words, in the golden era pre-small-dicked-billionaire. There were always issues with Twitter and trolls; we always were hearing about people being hounded off Twitter by trolls or outraged mobs of users; there was an “old West” feel about Twitter, and it did seem like public lynchings and humiliations happened there a lot. I was always worried about tweeting something taken a way other than the one intended–which happens very frequently there–and going viral. (Anxiety, I have it about everything because it does NOT discriminate; there’s nothing too small for me to have massive anxiety about.) But I do miss the way Facebook and Twitter used to be–fun and functional places to reconnect with friends and/or readers. Now they’re just bad habits I can’t seem to quit, like smoking cigarettes or snorting coke–things I know aren’t good for me, do nothing for me and if anything at all, are incredibly bad for my mental health, yet can’t seem to stop doing. Well, I quite smoking twelve years ago and haven’t done cocaine since the 1980’s, so I know already I can give up bad habits. I just worry that I’ll lose touch with people I care about and don’t interact with or see enough as it is.
Heavy sigh. Why do small-dicked billionaires have to ruin everything?
But I feel rested and together this morning, much more so than the last few days, so here’s hoping for a good day today–by which I mean one in which I can focus and get shit done.
We’ll see how it goes, I reckon.
And off to the spice mines I go. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll catch you later.
One of the things I had listed on goals for 2023 was to be better at marketing myself and my work. This also requires a complete reboot of my brain and how it functions; I have always been embarrassed to praise myself or talk about myself in non-negative ways, and this year I realized, with shock and horror and not a little bit of awe, that whenever I demeaned or belittled myself and my work publicly, I was undermining myself. What I saw as “charming humble self-deprecation” or “eccentric author doesn’t take himself seriously in a charming manner” might not be coming across the way it was intended. But shaking the habit of a lifetime of religious and family training to always be humble, never brag or boast, and to always remember to simply be satisfied with having done the best I could and let the praise come from outside, isn’t easy. I had always intended, for example, to join Canva and start producing my own graphics (because I am horrible with technology and learning new things, and I have so little time to learn things); I finally did that yesterday morning AND created my own first graphic for my Facebook home page image–the covers of both new books, my author photo, and the message Out This Month! –and it wasn’t terribly hard to do, and it was a kind of fun creative exercise that is easily manageable and another fun thing for me to do on Saturday mornings: make a new graphic for social media!
It’s a start. I also need to work on my website.
I am also doing Blatant Self-Promotional posts every day for each book–or at least I am trying. Three blog posts a day is a lot, frankly, and my brain is already so fried and overburdened with the upcoming surgery that there’s not a lot of space up there for much more than I am already doing, and it’s been a struggle trying to come up with promotional topics about each book every day. I also worry in promoting Death Drop and talking about drag that I am exposing my own ignorance on the topic on a daily basis, chasing potential readers away. Sigh. You see the trap anxiety sets for me on a regular basis? The fucking anxiety makes me second-guess myself all the time, which isn’t great, especially for someone it also gives self-esteem issues to.
Yesterday was an interesting day for college football. It was lovely watching Missouri destroy, dismantle, and all around just humiliate Tennessee. Missouri is one of those teams I don’t dislike; I sometimes forget they’re in the SEC but there’s some residual distaste for them from when we lived in Kansas–one thing KU and K-State fans can agree on is pure hatred for Missouri–but in the SEC, they’ve never bothered me much; probably because LSU plays them so infrequently. Georgia embarrassed Mississippi last night, which means the Tide is peaking at the right time and remember back when everyone was wondering if the Alabama dynasty was over? Yeah, it’s Georgia and Alabama playing for the SEC title again in Atlanta this year, same is it ever was. And of course, last night LSU took Florida apart in Tiger Stadium. Can we talk about Jayden Daniels for a moment? Even with a slightly more average defense, LSU would be in the national title conversation and without Daniels, we’d probably not have a single SEC win, other than maybe Mississippi State. He was phenomenal last night, setting all kinds of records and basically looking the best player in college football all year. His consistency has been insanely off the charts, and so have the numbers he’s been putting up, and if it weren’t for the 2019 team, this would be the greatest offense in LSU history–which makes the shitty defense all the more painful, really.
And now LSU has beaten Florida five times in a row. That’s the longest LSU winning streak in the series, and this was the last time the rivalry game will be played every year. If that doesn’t have Billy Napier’s job in trouble, remember–they still have a rivalry game left with a Florida State team that beat LSU in the opener and has only gotten better ever since. Paul and I were at the 2019 Florida game, which was a 42-28 thriller with Burrow torching the Gators the whole time. LSU wasn’t even supposed to be able to stay on the field with Florida during the next two seasons–and won both games, including the Shoe Game in 2020, which ended Florida’s play-off hopes. (They also honored the national championship baseball team during the game last night–the team that defeated Florida 2 out of 3 for the championship, which was some epic shade.) This year’s loss to Alabama was disappointing, especially since if Daniels hadn’t been hurt we might have been able to hang with them a bit more, but LSU is still further ahead in the rebuilding process than we should be, and that’s a credit to Coach Kelly and his staff–excluding the entire defensive coaching staff. The Tigers can get to 9-3, and ten wins if they win out–with Georgia State and Texas A&M the only games left, and both are winnable. The Saints play today at noon, but I am not sure I have the emotional stability to watch! (And USC lost, too–always a joy when Lincoln “too good for LSU” Riley gets his ass handed to him.)
I didn’t get as much done yesterday as I wanted to, because I did get distracted and sucked into football games, and Tug just wanted to cuddle all day, pretty much, so I spent the day in my easy chair with the games on while playing with my phone and iPad. I can have a day off every once in a while, can’t I? I think I am also going to slow down on the BSP, at least for a bit–and then I think yeah but you might disappear off-line after the surgery so you should do as much as you can before hand. This is also a valid point. I made shrimp creole last night, which turned out amazing, and it also felt nice to be cooking again, you know: It’s been a hot minute since the last time I cooked anything for real, and it was kind of a warm-up for me because I want to make mac-n-cheese tomorrow as well as a red velvet cheesecake for work. Ambitious, wouldn’t you say? I also bought cake pans yesterday while making groceries, because I don’t have a cake pan anymore, apparently; I’ve also lost my cake carrier–which I suspect was a casualty of a declutter during the pandemic, so I’ll have to buy another. Sigh.
And I just KNOW that after a buy a new one, the old one will turn up someplace where I put it where I wouldn’t forget that I put it. I outsmart myself on a fairly regular basis. But tomorrow morning are all my pre-surgery appointments, which is when I am going to find out exactly what the hell my recovery process is going to look like. And maybe this week my dentures will finally be ready; we can only hope.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again probably later–because the call of the Blatant Self-Promotion will undoubtedly prove too strong to resist.
Today’s blatant self-promotion for Death Drop image is of one of my favorites from the world of Drag Race–Manila Luzon. I fell in love with her during her initial run on the show, and wanted her to win. (She didn’t, alas, but I also like Raja, who did win that season.)
When I was a personal trainer, I always asked new clients what their fitness goals were. Straight women inevitably wanted to lose an average of ten pounds or so; gay men always wanted to look like underwear models or Olympic athletes; and lesbians generally just wanted to be healthier. I tried to educate the women on the fallacy and dangers of “dieting”, and that the best thing to do was restructure and rethink how and what they ate and when. I used to always tell the gays, “can you afford a personal chef and nutritionist, and can you exercise three to four hours a day every day? Because they don’t look like their photos most of the time…they usually maintain their bodies regularly but go on ridiculously limited diets that aren’t healthy and also dehydrate themselves to look more cut for pictures. And it’s also their full time job to look like that. Now, let’s realistically talk about a plan that can make your body fit and toned in a healthy way that will be easier to maintain.”
Jem, my main character in Death Drop, is a professional hair stylist and make-up artist, and also has a good eye for fashion. His job is to make women, as he says, feel beautiful and confident, and as a gay man, he also can see the endless pressures from every direction that are put on women. Part of his issue with Marigny Mercereau, whose fashion show he is hired to work in the book, is that he hates the clothes she designs because the silhouettes are unattractive and they don’t flatter women’s bodies. Add to that the fact that the last time he worked for her, her check bounced, and yeah, she isn’t one of his favorite people. But so much is going on that night of the fashion show that Marigny’s clothes–and his dislike of her–aren’t in the forefront of his mind.
I mean, he does have to do drag for the first time that night–in front of a bunch of wealthy or upper middle class women he would love to have as glam clients. And Jem has stage fright.
That is one of the keys for me with Jem and the whole drag thing: he has stage fright, like I do. I’ve never really written about that much in my fiction–I know I’ve talked about it on here ad nauseum ad infinitum–but despite mining almost every experience I’ve ever had in my life into my fiction at some point, it’s kind of odd that I’ve never written about stage fright. I have it, bad. I am sure it’s a symptom of my anxiety–as everything is–but I have it, and I’ve always had it bad. When I was in plays in high school, it was torture. I liked being in the plays–I used to dream, as a kid, of being in show business, and yes, practiced award acceptance speeches in the mirror while clutching a shampoo bottle–but the actual performances? Absolutely not. I generally shake so much when on panels that I usually try not to use my hands when I talk–which I always do–because I don’t want anyone to see that I’m literally trembling in terror; I am also usually sweating a lot and my heart is racing and there’s a massive adrenaline rush…panels aren’t as bad as moderating one is; but now that I know it’s anxiety I try to handle it. Before I moderated that panel at Bouchercon this past year, I walked around a lot before the panel to burn off the adrenaline and try to get my heart rate down to something passing as normal. Also knowing it was based in anxiety gave me a handle on it; when I know what is going on I can try to cope with it better than what I did before–which was just grit my teeth and get through it.
Jem didn’t have stage fright while walking in the fashion show–and he also knew it was because of the lighting and it being after dark, he couldn’t really see the people in the audience. He knew they were there, but as long as he couldn’t see them it didn’t phase him. His fears of performing, of getting on stage, is going to be something he is going to have to work on in future books–of which I am hoping there will be at least three, if not more. He probably won’t have to deal with it in the second book either–because while he has graduated from drag school and performed in the graduation show, that was for friends and family and not the general public–because the second book takes place at a national drag pageant…which is being protested by a hideous hate group called Moms4Freedom…which I am having a lot of fun with, rest assured.
And on that note, I will bring this to a close–there will be more blatant self-promotion to come!
Ah, the joys of a work-at-home Friday. I do sincerely hope they never take this away, because I will surely miss it. I was able to take Paul and Tug to meet the Cat Practice so he can get to know them, get his nails trimmed (he was quite shocked to try to climb my leg and not be able to hook into the fabric with those talons) and get a cat leukemia vaccination. They fell madly in love with him as he definitely turned the “I’m so adorable aren’t I?” kitten magic on for them, and they also confirmed our suspicions: he’s going to be a big cat; he’s already gotten much longer in the short time we’ve had him, and his legs are long and his paws are pretty big. He had no problem with the nail trim as it was occurring, making me think we might even be able to do it ourselves (Skittle would have never stood for it, and Scooter wasn’t a fan, either, and I was always worried that we’d hurt them by accident), and then it was back home and back to data entry and quality assurance and condom packing, woo-hoo! But while I was doing all of these things I had music on and was able to get chores done while taking breaks to get up and away from the work every now and again. We also went to Costco after my work was completed for the day–or the working hours ended, at any rate–which was nice. I don’t know why Costco is such a pleasant experience for me almost every time we go there, but it is–I also love how they organize the stuff in your carts for maximum efficiency and space usage; I try to load the cart in the same way. I also realized that there’s no need for me to have the back seat set up; why not put the seats down all the time and just have that big space in the back for loading groceries and so forth? It certainly doesn’t affect me driving in any way, and why not? Usually loading everything into the back doesn’t work and is an unsuccessful game of Jenga; but with the seats down it was not a problem at all.
It only took me six years to figure this out, of course.
Tonight is the LSU-Alabama game, which is generally an enormous anxiety trigger for me. The weird wiring of my brain makes me commit fully as a fan to the point sometimes where the games are emotionally exhausting and draining for me, and since even before the pandemic I’ve been trying to dial that back. There’s such a thing as too vested, and I don’t enjoy those emotional rollercoasters. I do enjoy the thrills and excitement of watching games, and I do take pleasure in being a sports fan–but I don’t want to be a sore loser or go to a dark place if the game doesn’t go well. It’s a game. I love my LSU Tigers and it’s always delightful and a lot of fun when they win–but if they have a bad year or don’t win or whatever, it doesn’t impact my life in any way, shape or form. That seems to be working for the most part–I’ve had a few moments this season that were setbacks to the healthy mental progress I’ve made, but it certainly made a huge difference in how I watched and enjoyed the game last year…which LSU actually won. It was a great game, and even if LSU doesn’t win, I don’t mind as long as it’s a good game and they play well. I have no idea how good any team is this year; even invincible Georgia has had a few shaky moments of vulnerability this year. As the second half of the season rolls on, conference races and play-off berths will be earned as well as trophies and awards.
I was going to run some errands today, but I had a delivery scheduled last night and the lazy incompetent delivery driver (for the record, I always overtip) couldn’t be bothered to contact me by text, as instructed, so my order was returned. I found out this morning it will go out again for delivery today, with no idea or concept or when or what kind of window we were looking at. Their on-line customer service was completely useless, I might add, so now I get to hang around the house all day waiting, which is incredibly frustrating.
I need to make groceries, I wanted to swing by Petco to get some more toys for Tug (and also price kitten foods and special treats), and I also need to go to Lowe’s. I need air filters for the apartment, I need to get a wagon to help bring groceries in when I am recovering from surgery, and I also want to get an easy to assemble set of blinds for the center window here in the workspace. Facebook Memories reminded me yesterday of how long ago it was when my beloved shade crepe myrtles trees were brutalized and destroyed, forcing me to put up an LSU blanket over the window to block the sun. I am too embarrassed to admit how long this blanket has been in my window instead of blinds, but that’s going to finally come to an end this weekend. We’ll see how it goes, and if it’s not a horrible disaster I’ll go ahead and get blinds for the other two windows so they all match. Look at me, taking charge of a situation for once instead of being engulfed in ennui and just letting it continue to slide!
Progress indeed!
We told the Cat Practice Tug’s name is Sparky, even though I keep calling him Tug (and sometimes Boot, like he’s Scooter), and so I decided yesterday that since there’s really no point in continuing the pretense that I am anything other than a Crazy Cat Lady, he’s getting a Crazy Cat Lady Name: Touglas MacSparquer, hence both Tug and Sparky are his names. It also pays tribute to my maternal Scottish line, so it also kind of honors my mom and no, I won’t be telling Dad that.
Since my plans for the day were altered irrevocably by the shitty delivery service, I hope to spend the rest of the day doing things while the games are playing in the living room, and thinking about the next book I am going to write. I have some emails to answer and yes, it’s fine, I can keep my phone handy and check it periodically to see the status of the delivery. This, by the way, is what boomers mean when they talk about how service in the country has declined. But it’s fine, really–I prefer to go to the West Bank on Sundays anyway, and this way I can actually take inventory and make a proper list. My frustrations over the change in plans for the day is fine; I can get stuff done around here and maybe even do some cleaning and writing.
And I can spend some time this morning with Lou Berney’s Dark Ride, which I started reading the other day at my appointment. Huzzah for that, and we’ll just get shit done around here today. That’s a good plan, and one I can live with….and truth be told I didn’t really want to go to the West Bank this morning, so here we are.
Have a great Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will no doubt be back later with some more blatant self-promotional posts.
Yesterday was a great test for me when it comes to fighting my anxiety.
I slept incredibly well, finished reading Laura Lippman’s Prom Mom, wrote three blog entries, and started doing laundry. I also spent a lot of time on social media, stealing pictures from the weekend because I never remember to take any myself, and just was kind of taking it easy for the day. We had a thunderstorm blow through right after Paul left for the gym, and therein came the test. I did all the laundry, and when the sheets were finished I took that basket upstairs (Paul hates putting on the fitted sheet and I hate shoving the pillows into their cases, so I put on the sheet and he does the pillow cases, if you were wondering) and only wearing socks–which I never do because the stairs were varnished and are insanely slippery and steep, and they make two ninety degree turns on the way up–when I stepped into a puddle after the first turn. What the hell? I thought as I stepped onto another puddled step, and still another–only to get hit on the head with several drops of water. I looked up and just before the second ninety degree turn is a light fixture–the primary one for lighting the stairs–and the water was coming from the fixture! Fortunately it was off–I don’t even want to think about if it had been on–and I put on the sheet, changed my socks, grabbed my slippers, and a handful of towels. I mopped up the mess with one towel before covering the rest of the steps that had been wet with towels, going down a few more steps with the towels just in case.
Immediately, I thought oh my God we have a leak from a big thunderstorm that caused street flooding, which means that water has probably been pooling somewhere inside the house somewhere; we haven’t had a downpour that caused flooding most of the summer (its usually a weekly occurrence in the summer time), which further led to oh no what about mold and will the wall have to be ripped out again to well at least we know where the problem is to great termites love wet wood before I was able to take a breath and recognize that I was spiraling and the anxiety was starting to spread to a physical and emotional reaction. I took a deep breath, and remembered that it’s out of my control. Getting worked up and emotional will not stop the leak or repair the wall. I was borrowing trouble and letting my mind start to control my narrative and I don’t want that. I sat down at my desk and thought, “Okay. When Paul gets home I’ll tell him to call the landlady. She’ll need to come see it, then call someone. So I have to get the living room picked up and make it look better. I still need to put away the dishes and I need to make a to-do list because I have things I need to get done this week. Will this be convenient with everything I have going on this fall? No, but when has life ever been convenient?
Never. And that’s what Paul and I discussed last night: getting frustrated, irritated, and upset by things you have no control over is a waste of time and energy. Dealing with the anxiety is a big part of this with me; I can’t control the physical reaction, but I can the emotional and mental, and as long as I keep that under control and don’t spiral, I will be okay. Things have to be taken care of, and that includes what I always call “odious chores,” or what other people might call “adulting” (I hate the turning nouns into verbs that don’t need to be verbs, and so I try not to ever use that word–it’s always grated on me. When you’re not adulting, are you childing? Of course not. That’s why it grates.). I don’t like conflict, and this is also a part of my anxiety–the fear of conflict creates anxiety and keeps me from doing things that might cause conflict, even though they rarely do. At one point last night as we caught up on our shows, I said, “I wish today was Saturday because I don’t want to get up in the morning” and Paul replied, “let it go”–we’d had a conversation about all of this and stopping being negative about things we can’t control and etc.–and I said, “you’re right. I have to get up early and moaning about it won’t change it, so why bother? It just is.” So I came back downstairs and watched this week’s My Adventures with Superman (it really is a. great show) and then Paul joined me for Only Murders in the Building, Ahsoka, and then we started a MAX (that is weird to me, just like saying X instead of Twitter–but fuck Elon, that I will never do) documentary called Telemarketers which is incredibly fascinating. There will be more on that later, once we’ve finished it (and I remember getting calls from these people back in the day; I always felt sorry for the callers as I always do with any kind of telemarketer–but after watching the first episode I don’t feel as sorry for them as I used to).
Ironically, my body clock is also all screwed up somehow. I was exhausted last night and was falling asleep in my chair by nine; so I went to bed early and am up and awake at five am this morning. It was a very good night’s sleep, too. So here I am last night whining about getting up early briefly–and this morning I voluntarily got out of bed an hour earlier than normal because I was awake and clearly wasn’t going to fall back asleep at any time. So here I am at my desk, swilling coffee and blearily thinking about all the things I need to get done before Friday. Tonight I am picking up my hearing aids after work, getting the mail, and running by the grocery store. I have to finish paying the bills. I have a million emails to respond to as well as numerous to generate.
It’s also funny that, after years of not thinking about the past or revisit it, I’ve started doing that more and more, especially since Dad is now telling me things I didn’t know before. Since I turned sixty, I started looking back over the years, which I had always seen as pointless before. You can’t do anything about the past, after all, and we also have a tendency to view the past as better and rosier than it actually was the further in the past it becomes. Sure, Mom dying earlier this year and talking to Dad about the past certainly has something to do with it all–but I had already started down that path. What is it, I wonder, about that particular milestone that resonated with me so deeply that I turned philosophical and decided to start unpacking my past? I don’t know. But I saw something on Facebook the other day about someone’s first words, and that made me remember that my parents always said I didn’t start talking until I was almost three years old (Mom would always add “and you haven’t shut up since”), but I was walking at nine months; they also always said that ruefully and with regret, because they believed the issues with my leg joints–the rolling ankles, the ease with which my hips will pop out of joint–is because I started walking too young. I never really thought anything about it, really, other than well thanks a lot for those issues…but this time I thought, “that must have really been weird and scary for them as parents barely out of their teens,” and you know every other adult and parent they knew privately judged them while offering all kinds of unsound advice and old wives’ tales from the country that made no sense and had no basis in any kind of science. Such a shame about their boy, you think he’s retarded? (Yes, that word–preferably not used anymore–was in common usage when I was a child, and yes, I heard adults talking about when they thought I was out of earshot. I think that was about the time my “selective hearing” started; being able to hear clearly for the first time in my adulthood tonight after getting the hearing aids did make me wonder do I really want to be able to hear everything?)
And yes, my primary takeaway from Bouchercon this weekend was feeling something I’ve not felt in a long time, and definitely not since the pandemic: ambitious. I told Paul last night (and someone over the weekend, probably my poor friend Teresa, aka Carsen Taite) “I kind of feel like life is happening to me, rather than me living my life, and I don’t like that feeling.” So, it’s time for me to start planning and mapping things out and deciding what I want and setting goals and figuring out how to get what I want again. I also realize I have to be very careful with what I agree to do this fall–not knowing how long some of these recoveries from procedures will take, for one thing–and I need to stop having anxiety about not having books under contract and then throwing out a bunch of proposals and getting deadlines. No, I need to plan. I need to strategize. I need to get my shit together and set some goddamned goals.
And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines so I can make this week’s to-do list and start tackling the email inbox. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back later without doubt.
Labor Day Monday, and time to readjust from “Greg Herren Author” back to my everyday life here in New Orleans. There’s really nothing like your own bed–but the bed I had at the Marriott Marquis in San Diego was probably the most comfortable bed I’ve had in a hotel to date. I had trouble sleeping the whole time I was there, but the bed was so comfortable that I always slept some and always managed to feel, if not completely rested, but at least recharged. But oh what a lovely time it was!
I flew home yesterday from San Diego, where I’ve been since Wednesday. My apologies for being lax in posting while I was away, and I hope you didn’t miss me too much, Constant Reader. But it was also nice being in a bubble for several days practically cut off from the outside world. I didn’t write a single email since Wednesday morning; I only deleted junk. I didn’t write anything, nor did I read anything once I’d checked into the hotel. But what a marvelous time it turned out to be. I love going to Bouchercon–it’s a marvelous escape from the everyday and being around writers (so many writers!) and readers (so many readers!) and it’s just so much fun. There are so many marvelous people in this business that I so rarely get to see in person, and I never have the opportunity to spend time with everyone that I would like to.
There’s also this weird thing about Bouchercons. You can go the entire time without seeing some of your friends who are there; and you never seem to bump into them. Last year in Minneapolis I hardly ever saw Christa Faust, and even then only in passing or from across a very crowded room. This year I bumped into her almost every time I turned around, and it was an absolute delight because I adore Christa. You also get to make new acquaintances and discover new writers, too. I love debut authors! It’s always amazing to find new authors and make new friends, see old friends–and yet there were so many people I only saw fleetingly in passing, or didn’t see at all. But it was incredibly lovely, really. I resisted temptation in the book room (some of the collectible booksellers had some old editions of the kids’ series–including the super-rare ones no one’s heard of–but I knew if I bought any books I’d have to pay to have them shipped home, and so that extra step was enough to trigger my laziness (and miserliness–I can be extravagant to a fault when I really shouldn’t be) to step in and say, no, you don’t need more copies for your collection even if you can replace some damaged ones with ones that look pretty new for a reasonable price. And I don’t regret not buying those books, either. (I will probably get the ones by new acquaintances, though.) I also had four tickets to get free books in the book room, so I picked up Death by Bubble Tea by Jennifer J. Chow; Her Last Affair by John Searles (who I interviewed for Lambda Book Report back when his first novel came out, and that leads to a great story I will save for another time); The Quarry Girls by Jess Lourey (whom I adore); and one other that I can’t remember, and I can’t seem to find it this morning. Oh, well. Mindy Carlson, who was on the panel I moderated, gave me a copy of her debut, Her Dying Day (which has the best ever opening!) when I ran into her in the lobby on my way to the airport. I can’t wait to read it!
I finished reading Kelly J. Ford’s marvelous The Hunt on the flight home to Dallas yesterday, and then moved on to Laura Lippman’s Prom Mom, both of which are superb. I am almost finished with the Lippman, and when I am finished with this I am going to my chair so I can finish it.
I am pretty much taking the day off from everything and resting. I had planned on going to the grocery store–I still might; it depends on how I feel later–but I am going to relax today. I did get home last night in time to watch LSU embarrass itself on national television last night, but it’s okay. It’s nice to have any expectations for the season gone after the first game, and now I can watch the national title race with idle curiosity while watching LSU get through it’s season with no expectations from them. I was very concerned that they were being over-hyped (everyone seemed to forget that after the big win over Alabama last year, we barely beat Arkansas and lost to Texas A&M before being embarrassed in the SEC title game by Georgia), but this is yet another example of when being right isn’t what you want and brings absolutely no satisfaction–Cassandra was hardly smug as Troy burned around her, after all. I am exhausted, despite the fantastic night’s sleep I got last night, so I think resting up is indeed the way to go for today. We have shows to catch up on, after all, and maybe I’ll even splurge on a movie.
It was a wonderful time. I love my friends in the crime fiction community, and I love that I am sort of known in it now more than I was? I had several people come up and ask about my books, or tell me how fun I am to watch on panels, but I am also beginning to think that I need to be maybe a bit more professional when talking about my own work on panels. Something to ponder as I move into the adulthood of my career (it turned twenty-one this year, after all, which is staggering). I am inspired, reinvigorated, and ready to prove myself worthy to be a part of the community again. I want to get back to my writing and dig into it and keep going and do really good work. Reading Kelly and Laura’s books are inspiring because they remind me to work harder, do better, dig deeper, and aspire for greatness more. I have broken down the barrier that was keeping me from reading novels, or at least was making me unable to focus, and now I hunger to read more. Once I finish Laura’s book I am moving on to S. A. Cosby’s new one, with Alison Gaylin’s marvelous new take on Robert Parker’s Sunny Randall series. (I will never stop marveling that I am friends with, or at least know, my writing heroes.)
And definite shout-outs to all the people who won Anthonys this year, and were nominated. It’s surreal to me to see how many nominees are friends; and it’s absolutely lovely to see that. Only a few winners weren’t friends–and how can you not be happy for friends to get recognition? I adore Catriona McPherson and S. J. Rozan; how delighted was I to lose to writers whose work I’ve admired for years and how thrilling to be in the same category with them? I don’t know Nancy Springer, the other to whom I lost, but I love Enola Holmes. And Kellye Garrett and Wanda Morris are not only incredible writers but wonderful women I am very proud to know. I love Barb Goffman, who has always been so kind and lovely to me ever since the first time I met her. I don’t know Martin Edwards, but from all accounts he is a very kind and lovely and generous person, and I share the TOC of School of Hard Knox with him. The Debut winner, Nita Prose, wasn’t there and I don’t know her, but I do have her book The Maid, and I hope to read it before the end of the year.
So no, I didn’t win any of the Anthonys I was nominated for. What a fucking honor for a gay man to be nominated for three (mainstream, MAINSTREAM not queer-specific) Anthony Awards in the same year for three different books, for anyone, really. I think the only other person to ever be up for three in the same year is S. A. Cosby (and what amazing company to be in, right?); others have been up for two in the same year before (as I was last year; this year Catriona McPherson was a double nominee). I have been nominated for seven Anthonys in total now, and so what if I have lost six times in a row? Awards are lovely, but I honestly don’t mind losing. I love to act like a bitter loser because, well, it’s funny to me. I did start realizing sometime during the pandemic that my “bitter loser” shtick might be insensitive–some people would kill to lose six times; some are never nominated once–and maybe the “bitter loser” shtick doesn’t play as well now as it used to? I don’t know, but it’s such a thrill for me to be nominated, and retrospectively, I’ve had a pretty amazing run: fifteen nominations from Lambda Literary nominations, seven-time Anthony nominee, and once each for the Lefty, the Agatha, the Macavity, and the Shirley Jackson. That’s pretty fucking amazing, and maybe I should finally recognize that maybe, just maybe, I’m pretty damned good at this writing thing? I do need to be better about the other aspects of the business–marketing and promotion and so forth–and since my brain doesn’t juggle as well as it used to, I need to start getting focused and figuring some things out. The rest of this year is going to be taken up mostly with dealing with medical issues (I get my new hearing aids tomorrow!) and I don’t know how much I am going to be able to do or what I can and can’t do; and everything is kind of up in the air now for the rest of the year.
That would have triggered my anxiety before, but I am at peace with it. My decision to override the anxiety and remain calm while traveling worked in both directions, and it was lovely to not get worked up or upset or irritated about anything. I managed to even get my bag from baggage claim, the shuttle to the parking lot, and then drive home without losing my cool–I didn’t even swear at a single driver–and I kind of want to keep that level of calm and cool going forward. I did experience some anxiety before I moderated the Humor and Homicide panel yesterday; I was brought in–not at the last minute, but far too late for me to get copies of the panelists’ books and read them to prepare–late but my word! What a group of amazing professionals I was blessed to moderate! You need to read their books; they are talented and funny and marvelous and I was totally blown away by them–and three of them were debut authors! There was J. D. O’Brien, whose debut novelZig Zag, about a marijuana dispensary employee who plans to rob her employer, only for Westlake-like hijinks to ensue; the delightful Mindy Carlson, whose debut novel I already mentioned; the always wonderful Wendall Thomas, a seasoned pro whose latest, Cheap Trills, sounds incredible and I can’t wait to read; the witty and charming Jo Perry, who has a marvelous series from the point of view of a dead man and whose latest, Cure, sounds great; and Lina Chern, whose debut novel Play the Fool is about a tarot card reader trying to solve her best friend’s murder and sounds amazing. I had them read their book’s opening few sentences, and once I heard them, I knew it was going to be a breeze. It was wonderful! What a great break for me to get to moderate this panel and find even more great books to read. I could have talked to them about their books for hours. Afterwards, I realized I hadn’t even used half of the questions I had–always the sign of a great panel!
Speaking in public has always been difficult for me and always ramps up the anxiety (which I always thought was just stage fright). But now that I know what it is, I can sort of control it. I can’t control the adrenaline spike and what comes with it–the shaking hands, the talking too fast, the shakiness of my brain, the upset of my stomach–but I can control the mental part and not allow the anxiety to take over. It was very strange knowing I can’t control the physical response to the chemical imbalance but I can control the mental/emotional response, so instead of freaking the way I usually do before going on–I focused on making sure pre-panel that they were all comfortable, that I wanted them to talk themselves up with the goal of selling a book to everyone in the room, and basically, asked questions and got out of the way and let them shine like the stars they are–and did they ever! Especially when you remember I hadn’t sent them questions in advance to prepare; they each were speaking extemporaneously, which is impressive as hell. The nervous energy I handled by walking around briskly before the panel and talking to each of my panelists individually and staying hydrated. Yes, I drank water, limited myself to one cappuccino per day, drank iced tea for lunch instead of Coke, and tried very hard to remember to slow down and get over the FOMO I always feel. I did have some cocktails every night, but never enough to get more than a bit tipsy and paced myself more.
And now, I am going to head back to my chair and finish reading the new Lippman and maybe start reading the new Cosby. I have laundry to do, a dishwasher to empty, and basically, I am just going to relax as much as humanly possible today. I should probably make at least a minor grocery run; maybe not. But what a marvelous, marvelous time I had.
Saturday morning and I slept in. I stayed in bed until eight thirty (perish the thought! What a lazy lagabed!) with the end result that I will not, in fact, be driving over to the West Bank this morning to get my oil changed and fluids checked. It’s not due, but (anxiety) the heat has been so intense, I want to make sure the engine is being looked after properly and of course, the fluids. Now it will have to wait until I get back as the dealership isn’t open on Sundays and I leave Wednesday for San Diego Bouchercon. I am starting to get some anxiety about the trip, but I am trying to ride herd on that. Whereas before it was gnaw away at me and build, now I just dismiss those thoughts as “anxiety” and move on from it. I doubt this methodology will be a long term solution–I probably should see a therapist again–but I already take an anti-anxiety medication to control my mood swings; do I need something else on top of that? Probably not. I am leery of medications to begin with–the opioid disaster always is there in the back of my head, plus the fear of addiction.
But since I didn’t get up, I will be staying in for the rest of the day and working on the apartment and writing and so forth. Tomorrow I am going to get fitted for hearing aids, so anything I might need to get by going out into the world today (I was thinking about doing a minor grocery run to get a few things) I can get tomorrow at the Rouse’s on Carrollton. I am kind of excited about being able to hear properly; I don’t think I’ve ever been able to my entire life, although I always passed hearing tests. My problem is low voices and ambient noise. I can’t hear anything in a crowded bar or restaurant. And I have my appointment about my arm in a few weeks, and of course, I am getting my teeth taken care of once I get home from San Diego. I will be a completely different person by the end of the year than I was when I started the year, won’t I? Maybe not The Six Million Dollar Man, but the surgery isn’t going to be very cheap.
We finished watching Swamp Kings last night, and I was right–it was really a puff piece, focused on making Urban Meyer as good as possible and not focusing on any of the criminal charges or how the University covered it all up because at that time, Florida football was the face of college football and everyone was watching and they were making the University a shit-ton of money. (Not to single out the Gators–although this documentary was about them, so it does raise these questions organically–these kinds of abuses and corruption happen all too often at far too many programs. LSU has had its own history of cover-ups and looking the other way to protect star players in the past, for example, and I’ve always been disappointed at how those situations were handled by my own favorite team. Hiring Joe Alleva as Athletic Director at LSU was a huge mistake, as he repeatedly showed Tiger Nation, over and over again. His replacement has done a fantastic job rebuilding LSU athletics from the ashes left by Alleva’s miserable tenure.) But I love college football, and I remember that time period particularly well. I have always stuck to the SEC mantra of “hate them in the conference, root for them in the post season” (which everyone does except Alabama fans for the most part–which I just now realized is probably a leftover remnant from the Civil War “us against them” mentality and my stomach turned a bit; but that’s also a good focus for the essay I want to write about LSU and football in the south in general, “Saturday Night In Death Valley.”) I am very excited and happy college football season is nigh. Woo-hoo!
I spent some time with Kelly J. Ford’s The Hunt, which is actually quite marvelous. I haven’t had the bandwidth lately to read novels–mostly sticking to my Alfred Hitchcock Presents project–but I was enjoying her book when I started reading it a few weeks ago and had been wanting to get back to it. But anxiety and stress and the fucking heat have sapped so much out of me every day that it was hard to focus on reading a novel. Kelly is a marvelous writer, which is terrific–there’s really nothing like a queer writer with a working class background writing about the South they grew up in, is there? Kelly is kind of a lesbian cross between Tom Franklin, Carson McCullers, and Dorothy Allison, with some Faulkner and Ace Atkins thrown in for good measure. Her debut novel Cottonmouths was a revelation (I can’t tell you how thrilling it is for this old man to see so much amazing crime writing coming from new queer writers), and her second, Real Bad Things, is nominated for an Anthony Award next week–so she joins the few queer crime writers of queer crime novels who’ve been nominated for an Anthony Award! We’re a small but growing club, which is also very exciting. GO QUEERS!
So, yes, a lovely day of preparation for going away next weekend. Today I should go ahead and make my packing list–I could even go ahead and pack the rolling briefcase, couldn’t I?–and clean and do things around the house and read and maybe even do some writing. It feels cool today in the house–but of course it’s still morning–and just checked my emails and yes–there it is; today’s heat advisory with temperatures feeling like up to 114 until eight pm tonight. It’s really going to feel like winter to me in San Diego, isn’t it?
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later or tomorrow.
Queer and Loathing in America 