Tag: blog

Thanksgiving Prayer

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Or, if you prefer (I do), Happy Native Genocide Eve!

I am spending this one alone, here in the Lost Apartment by myself, and that’s fine. Yesterday was nice. I didn’t feel as bad when I woke, after a good night’s sleep, and by early afternoon my stomach stopped aching even a little bit. It embarrasses me to admit this, but I think I was actually malnourished! I’ve not eaten dinner once this week, and I didn’t really eat much on Sunday, either–so I went into calorie deficit, and whatever I ate wasn’t enough calories to keep my body functioning properly.1My blood sugar drops, I get all post-nasal drippy, the drip makes me feverish and cough, and I feel, overall, like crap. I caught up on my eating yesterday morning and lunch finally made the ache go away. Seriously, not very smart. But it’s fine this morning and I feel like myself again, thank the Lord. So, with my unexpected extra day off, I wound up having a very nice and relaxing day around the house by myself. I’m rarely ever home alone for an entire day, let alone a week, so the novelty is still kind of nice and fun and oh, yes, I can do whatever I want whenever I want, can’t I? I did listen to Orville Peck yesterday while I did some cleaning. The downstairs is pretty much done; I just need to do the floors and move some furniture. I also worked on an essay2 and did some reading yesterday, which was nice. I am taking today off from anything and everything–it is a holiday, after all–and the days when I used to feel guilty for doing nothing all day are in the past. I’d also completely forgotten it was Rivalry Weekend in college football, when anything can happen in a football season that has already been wild and wacky and full of crazy upsets. LSU plays Oklahoma for the first time in the regular season this Saturday night in Baton Rouge, so that should be interesting; Oklahoma just trounced Alabama, who trounced LSU a few weeks ago. Obviously, you can’t tell anything by common opponents (LSU beat Vanderbilt, who beat Alabama. Go figure).

So, Thanksgiving. I’ll have a fancy turkey sandwich later–probably open-faced, with turkey gravy poured over it–and when I finish this, I’ll probably go read some more of Lavender House, which is phenomenal and I am loving. I’m seeing the influence of the masters–Chandler and Hammett–in this, and it is absolutely amazing. I am not going to pressure myself to do anything today or feel guilty about not doing things. Besides, I am not capable of doing nothing all day–I’ll do something, at any rate; whether it’s cleaning or pruning the books or organizing a cabinet; I’m like Mom that way. I still have to edit a manuscript this weekend, and I’d also like to reread what I have done on Scotty, maybe even get back into writing that manuscript. I puzzled out how to finish and revise a novella and another one of my short stories–both need to be harder, colder, more hard-boiled and sly and mean-spirited, frankly. I’ve enjoyed this novella because it’s about a dysfunctional relationship that has a truly sad ending. The problem with both, I realized, is that they are from the point of view of someone who ends up committing a crime, and it’s really about how everything leads up to that moment, so I had the voice completely wrong in both, which is the missing piece I’ve been looking for now for quite some time. So, while I am not actually writing anything fictional at the moment, I am doing some brain work on my fiction, and sorry not sorry, THAT COUNTS.

But the whole point of this day–the “wholesome” America rah-rah-rah version, at any rate–is to remember and be thankful for your blessings in this life, and not focus on the hardships you’ve faced. There’s definitely a bit of Christianity and white supremacy baked into that particular American mythology, which is why some (me) half-jokingly call it Native Genocide Eve, because it was the last time European colonizers were grateful for indigenous help, and before they started slaughtering them–whether it was through out-and-out gunfire or disease. The truth left out of the US creation myth is that it was all about conquest and colonizing. I don’t think learning about that is nearly as disillusioning as being taught one thing as a child and then learning as you get older that it’s all justification and lies. Europeans had no right to the Americas, and they took the two continents with violence, prejudice, and genocide. The foundation of our country was built upon white Christian supremacy.

Why is that so hard for people to accept or admit? The truth is, we have been dealing with “alternative facts” most of our lives. Talk about miseducation!

But back to my thankfulness. Obviously, first and foremost, is that I am grateful every day for Paul. What a remarkable person he is, and how lucky was I, with all the people in the world, that somehow I wound up finding the perfect person for me, like I’d ordered from a menu? I miss him when he’s not here–I’ve kind of been thinking about Dad, living alone after losing Mom, up there in the house they shared together for the last twenty-five years of their lives together, and can really understand and relate. I usually can handle the first few days whenever he goes on a trip anywhere, luxuriating in the novelty of living alone (which I’ve never done). Usually by the third day alone (technically tomorrow) I start feeling the loneliness and realize ah, this is what it’ll be like if he goes first 3, which is “I can do this when I’ll have to (again, no choice).”

I am very thankful to be living in New Orleans, the only place in this country that has ever felt like home to me. I love this city even when I complain about it. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with having the same mentality about life and death that I’ve always had: enjoy today because you could be gone tomorrow. One thing that always bugs me on a molecular level is putting off joy till later. Um, there are more than enough things in life to make you forget about joy, so why inflict it upon yourself? Katrina emphasized that even further–you could lose everything you have in a day and have to start completely over. I’ve moved around the country enough, starting over, that having to start over again at my current age isn’t desirable, but I’ve done it enough times over the course of sixty-three years that I know if I have to, I can. I am also very thankful for that hard core of resiliency baked into who I am.

I am very thankful for my writing career. It’s what I always wanted to do, for as long as I can remember, and even when I get frustrated with it, or wish I had done something differently…well, there are any number of people who wish they had my career, and despite the fact that my writing career happened because so many things that needed to happen for it to happen, happened. I think part of the reason I never took my career as seriously as I should have from the very beginning is because luck and good fortune made it happen, which also makes me very aware of how it can happen. But…that doesn’t, and shouldn’t undermine, the story of my career trajectory. I’ve been nominated for awards almost thirty times, and have even won on occasion. Some writers never get nominated for anything. Some writers never progress past the dream stage. I’ve gotten incredible reviews, and I have some absolutely devoted readers that I am thankful for every damned day. I also think part of the depressive state of the last year or so has everything to do with me not writing much during that time–I am always happier when I am writing fiction, no matter how much stress and anxiety is involved with the writing of said fiction. I’ve pretty much been able to write whatever I want to write most of my life, too.

I’ve also been blessed to be able to know some amazing people, and to call them friends. They are an amazing support system, and they believe in me as a person, as a friend, and as a writer. It’s kind of sad that I didn’t learn what it was like to be or have a good friend until I met Paul. I always have this deep down feeling that no one actually does like me–the PTSD of growing up in a very homophobic society–but I am getting so much better about that.

I am thankful that I have the life I never knew I truly wanted, or could have imagined, during the rough times.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your holiday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, one never can be sure, can one?

One can never go wrong with a shirtless photo of Nyle DeMarco, can one?
  1. Believe it or not, it’s a thing for me; it has a lot to do with fear of gaining weight and the nagging sense that I always need to lose at least ten pounds. I’ll write about that at some point. ↩︎
  2. On the “bury your gays” trope, for the record. ↩︎
  3. Not really the first time; there have been any number of times over our almost thirty years (!!!) together (next summer) where I’ve had to face the possibility of losing him and spending the rest of my life alone (I don’t need a companion, and no one will ever be like Paul to me, just like no one could ever replace Mom for Dad) multiple times already. ↩︎

What The World Needs Now is Love

Yesterday’s post was removed from Facebook because bare male torsos are sexually explicit, you know. I don’t think I’m going to be around there much longer, frankly. There was nothing sexual in yesterday’s blog image, other than it being a man in his underwear (and I get hit up by underwear and jock ads there all the fucking time that are more revealing than anything I post) but hey, male nipples might offend someone, you know. But if you’re a person who finds this blog on Facebook every morning, you might (and it’s perfectly okay if you don’t) want to subscribe to it and my Substack. Both are free, and will always be free; and if I should ever decide to make this an income stream (not likely) there will be plenty of notice. Decisions, you know. Paul and I have also come up with a worst-case scenario plan in case things get really bad–which it’s looking more and more like it will with every passing day–and so that’s kind of a relief of sorts. Kind of half-joking, half-serious. Paul and I are both too pragmatic to not think ahead for possible worst cases, and I feel okay about it. It’ll be a huge upheaval–but it won’t be one of our making. (I have some research to do, but it’s a good plan.)

The funniest thing about living in New Orleans is, despite Louisiana’s descent into Gilead since the election of Governor Can’t Be Wrong and his lickspittle legislature, is I feel far safer here than if I lived in a city in a blue state. Orleans Parish (aka New Orleans) went over eighty-two percent for Harris/Walz; can your city/county say the same? New Orleans isn’t just a blue island in a red sea, it’s so fucking blue that it can be seen from space. There’s going to be a lot of conflict coming between city and state as well as city and federal–it’s one of the reasons the governor sent the state police into our city (Troop New Orleans, or NOLA or whatever fascist thing he called them) to fight “crime”. They have no legal jurisdiction here, but every time I see one of their vehicles on the road I think “ah, the SS is here.” So much material in Louisiana to write about–as long as I get to keep writing about anything, really. And the Super Bowl is coming in a few months, too. Sigh. That means a conflict with Carnival, which I’ve not bothered to look into quite yet.

It rained as I ran my errands last night after work. It rained pretty much all day, and it’s raining again this morning. I slept really well last night, too, and didn’t really want to get up this morning but I did. I felt rested, and while I would love nothing more than to climb back into bed with Sparky and go back to sleep, that’s not possible since I obviously have to go into the office today. Next week is only a three-day work week, and then I have a lovely four day weekend while Paul is out of town where I am hoping to get some serious rest as well as get some shit done around here. I did work a bit on writing last night when I got home; mostly an essay for Substack which is still unfinished but it was still writing. It’s a start, after the derailment of the election and the horrors to come. I suppose the best thing to do here is to enjoy the time we have left before January 20th, when our country ceases to be a democracy and becomes whatever the hell it becomes once dollar store Mussolini and a cast of monsters move back into the White House. I imagine my blog and my Substack are enough to damn me as a dissident–without my writing, my life, and my sexual orientation–and of course my day job, however long it lasts in our brave new world.

We also finished Outer Banks over the weekend (or as Paul calls it, “outer skanks”), which was fun. It’s nothing terribly serious, and the plots on the show never really make a lot of sense, but the writing is bonkers and it moves really fast, and I kind of loved how completely insane and over the top it was. A lot of shows we enjoy are back with new seasons–Bad Sisters, for one, and The Diplomat for another–so we have plenty to watch, but the TF Gala is Thursday (the party at John Cameron Mitchell’s, he bragged again) so Paul’s evenings will be taken up this week with last minute details and plans, so we won’t be watching anything this week, so I need to dig up shows that Paul didn’t want to watch but I did so I can do that while he’s gone. I’ve let college football pretty much go this season–I’ll still watch LSU games, but no one else other than as a background noise while I clean around here–so my Saturdays are pretty much freed up for the rest of the year. It’s also hard to believe Christmas is just around the corner–and New Year’s, then Mardi Gras, then the festivals…sheesh. So I really need to get back to writing the book sooner rather than later, don’t I?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again soon; maybe even later on. I still have to write about Agatha All Along, which was probably my favorite show of the year, and Joe Locke, and any number of other posts I have started but never finished for some reason or another. Having that many drafts is starting to bug me, so I need to get them cleared out. A good project for me between clients today, methinks. Sorry if this was boring, but I’m not always jousting with dragons. Sometimes I take time off. 🙂

This is gorgeous, out triple-threat performer Nick Adams, who sings, dances and acts. He also has the most beautiful eyes, an incredible physique, and a great face. He’s the one who had to wear sleeves in A Chorus Line because he had bigger arms than Mario Lopez, the star. He always plays arrogant bitchy queens, like he did in Fire Island, which is a waste. He’d be great for the lead in a gay rom-com.

All Day and All of the Night

Monday morning and back to the office today. I had a really nice lovely weekend, to be honest. The weather has changed here in New Orleans and has become what would pass for early fall everywhere else, but here? The lack of humidity and the bright sunshine, along with cool breezes, make all the difference. It’s nice being able to wear sleeves and pants outside of the house or work, you know? And I do sleep better. I just don’t like that it gets dark so early. That’s always felt kind of oppressive to me for some reason. but while I am certain it makes no sense in any logical or rational way, it does. I also can’t believe Thanksgiving is next week. Paul is going to visit his family this year, so I’ll be by myself–well I’ll have Sparky, and he will be needy. But it’s fine, don’t worry about me. Last Thanksgiving was the week of my biceps surgery, so this year will definitely be better than last. Thanksgiving was always Mom’s holiday, you know, which is why I scheduled the surgery when I did last year. This year will be the first time I really have to deal with that, but I’ll do fine. I can get things done around here that I usually can’t, and four lovely days off in a row? I have no excuse.

We watched Caddo Lake this weekend (we watched after LSU lost yet again), which was really well done and very interesting. Shot in location at actual Caddo Lake in western Louisiana, it’s staggeringly beautiful (Louisiana is so beautiful) and it was an interesting movie focusing on following two people while some strange things are going on around the lake. Dylan O’Brien (of TV’s Teen Wolf, aka the gayest show ever on television) is terrific as the male lead. It reminded me of the German television show Dark, which was one of the smartest shows I’ve ever streamed. To talk about anything else would be a spoiler, but I recommend it. It’s a slow burn, but it’s absolutely worth watching.

I also was able to spend some more time with The Reformatory, which brought a huge surprise twist over halfway through the book–always a pleasure when something unexpected happens–and the writing continues to enthrall. Tananarive Due is the real deal, y’all, and I need to read more of her work. I have no idea where this story is going, either, which is always fantastic. Yay! I should be able to finish the book this week, which is very cool. I’ve not picked out my next read, but I think it’s going to be potentially either Angie Kim, Amina Akhtar, Lori Roy, or Kellye Garrett. I also have the latest Celeste Ng and Ann Hood books on my shelves. I did do some more pruning this weekend, pulling out books for the library pile–hey, the authors have my money, even if I didn’t read the book–and I am also sending it out into the world to find a new reader, and a potential new fan for that author, so there is that. I need to get back to writing. I did do some yesterday, a very small bit, but I am taking that as I swing back into author mode. Continuing to put off writing is going to bite me in the ass one of these days, and so, reluctant as I am to get back on it, I am going to have to. This week I am going to edit what I have written on Scotty and work on some of the short stories on hand, and then I am going to dive into writing the book again. But I do feel like I’ve reset myself. I am continuing to limit social media and the news–which I am not getting from any legacy media company, may they all burn to the ground–for my own mental health. I feel pretty good this morning, but I also didn’t check the news except to see if the Saints won (they did), and I don’t think I am going to be doing that hardly at all anymore. The sad reality that we have to depend on Republicans (!!!) in the Senate to protect our democracy when they’ve spent the last thirty years trying to dismantle it is a bit much for me, and I’m no longer enjoying the vote-regrets as I used to–and even that was a grim smirk more than anything else. Sorry, folks, I know we’re all going to suffer, but my concerns are for the marginalized. The ability to imagine the worst possible outcomes isn’t a gift, it’s more of a curse…I always thought the most tragic figure in the Trojan War was Cassandra, driven mad by being able to see the future only to not be believed. I’ve always wanted to read that story from her perspective, as she was the most interesting character in the whole tragedy.

That’s me, always wanting the woman’s perspective–and willing to believe it, too1.

I also am not sure I completely believe the “vote regret” videos, either–although I think the lesson that should have been learned this time out is that voting matters and is too important to not be informed. I don’t think anyone really learned that lesson, and many will simply find a way to blame Democrats for their problems (it is their default) and keep voting (if we can vote) against their own interests. I don’t think I can trust any election results going forward, either–I’m not certain about this last one, and wasn’t that the entire point of 2020, to make us all not believe election results aren’t to be trusted. The entire plan behind all of this, I believe, came from Moscow; what better way to undermine a democracy than making the citizens not trust or believe our institutions? The legacy media is already tainted and cannot be trusted. I worry that people can’t see how dire things actually are right now in this country, and this is just the prelude; we’re not even to the opening credits of this horror show yet.

I’ve also not taken the time to talk about the grievous loss of Dorothy Allison after the election. It’s been lovely seeing everyone’s tributes to her, and how much she mattered to queer people. Paul and I knew Dorothy long before anyone knew who either one of us were; we met her the first spring we lived in New Orleans and volunteered for the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival, which was almost thirty years ago. Dorothy was many things to many people, but we just thought of her as a supportive friend who was always there for us whenever we needed her to be. She adored Paul, and the feeling was mutual. Dorothy called us the morning we evacuated for Katrina, told us to come stay with her for as long as we needed to, and was kind of bummed when we decided not to drive across the country. She checked in on Paul when he was hospitalized. We tried not to make any demands on her, because she was a bottomless well of kindness and consideration, and a lot of people leaned on her. I’ll miss her, terribly, and I know Paul will. I’m not going to write a lengthy tribute to her because I’ll leave that to the people who were closer and her family, but she will be missed. Part of her charm was her ability to flirt with anyone and everyone; I’ve not seen that mentioned yet. She even flirted with me and I’d flirt back, even though obviously it was just in good fun. I think her first words to me were “who is this tall, dark and handsome gay man? I might just have to take you home with me.”

I’ll miss you, Dorothy.

I also get to have some glamour this week. I’m going to the Tennessee Williams Festival gala this Thursday night, and it’s at the home of John Cameron Mitchell of Hedwig and the Angry Inch fame. (He was also terrific in The Sandman) I’ll have to go home and get cleaned up after work, and put on fancier clothes first, but how cool is that? I do sometimes have a glamorous life, don’t I? I never really think about that very much–it’s one of the many reasons I try not to complain about anything, ever; I kind of take that sort of thing for granted. This will also be my first experience going to an event of any sort since I started taking anxiety medication, so maybe I’ll be able to enjoy it more? I will report back on Friday morning, and perhaps I’ll even remember to take some pictures.

I also have decided to try harder to separate the blog from the Substack. The Substack posts are things I’ve spent more time on, thinking about and revising and editing; this stuff is always going to be what’s on my mind when I write it, unvarnished and unpolished; exactly as it comes to me, forgotten words and typos and incomplete sentences and all. Yesterday morning’s post actually gave me the opening to an essay I’ve been struggling to write since last summer, about masculinity and my outsider’s point of view from what society considers traditional–and the masculinity that I was raised to believe in was actually a perpetuation of toxic masculinity. I may mention something on here briefly, or a paragraph about it, but the crux of the conversation will eventually be posted on Substack. I’ve also been thinking about posting essays I’ve written for other places there, so people can access them if they so choose. I’d wanted to collect them into a book, but…I’m not a big enough name to sell copies of an essay collection when none of them were ever in places like the New York Times or The Atlantic or McSweeney’s–not good enough for those markets, alas. The “Words” entry on Substack, about some of the homophobia I’ve faced in the crime fiction community at conferences and within writers’ organizations, bled over into some entries here last week, as I burned some bridges (that were never there in the first place) and came back more into myself. Fasten your seatbelts, as someone else can be Mr. Nice Gay from now on.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I have some errands to run after work and a delivery is coming tonight; and I have some chores to complete once I am home. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and stay tuned for more spicy content.

I can’t be the only person who has noticed that all underwear/bikini style models now have enormous bulges–all of them looking relatively the same–in every photo?
  1. Despite the fact that some homophobic white women, who have no other reason than my sexuality and politics to not like me, claimed “Greg doesn’t listen to women.” Yeah. that’s me, dismissive of, and always talking over, women. Then why do I have more woman friends than you do, bitch? ↩︎

Ferry Cross the Mersey

Thursday and I am off for doctors’ appointments today. I got to sleep a little later this morning (other than getting up to give Sparky breakfast, after which I went back to bed happily for a little more time), and I can leisurely take my time going from appointment to appointment. The first is in Metairie–eyes and new glasses–and then I get to go to a dermatologist for the first time in about fifteen or so years. I’ve been using the same stuff to try to control my eczema (or psoriasis, I’m not sure which is the one I have because I’ve been told both at different times)1, and I want to primarily see if there’s another way to treat/control it. After I am done with those things, I’ll run my errands and then come home to read, write, and clean. I work at home again tomorrow morning, and have some on-line trainings to get through before I am free for the weekend again. Huzzah!

I was tired when I got home last night, but I did work on a short story for a bit before becoming a Sparky bed. There’s plenty of stuff to keep me occupied around here this morning–including a sink full of dishes–and I have things that I want to do once the appointments are over. Tomorrow is my remote day (which I’ve always called “work-at-home” day, but this is the terminology my employer uses, so I should use it as well), which is nice and I have a lot of on-line trainings to get done before the end of the month…can’t really believe it’s almost November already, can you? I also need to get back to work on the book. I signed the contract for Hurricane Season Hustle last night, so the book is absolutely going to happen. The release date will be in the fall, but I’m not sure of the exact date at the moment.

We finished watching season 3 of American Horror Stories last night, and while the final episodes weren’t really my favorites (although I did like the final one of the season), I’ve had to revise my theory that the show’s not good overall. There was surprisingly little gay content (there was a gay episode that was delightfully twisty and creepy from whence it began), which was disappointing–and less gratuitous sexy male bodies than I would ordinarily expect from a Ryan Murphy show for sure. The show itself is nothing terribly new, just a modern reboot of The Twilight Zone or Tales from the Crypt–both being shows I loved, I must point out–so some episodes are better than others, but the lesser ones are entertaining enough, and the twisty endings are surprising in many cases. I do love a good plot twist–Ira Levin was such a master of these, as was Daphne du Maurier; which is partly why I love them both so much. I really do need to find my copy of Rosemary’s Baby…

It’s weird to be almost finished with October, isn’t it? Of course, the beginning of the year now seems like it was a million years ago, and I don’t really remember much of Carnival this year. I didn’t have to go out of town during it this year, and probably won’t next year, either. I kind of want to enjoy parade season this year, in all honesty. We haven’t really been able to enjoy ourselves for several years during Carnival now, and it would be nice to get back into the spirit of the entire thing again, rather than simply thinking of it as a nuisance. I mean, I always thought it was a nuisance before the first parades started rolling, but I always got back into it the further into the parades we got. These last three or four years? Not so much, so I hope this year will be different.

We can but hope. I don’t think I will be as exhausted as I was the last few years, either.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and have some breakfast. Not much exciting to write about this morning, was there? My apologies. I hope to be more entertaining at some point in the future. Until then, adieu!

  1. Next week I get to see the podiatrist to see if I have arthritis in my toes. ↩︎

The Name Game

And here we are, with a truly strange schedule for work-at-home Friday, as I have some things to get done today outside of the house; Sparky needs some shots (and his Freddy Krueger like claws trimmed, thank you baby Jesus), and we are going to go to Costco at some point. I made a list last night (I’m sorry, but those sausage egg and cheese microwave breakfast sandwiches from Jimmy Dean are addicting), and hopefully it won’t exhaust me. One can hope, at any rate. I did manage to do some of the dishes and get started on that, but was a bit tired and Sparky needed some attention, one thing led to another, and next thing I knew Paul was home and we were getting caught up on Agatha All Along1 and watched another two episodes of American Horror Stories, which continues to be much better than we remembered. I would have sworn we stopped watching, but per Hulu, we’d watched all of the previous two seasons? I don’t know, I might have to revisit an episode or two of the previous seasons to trigger my memories. (It does bother me a little bit that I don’t remember things anymore; I seem to have forgotten a lot–but sixty three years of things to remember is apparently more than my storage banks inside my skull can handle.)

I did pick out a story yesterday for that other anthology I want to submit to–which means I need to get working on it this weekend, as well as other writing chores around the football games tomorrow. The Saints lost last night, so I don’t have to worry about watching them on Sunday, so that should be a good writing day for me. I’ll mostly be watching the Alabama-Tennessee game and the LSU-Arkansas game (but keeping an eye on the Georgia-Texas game, which is on at the same time), which makes my Saturday a little freer. I could watch the Auburn-Missouri game (the early game), but that’s a proper time for me to run errands and be home before the bigger game at 2:30. The living room really has gotten out of control and I need to get that under control this weekend as well. So, the plan for the weekend is to have a good writing weekend and a good “get things taken care of” goal is not a bad thing by any means. I think I am going to drive up to Kentucky next weekend for a week, see my grand-nephew (!!!) play football, that sort of thing and spend some time with Dad.

I also got caught up on The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, which is the only reality show I am really watching anymore (I’ll watch Beverly Hills when it comes back, but the others are getting a bit tired for me; I honestly think we’ve reached max exposure for them and they’ve peaked), and at some point I’ll probably have to get to work on writing out my perceptions and thoughts about this cast, and why I started enjoying and watching so late in its run (I have a problem with shows with criminals in the cast; so by the end of the first season we already knew Jen Shah was one, and I just can’t support that; just like Teresa Guidice’s conviction ended my watching New Jersey–which I was already hate-watching by then); I have only watched the previous season of SLC, and it was quite good. I do have some other thoughts about reality television and why I watch (I think the night time soap comparison that the horrible Camille Paglia made in an interview a while back was spot on; she can be right sometimes, even if she is awful in general) that will probably go into an essay at some point; I also want to do something on gay reality shows, which are generally awful (despite believing, from time to time, that a gay show would be amazing–RuPaul’s Drag Race has, after all, pretty much taken over the world and made her a billionaire–but they are always tragic disappointments)–anyone remember the The A-List? Real Friends of West Hollywood?

My coffee is quite marvelous this morning, I must say. I slept really well last night (which seems to be more of a daily occurrence anymore, which is wonderful), and I feel rested and ready to go today. Once I finish this I am going to work on the dishes and the kitchen, and unpack my backpack. My work at home today is mostly correcting paperwork and some on-line trainings, which is lovely and shouldn’t make me tired in the least before it’s time to punch the clock and then spend the rest of the evening reading or writing until it’s time to catch up on our shows–for some reason Grotesquerie wouldn’t stream last night, and there are more episodes of American Horror Stories to check out. I also want to go back and watch The Assassination of Gianni Versace, which I’ve never watched all the way through (Paul disliked it). It also looks like a beautiful day outside. It’s been colder this week than usual; it’s only 63 today and the sun is our and the sky is that lovely New Orleans blue with puffy white clouds lazily drifting across.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, wherever you are, and I may be back later; stranger things have happened.

Those are some legs. Sheesh!
  1. Absolutely loving this show, and Joe Locke is fantastic, which pleases me to no end. ↩︎

As Soon As I Hang Up the Phone

Ugh, the forecast for Milton and Florida remains extremely dire this morning. I feel you, Florida. It also hasn’t escaped me that I am writing a hurricane book for Scotty and this hurricane is Milton–which is Scotty’s actual first name(!!!). I hope everyone able to leave were able to get out safely, and that those who could not are safe as they can be when this storm comes ashore.1 Please help out wherever you can for the victims of this, while not forgetting those still struggling to get over Helene’s fury. Awful, just awful. (And yes, hurricane victims DO need feminine hygiene products, so get the fuck over yourself, Senator Cornpone. I know how squeamish vaginas make you, but that doesn’t change women’s realities, you miserable piece of shit.) I will never understand why men like him hate women so much–and I don’t get how the women in his immediate family haven’t smothered him in his sleep yet, but here we are.

Yesterday was exhausting, not going to lie. This week has been exhausting at the day job this week. My supervisor is in London for two weeks, so I am loosely in charge of my program and I. Do. Not. Like. This. One. Bit. She’s been gone for two days. TWO DAYS. So many things have gone wrong, so many challenges have come up, and I’ve had to come up with workable solutions. It’s not that I can’t do this kind of work–I definitely can–but I do not like to do this kind of work. I don’t want to feel like something Sparky dragged in when I get home, so I am too tired to write or read or do much of anything. This is why I have never wanted to be in management, you know? But all I can do is my best–it’s hard to keep up with everything, I can see why she’s pulling her hair out on a daily basis–and hope that’s good enough. No pressure at all, right? But…I also don’t want her to come back to the office after two weeks and have everything be on fire–especially since I am going to Kentucky a few days after she gets back.

I am definitely leaving for Alabama on Friday. I am going to do my work-at-home chores, and then hit the road and head north. It’ll be nice to see Dad again; one of the only good things that’s happened since we lost Mom is Dad and I have become a lot closer and have spent a lot more time together than we ever have. It’s actually very nice. I just wish Kentucky wasn’t so far away; if he were over in Houston or Alabama, I could make it over there for a weekend every month like I used to do when I worked for the airline and lived in Tampa; at least once a month I’d hop a flight for Houston to go chill out and visit them. I missed that when they moved to Kentucky, but a twelve hour drive is still a twelve hour drive. It’s why I didn’t see Mom more, and that’s something I’ll probably carry to my grave with me.

I also had a ZOOM meeting last night with some writer friends about a project we’re working on, which is always delightful; spending time with writers, even if we aren’t specifically talking about writing and publishing, is always lovely. Paul got home late last night, and all I basically did after the ZOOM call was escape to my easy chair to be a Sparky cushion. I watched hurricane updates and the news, as is my usual wont, and Paul came home just as I was getting ready to go upstairs and go to bed. I slept well last night, which was great, and my brain feels alert and ready to go even if my body feels a bit tired. Tonight on the way home from work I am going to go uptown to get the mail and maybe stop to make groceries…I’m not so sure because I have to figure out how to feed Paul while I am gone–and the big grocery run will have to wait until I get back.

I also figured out how to rewrite a story for an anthology call for submissions yesterday, which is very exciting. I am hoping to get that all worked on and going over the rest of the week. Going to Alabama while I am rewriting an Alabama story–the very first one I ever wrote, back in 1983–and I think I can finally make the story work the way it should have all along. I’m also finding that lately I am solving a lot of problems in work of mine that has been stalled for a long time, which is very exciting. I am hoping to have a very productive 2025, in all honesty, and bearing any tragedies or disruptions (God only knows what’s around the corner for me) but there’s nothing wrong with making plans, you know? So what if plans can get disrupted for reasons that are out of my control? (There’s so little in life that is actually under our own control; the only thing we do control is how we handle things, how we react, and how it changes us in ways we won’t understand until later–sometimes much, much later.)

And I have, recently (pardon me if I mentioned this already) realized that, with my anxiety medicated and under control, I’ve been able to be a lot calmer and cooler about things, and realized how much of my own behavior was anxiety-driven and the result of “trauma” (I feel like this word is used too much…to the point where it’s becoming almost meaningless) I experienced and learned (not always the right lesson) from. I’ve also realized that I’ve never put myself first–especially not my own mental health–and that is going to be a huge priority going forward for me. People may not like it, but I also don’t give much of a fuck what other people think, you know? You don’t like me? Not my problem, really. I feel like that’s an important breakthrough for me. Maybe it’s homophobia, maybe they think I am an asshole, but it’s really none of my business what other people think of me, and it is assuredly not my problem. And it feels good, you know? I always worried that I was too selfish (been told that enough by toxic narcissists to believe it), and yes, I can be…but I also don’t want to let anything or anyone come between me and my writing anymore (well, that doesn’t include Paul, of course).

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Wednesday–oh, it’s even Pay-the-Bills Day! I may be back later.

Why is “sweaty shirtless man holding a tire” a trope in physique photography? I’m assuming it’s because of Herb Ritts.
  1. After Katrina, I made the decision to never be one of those horrible people who blame victims for their bad luck; it isn’t cheap to evacuate by any means, and some people can’t afford to, don’t have an automobile that can last in evacuation traffic, or have some other reason they can’t go. Don’t judge them, for fuck’s sake, you heartless assholes. No one “deserves” this. ↩︎

What’s New Pussycat?

I can tell you what right now: Sparky wants treats! Nothing new there, of course, but to him it’s what he needs to start his day of being Apex Predator of the Lost Apartment, where no pen or bottle cap is safe, and he does his part to declutter by knocking everything to the floor. He really is a doll. I just wish he liked to cuddle more in the bed. He’ll sleep and cuddle with me in my easy chair–I think this imprinted on him after my surgery, when I slept in the chair for at least two weeks–but other than that? Nope. Even if you take him to the bed and curl up with him, he’ll wiggle out and go under the bed to protect us from whatever might come down the (blocked off) chimney. It was funny yesterday; I’d forgotten to reset the alarm (I’d set it to seven for Monday and forget to reset it back to six Monday night when I went to bed), but I woke up at five, knew what I’d done, and just kept waking up every twenty minutes or so. I finally got up without the alarm yesterday at six, and Sparky was so sound asleep he didn’t hear me get up! I was already downstairs, had cleaned my teeth and washed my face and was brewing coffee when he sleepily staggered into the kitchen with his eyes half-closed, and chirped half-heartedly.

Trust me, Sparky, I know the feeling well.

I was tired last night after work and making groceries, so I collapsed into my easy chair after writing over 900 words. It was a struggle to get those 900 words down, too, but it didn’t trigger one of those oh my God I can’t make the word count for the day and does this mean I am never going to be able to write again and I am going to be behind! You know what? It’s not the fucking end of the world. I wrote 2000 Monday and 900 yesterday. I’ve done over ten thousand since I started a week ago Sunday. Paul was also late getting home, so Sparky and I hung out in my easy chair and I watched the news before reading another magazine from the stack of them here at my desk. Once Paul was home, we watched the US Open for a while before I had to go to bed. It’s very exciting to have two US men in the semi-finals, which means an American in the finals for the first time in a very long time, which is kind of exciting.

We’re in a flash flood warning for the rest of the week (!) as we are supposed to get up to eight inches of rain or more over the next few days. The weekend is supposed to be neither super-hot or excessively humid and will “feel like” fall–so that could mean anything, really. 60s thru 80s, or somesuch. LSU plays Nicholls this weekend, which I am not wild about watching. They’ll either win by a lot and with ease, which is boring to watch (and I inevitably feel bad for the other team) or it’s disappointing because LSU played badly. I’ll probably give in and watch, but will read while I do. I feel pretty good this morning–it was a bit of a struggle to get up, frankly–but it should be a good day as the coffee is kicking in and I am feeling more awake with every moment.

I hope to finish the chapter I started yesterday today; I am having fun with the book even if it is more complicated and tricky than usual (I am trying something challenging); and I am hoping the more I am able to flex my writing muscles and write more and get more into the habit of it my productivity might go up as well. I have all these essays I’ve started over the last year or so that I need to finish, and I also need to write something for the Substack; I don’t think I posted anything last week and if I want to be a professional and grow it as a marketing tool for my writing, I need to be more…regular with it. I can’t blog and write a newsletter essay every damned day, but I can write a blog entry every day and write a newsletter essay every week, even while writing a book. I can feel that I am also starting, from time to time, to get a little anxious about being so far behind on all my writing. I would like to get all of these in-progress stories and essays finished by the end of the year, but am also aware that’s a very ambitious program. I mean, it is possible, of course; everything is, but it may not be realistic. Then again I seem to be past anxiety and stress (yay correct medications!) but I am also finding that I no longer need anxiety and stress to write, which is absolutely lovely. Yes, I did worry a bit about that when my creativity was fallow, and yes, I feel much better about everything in general. It’s amazing what a difference actually writing and creating does for my mind.

But it does, and that’s just a fact. Nothing makes me more aware that I am meant to be a writer than how much better writing makes me feel. It’s also nice to be enjoying it; it feels like I’ve not really had the opportunity in a very long time to savor and enjoy the entire process, and it’s really terrific to rediscover my joy at being a creative. After almost thirty years of being paid to write, I’m finally in a place where I can just kind of enjoy myself and appreciate it more and maybe, just maybe, I’ll even be able to do more promotion when the next one comes out than I’ve been doing for about a decade.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a good Wednesday, Constant Reader, and remember that we’re on the downward slide into the weekend now!

Screenshot

Shotgun

Monday!

Yesterday was kind of nice. I worked on the apartment and worked on some stories–mostly thinking, some writing, some notes–and started working on the desk area too. We started watching Bad Monkey (more on that later), and then spent a lot of time streaming Solar Opposites, which continues to delight. I also started working on the rugs and the floors, which is way overdue, and also did some other work on the apartment, too. I feel very good this morning, as far as being rested and everything is concerned. I slept deeply and well, Sparky woke me up around eight this morning–when I first woke up he was curled up into a kitty coil sound asleep, so I closed my eyes and turned over…which got him up and brought him up to my face to see if I was, indeed, actually awake. I let him do that for a while, before succumbing and getting up. Today is my Birthday Eve, and while I do need to make a grocery run and get the mail, I can stay inside most of the day and do whatever i please. I plan on working on the house more (cleaning out cabinets, working on the floors, pruning books) before running those errands later this morning, and it’s only going to “feel like 112.” Sigh, my power bill for this month is going to be so brutal.

Oddly enough, I just walked over to the Walgreens and back (I needed sweet and low and forgot to get some this weekend) and it was actually pleasant outside with a cool breeze? I didn’t even break a sweat, which was super nice and definitely weird for this late in the summer. I don’t know if it’s supposed to rain today or not, but it would be super-awesome if it rained all day tomorrow for my birthday, so I can stay inside and read. I’ve not decided how I want to spend my birthday tomorrow, but I know I am probably not going to do any cleaning or some-such unless I so desire. How exciting I sound this morning! What can I say, my brain isn’t waking up as fast as I would prefer! But I am on my second cup of coffee and am about to eat some breakfast, so that should help.

One would think, anyway.

I’m not feeling particularly profound or insightful this morning, but nevertheless here I am, typing away on the day before my birthday. It really is astonishing how long I’ve been keeping my blog; it’ll be twenty years this December (the 26th, I believe, to be exact). That’s a lot of entries and a lot of writing. I know I’ve missed days over the years–I’m the only person committed to this on a daily basis, well aware–but I’ve been pretty consistent with it for all these years. Apparently I was a bit more commitment-phobic in the past. I’ve now lived in New Orleans longer than I’ve lived anywhere else; Paul and I have been together for close to thirty years now; I’ve been blogging for almost twenty years, and I will also hit my twenty years at work in January. I’ve even lived in the same apartment for almost twenty years. Not bad for someone who rarely lasted in any job longer than two years at most; and I’ve also been writing professionally since I cashed my first check for writing back in 1996. That’s almost thirty years. My first short story was published in 2000, and my first novel came out in 2002. I’ll probably be more reflective tomorrow, most like.

I also wrote an essay this weekend that I published over at Substack; do check it out if you’re interested. I probably should have revised and rewritten it one more time before sending it out into the world, but the whole point of my Substack is to get more practice writing personal essays, and as with anything, there’s a learning curve. A personal essay is more than a blog entry (although they are kind of mini-essays in and of themselves, detailing whatever is going on and through my mind at the time I write the entries), and so I am slowly learning how to pull an essay together. They don’t necessarily have to be longer than the essays I’ve already posted there; they work as essay abstracts, for sure. This latest one, “Death by a Thousand Cuts,” has been idling in the back of my mind for a long time now–the original inspiration for it came from getting tired of being straight-splained, as well as being aware that straight men and women don’t really see me as an equal. It could be longer, and there are/were other points I could have made in it to further illustrate the point, but essays are really out of my comfort zone (like short stories) and so I need to toil over them a bit more and build up my confidence.

I’m also thinking I can publish short stories there, too, if I am so inclined.

Hmm, this got a little more interesting as my brain woke up, didn’t it? It’s looking gloomy outside this morning now, so I think we are definitely getting rain today. Yay!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow. Maybe later–one never can be entirely sure. I am tricky that way.

Tell Him No

I did get tired yesterday afternoon, but I think it was more from malnutrition somehow than anything else. My breakfast and my lunch did not fill me up1, and after I had lunch I did feel like my batteries were starting to run down a bit. It was, all in all, a good day for the most part. I did make it through the workday. I ran errands after work (got some things for Sparky from Chewy, and the last batch of new shirts arrived); started organizing the draft blog posts to determine which can be combined (same topic started on different days, months, years) and which can be finished and which can be deleted; I finished the revision of “Passenger to Franklin” (and I think it’s much much better now); and started getting my (delayed and extended) taxes together. Ideally, I can get that done this week and to my accountant by Friday so that will be one thing more that’s been hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles out of the way. Huzzah! I also took a look at “When I Die,” and while this one is going to take a lot of fucking work, it’ll be so much better when I finish it!

I slept well last night, and my coffee is rather delicious this morning. It was cold yesterday morning when I left for work–surprisingly so–but it warmed during the day so my car was very hot when I got into it after work. It’s going to get warmer consistently later in the week–I still can’t get over it being eighty-eight last Friday, it’s only April for Pete’s sake–which means it’ll probably be hot and sunny as I visit graveyards with Dad the weekend after next. I was thinking last night, as we watched Vigil (it’s terrific, highly recommended), that I’m almost in a good place again for the first time in almost ten years or so. My stress levels are way down, my moods generally are good and even, and I don’t have flashes of anger anymore (mostly while in my car). Other idiot drivers are still annoying, but don’t send me into a rage anymore. Now, it’s more like I get annoyed, say very calmly, “yes, you’re an asshole who can’t drive” or “yes, you are so much more important than all the rest of us”, but as I said, it’s calm–and I can absolutely live with that.

I got a short story rejection email yesterday, and I was completely ambivalent about it. The problem is you’re never sure if the story just doesn’t work for them or if the fact that the main character is gay was a problem for them. Sure, the rejection had the standard form please submit to us again, but…yeah, not so much. This is what straight white cisgender people don’t get, with all their whining about “merit”–the only people who they think actually earn their careers are straight white cisgender people, after all–because you can never be certain that it’s the story that they didn’t like enough or whether homophobic concerns come into play: our readers might get mad at is if we shove queer down their throats or we don’t want to become known as the queer crime publication and every other iteration of that you can imagine…any excuse not to publish a queer writer. Many years ago, I decided that I would never allow suspicions of homophobia affect my writing career, and I would always assume it was the story that was the problem. But…you have to wonder. When a magazine only buys your work when you send them things with straight main characters (twice) but rejects everything with a gay main character or even a gay theme, you have to start to wonder.

And given how few of the magazines that actually pay well for short stories (or pay at all) there are and how little queer work they actually publish…you begin to wonder. You don’t want to believe it’s homophobia or homophobic concerns, but here we are, you know. The stories I am working on now aren’t really crime stories, they’re more supernatural/horror stories, but I do think “The Last To See Him Alive” is not only a good story but it’s written really well. I need to revise it and edit it, of course, but it’s in really good shape already which is pleasing. “When I Die” needs a complete overhaul, but that’s fine. It’ll be a better story for it when it’s finished. And while these stories I am working on could complete the collection, this morning I am wondering if I should include horror in this book or not.

I really do not understand these new state laws (here in Louisiana we got one, too) allowing people to drive their cars into protestors, something which inbred morons Tom Cotton of Arkansas and eternal bitchboy Josh Hawley of Missouri are all about. Nothing says leadership like telling people to kill or injure other people. As always, these kind of Nazi-lite fascistic laws come to you courtesy of the Republican Party and MAGAt. I personally am looking forward to driving my car into a crowd of Trump protestors and hitting the gas pedal, frankly. When I saw this on social media yesterday, I responded with Never thought I’d see the day when the Kent State massacre would have fanboys, which prompted some responses which, of course, made the most sense: they had them at the time. I was too young to remember the right-wing response to the Kent State shootings, I just remember being appalled that the National Guard murdered four students on a campus, and I have always viewed it as a disgrace and a tragedy…but of course the right did not see it that way–just as they backed William Calley as a hero after the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. Even I–who have always known how vile and unpatriotic the right in this country is and always has been–didn’t think they were that callous and awful.

They are, they always have been, and they always will be.

The thing that always amuses me about this is the “patriots” of the right always forget that the only reason we exist as a country was because of mass protests….which led to a revolution. So, by that way of thinking, the most patriotic thing you can ever do is protest, really. Remember the Tea Party, the seeds that grew into MAGA? Remember the stolen election of 2000? Remember how Reagan dismantled and changed (and ruined) Social Security? The only reason there’s an issue with it now is because of Reagan, St Ronnie of the Right. The Republicans are the party of Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, Henry Kissinger, and people like Cotton, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Josh Hawley, and Matt Gaetz are their heirs.

Remember back when I was thinking about starting to read and study poetry? I got a great recommendation from a dear friend at S&S of where to start–Mary Oliver’s Why I Wake Early–and I’ve been paging through it randomly, reading poems here and there, glimpsing fragments, and I think I’m slowly starting to come to an understanding of poetry I never had before. I am not going to review poetry on here as I am nowhere near knowledgeable enough and I don’t want to make a fool out of myself self-teaching and coming to what regular readers of poetry already understand from studying it. It’s a wonderful education, and one I kind of wish I had started earlier. Ah, well.

I also decided to postpone reading the Paul Tremblay and take it with me to Kentucky to read. Instead, I’ve decided to reread a book I don’t remember much of–Suicide Notes by Michael Thomas Ford. He published a sequel this past year that I would love to read, but not remembering the first one was a problem, so I decided to go ahead and reread it. I don’t talk about Ford much, but he really is one of the most underrated queer writers of our time. He can basically write anything (a blessing and a curse, as I know all too well), and he does it extremely well. Rereading the first chapter last night pulled me back into the story effortlessly, and the voice is so compelling and hauntingly real…and likable. I’m looking forward to reading more of it.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later.

  1. I also ate dinner late on Sunday night, which I usually don’t do and am sure that had something to do with it, but given I don’t really get hungry all that often it was kind of cool. ↩︎

The All American Boy

I was a bit productive last night after work. I got off later than usual–after five–and we’d been busy all day as well, which was lovely. We’ve not seen that many people in a day in quite some time, and I’d forgotten what that felt like. I chose to take the highway home again after work, and it wasn’t terrible, to be honest. Yes, the ramp to 90/Westbank was backed up as always, and so was the twin spans over the river, but it was better than driving through the city and dealing with all the idiots and stupidity–which I was definitely not in the mood for. I came home, hung out with Sparky for a while, and then started working. I finished a load of laundry and started another. I emptied the dishwasher and refilled it. I cleaned off my desk and filed stuff (I really need to get the overall organization in this corner revamped, revised, and made more efficient and less clutter-prone). I have a meeting this morning on-line, after which I will do my work-at-home duties and do some writing. I was going to run some errands later, but I think they can keep until tomorrow, as I’d rather be around here all day and get things done. It’s a good plan, at any rate. We’ll see how well I obey those dictates.

I also slept well before Sparky decided it was time for me to get up and feed him. I went back to bed, and then of course that started his passive/aggressive ways of getting me up. I do like having a cat alarm–I’d missed that in our cat-free months last year. Sparky still has a lot of extra energy, but I like that about him, and I like that he has his own way of being affectionate. Such a completely different kind of cat personality than Scooter, but all cats are different and getting to know them is part of the joy of having one.

Mmmm, my coffee is quite marvelous tasting this morning.

I was checking my blog drafts page and was stunned to see how many drafts of entries I’ve started and not completed; several books, movies, and topics I wanted to write about, and of course, I need to either finish them or abandon and delete them. Some were kind of similar and started months (years) apart, so I need to get that figured out, and I really should finish writing about the things I started writing about. It was also startling to see that now my blog has become like everything else I write about–drafts and ideas and notes that aren’t completed. Heavy heaving sigh. In the olden days of live journal, I never did this; I always finished every entry I started (probably because I didn’t know whether you could save unfinished drafts there; I discovered the feature when I moved it over here). As a completionist, you can imagine how much this gets under my skin. I’m trying not to let it bother me, but it’s not working so far.

Sigh.

It’s been a weird week, really. I lost my respect for some people–looking at you, Dwayne Johnson, but I always preferred John Cena anyway, and turns out he’s an actual ally–and my concerns and worries about the decline in freedom for everyone (except straight white cisgender men) and the establishment of the 4th Reich in this country, depending on how the election turns out this fall. All of us who tried to warn you back in 2016 (and earlier, in my case) were 100% right about everything, so by all means don’t listen to us again now. I don’t understand the nihilistic mentality of voting third party to “teach us a lesson about progressive purity”–but it’s usually people too young to understand (and they don’t want to understand) how everything works. The irony that they think the Constitution and the system will protect them from a right-wing autocracy is so misinformed to the point of willful ignorance shows me, at any rate, why they shouldn’t be taken seriously or listened to. Back in 2016 I worked with two young cisgender white girls who couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Hillary because “she didn’t leave her husband for cheating on her” and “she’s corrupt and gross.” How does your loss of reproductive freedom feel, you willfully ignorant bitches? Thank God you proved your feminist and progressive purity! I, for one, will never forgive anyone who refused to see the danger we were facing in 2016, and I especially will never forgive people who mocked me for my concerns. Hope you need an abortion this year, bitches.

There’s been a lot of talk over the last decade or so about the art v. the artist; the first time I think I heard about this was the issue of H. P. Lovecraft’s deeply rooted racism in the speculative fiction community. I’ve not read much Lovecraft, if any, and that was something I felt I was missing in my education in speculative fiction, and probably why I never really have thought of myself as a specfic writer–I’d never read Lovecraft, and hadn’t reread or revisited Poe since high school. I still intend to at some point–thank you, Project Gutenberg, so I didn’t have to pay for them–but that will certainly effect my opinions whenever I can bring myself to read some of the stories. I used to read things all the time when I was growing up and throughout my adult life that don’t hold up now on rereads that went right past me on the first read because that was how things were in society and the culture at the time. I loved Gone with the Wind, both book and film, for decades before I began to realize how incredibly problematic both were. I keep meaning to go back and read it again now, but I don’t know that I can handle the idyllic portrait it paints of the old South, the war, and Reconstruction. (By the way, you know those white lady Trumpers? They are in this book as the ladies of Atlanta, and saintly Melanie was the worst of them…although a retelling as a Real Housewives of Reconstruction would be interesting. I know a Black writer retold the story from the perspective of a biracial half-sister of Scarlett’s, which I’ve always wanted to read.) Even Margaret Mitchell herself has some issues with the movie’s depiction of Tara because, in her words, it was a “working farm.”

The reason I am bringing this up is because the Chatelaine of Castle TERF showed her flat ass again this week. I did read the Harry Potter series and I did see all the movies, and I did enjoy them, even if I never had any desire to revisit them. The longer the series went on, the worse the books got, in my opinion, longer and more convoluted the stories got and she often never wrapped up anything; there were a lot of subplot false starts that looked promising that she abandoned. There was veiled anti-Semitism and fatphobia in the books that I marked as I read them as well as in the movies–straight from her hard drive. There were no queer people in her books until she retconned Dumbledore long after the fact–something all queer people should have been so fucking grateful for that we (in her mind) should have fallen on our knees in front of her and kissed the hems of her skirts for all eternity. She is the perfect example of how money corrupts weak minds. This week her TERFdom showed itself in announcing she would never accept apologies from Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe for daring not to agree with her hateful stance against transpeople, that she veils in worries about bathroom/changing room rapes…which basically comes from her assumption that all men want to do is rape women, to the point they’ll pretend they have gender dysmorphia merely to gain access to women only spaces for ease of rape/sexual assault. That’s kind of anti-male misogyny on top of the transphobia. All men are rapists, transwomen are actually men, and therefore all transwomen are rapists…and her wealth, like Elon Musk’s, have convinced her somehow that she is special and therefore her opinions have more value and weight than anyone else’s. Seriously TERF Queen, I am so sorry you had the entire world at your feet and your dark and twisted soul made you Housemaster of Slytherin and Voldermort’s mistress. I take a lot of pleasure in knowing how miserable your money and success have made you…and that you’ve decided the message of your Harry Potter series–everyone is equal, no one is better than anyone else and love is the key–was as phony as she is.

So, yes, it’s hard for me to enjoy art when I know the artist is a horrible person. And I don’t have to consume or pay for their art, just as I wouldn’t expect people who don’t like my values and beliefs to buy and consume mine.

Whew! I think I better get going on my day–this turned out longer than intended! Have a great Friday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. Stranger things have happened on a Friday!