Tag: book-blog

Rated X

Sunday morning, a good night’s sleep, and the rain continues today. It was very cozy inside the house all day yesterday, and I had a lovely, relaxing day of scribbling in my journal, working on newsletters, and reading more of A Violent Masterpiece, which I am really enjoying even as the plot kind of makes my skin crawl. It’s also so well-written it’s kind of inspirational. We also caught up on Hacks, and watched more of House of Ashur. Overall, it was pretty much a lovely, chill, relaxing day and this morning I feel very rested and relaxed, which is great; I’ve not really felt like this since getting back from my trip. I also slept a bit later–blame it on the rain–than I had intended to this morning–Sparky was a cuddlebug this morning rather than an “I must be fed!” immediacy he will use if he hears the alarm. Paul is going to the gym today, so I should have most of the afternoon free to do with as much as I please. I may try to write some today–I was making notes on revisions to make and writing to do yesterday–but there’s also some mess I have to clean up and organize and straighten today. Sigh–it never end, does it?

This week, while running errands in the car, out of nowhere I commanded Siri to play Pat Benatar’s Crimes of Passion album, and almost fifty years since it’s release it’s still a fucking banger of an album. I haven’t heard much about her in years, but I’ve noticed she hasn’t been “rediscovered” by the Gen Z reaction videos, nor is she mentioned in conversations about great women singers of the second half of the 20th century, which is a disgrace. The power and range in her voice! Her songs often were from the perspective of a strong woman who won’t put up with your nonsense, and she was fun to sing along to–and she had a lot of great songs, too.

I’m loving all this rain, not going to lie about it. It was amazing curling up with Sparky with a blanket and my book yesterday while the rain fell outside and on the house–absolutely perfect. It also helped that the book is so amazing and like its brilliant predecessor Everybody Knows (that weary sounding title being absolutely perfect) takes on a subject I feel very strongly about. It’s also inspiring me to work some more on Chlorine and to make that book darker still than I had originally planned. There’s so much darkness in Hollywood–and it has always been there, from the very beginning. I certainly don’t ever have to worry about it being too dark, can I? Hollywood’s decay and rot and absolute cruelty in chewing people up and spitting them back out again, bereft of success and their soul hollowed, into the gutters of the Dream Factory (has anyone written a Disney Babylon book?). I read a lot of trashy Hollywood novels in the 1970s, and that was pretty much the entire thread-line to all of them; Hollywood is cold and cruel and will use you up–and is there anything more cruel than deliberately setting someone up to shatter their dreams?

I see our flash flood watch has been extended through tomorrow evening at seven pm, so that most likely means it will keep raining and there are thunderstorms on the way–and it is delightful for me. It sounds to me like there will be plenty of opportunities for me to get some reading done. I am also trying to decide whether or not to go make groceries or simply have them delivered; I don’t know what I am going to make for dinner tonight. Maybe shrimp scampi, or something like that? Shrimp tacos, maybe? I guess I need to put some thought into that a bit more, don’t I? Swedish meatballs is also a possibility. I think I’ll just let that thought simmer in my head until I subconsciously figure it out.

A friend mentioned one of my favorite books on social media this week (Thomas Thompson’s Celebrity), which I’ve not thought about in a very long time and am considering a reread, once I finish the reread of The Ivy Tree. It’s truly a splendid, well written and plotted book about three men, high achool friends who do something awful on Graduation Night and it haunts them as they get older and more famous as a writer, movie star, and cult leader; it’s rich and layered and sad and tragic and the men aren’t heroes you root for; they were deeply flawed men with complicated moralities–and one has to wonder how that tragic rainy night when they were eighteen shaped them into the flawed, complicated men they became. The movie star–Mack Crawford–had a very complicated sexuality, which should be my primary focus on the reread; how his sexual dysfunction and self-loathing also shaped who he was. Thompson also wrote one of my favorite true crime books of all time, Blood and Money–which I should also revisit.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines to drink some more coffee and spend some more time with my book, blanket, and cat puddle in my lap. I will be back tomorrow morning, so have a lovely day!

Panama City Beach, Florida

Wild Heart

Saturday and the cold is coming! It’s going to be in the teens Monday and Tuesday! AIEEEE!!!

Okay, now that I have gotten the expected reaction to cold on its way, it’s not that big of a deal. Yes, it’s going to be unnaturally cold this weekend, starting with rain later on today and working its way down to the painfully cold temperatures we’ll experience tomorrow. I can handle the cold by wearing layers to work or anytime I have to go outside while this abysmally cold weather goes on.

And gloves. Must find my gloves. I am going to attempt to run some errands and make some groceries today–no big deal if it’s insanely crowded and I wind up not wanting to deal with it (one never can be sure how New Orleans will react; the shelves may be empty of things like bread, which I don’t need). If it’s anything like hurricane prep, it could be a nightmare out there today as everyone tries to get everything done today so they don’ have to be out in it tomorrow. There’s a chance of snow or ice, too.

Yesterday was a good day. I got my work duties out of the way, and spent the rest of the day doing laundry and pruning down the books, filling up an insane amount of boxes. You can finally tell that I pruned the books. Anything I’ve already read, gone–unless its nonfiction. If I’ve had it for over ten years–donate it. They were paid for and the authors (or their estates) got their royalty from buying my copy, so I don’t feel as guilty about not reading everything I’ve ever bought. I am not going to feel guilty for not reading everything I’ve bought–the author made money off me, and what more can I do for them? I certainly don’t expect every author I know to buy or read all of my books.

Going through the books was also a trip down memory lane–oh I was on a panel with him or oh I saw this author on a panel and was impressed or oh yes I read one of her books and loved it so I bought all of her books or he was so nice! whatever happened to him?-which was also kind of nice. I’ve met a lot of really talented people over the course of my writing career!

I was also a lot more ruthless this time, and can still be even more ruthless the next time I prune the books. As I was pruning, I marveled at how the urge, the nonsensical need to always be surrounded by books, isn’t as strong as it used to be–so it was due to the anxiety I no longer experience to a such a high degree. I used to think I always wanted to hoard books out of a fear of not having something new to read whenever I was ready to read something. But, as I pruned ruthlessly yesterday, I didn’t agonize over the decisions and was very cut-and-dried with them. I also realized that I had an almost parasocial relationship with books. When I was a kid, I felt disconnected from the world and like I didn’t belong in it and that everyone could tell I was different, and different meant freakish, weird, strange and always just a step away from a total ostracization and complete isolation from other people. Books, and my imagination, were tools for me to escape my existence into somewhere safer, where I wasn’t weird or strange but just normal. Books were always my lifeline, offering not just the escape but comfort, and filled that role my entire life. Shitty job and miserable existence? Oh, there’s a new Stephen King, Sue Grafton, Elizabeth Peters, or Robert Ludlum novel to pick up at the bookstore! (I rarely ever used the library because I preferred to own them; I needed them around me to feel safe and comforted in my amped up anxiety. My dream was always to live somewhere that I could have my own library…I don’t find that to be as important to me anymore, either.) I also used to reread a lot–usually when I didn’t have a lot of time to lose myself in a book, I’d just take down something I’d already read and spend my reading time revisiting something I’d already enjoyed.

I also started work on this version of Chlorine, trying out a new opening that makes a lot more sense to me than the one I was convinced for years was the best way to open the book. We’ll see how it goes, won’t we?

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close so I can get started on my day. Have a lovely Saturday, stay warm, and I’ll be back to see how you’re doing in the morning, ‘Til then!

Pretty young Hunter Doohan, an out gay actor whose work I’ve enjoyed

I Do Love You

Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment, and feeling good and rested. I slept in this morning, and Sparky let me! I lounged in bed until almost nine. Sparky did try to get my up around the usual time, but he graciously gave up and slept on my pillow just above my head so he could start pestering me again the moment my eyes opened and I got up. I wound up turning the heat on last night, intending to turn it off before I went to bed, but was very tired and forgot. This morning it’s comfortable, so I am not sorry I forgot.

Yesterday was a pretty good day, all things considered. I drank an awful lot of coffee yesterday morning, to the point that by the time it was ten thirty I was feeling like yeah that’s enough, switch to something else. I got my work at home duties done, picked up the mail and made a little groceries, after which I came back home and worked on cleaning up the house. We also finished season one of The Diplomat (one hell of a season finale, whew), and I picked up some and did laundry and the dishes and puttered around. I read for a little while1, which was nice. It was lovely having a relaxing and productive day. Today I have to run a couple of errands, and I’m going to try to get some writing done while cleaning some more around here. I want to drop off another box of books to the library sale–the laundry room shelves are almost completely denuded of books–and there’s still some straightening up and organizing to do around here, like always. It never ends, and I am finally truly appreciating my mother’s McDonalds2 “clean as you go” mentality; she never left a mess for later and always cleaned it, and was never able to relax as long as there was a mess somewhere in the house that needed attention. (I told my dad once, when he was talking about how hard she worked on the house all of the time, “Well, she liked to be the best at anything she did, and she saw the house as her job.”) Neither my sister nor I have completely inherited Mom’s obsessive to the point of OCD cleanliness; but I do think if I didn’t have to go into the office every day my apartment would be a lot more pristine; it certainly was when I worked at home all the time. I want to keep my house the way my mother kept hers, but I just don’t have the time and am always playing catch-up.

I had the Indiana-Notre Dame game on briefly for background noise while I sat in my chair and read; eventually turning it off. There are three games today (Ohio State-Tennessee, SMU-Penn State, and Texas-Clemson) which I will again probably have on while I do other things. I turned the game off last night because it wasn’t even remotely interesting enough to serve as background noise; my utter hatred for Notre Dame, and hating seeing them win a game, any game, had a lot to do with it. I don’t much care about any of the games today, as every team playing today I either dislike intensely or don’t care about in the least (if I was forced to pick teams to root for, it would be Tennessee, SMU, and Texas–and only if forced as I despise the two UT’s and don’t have a feeling for SMU at all), so not paying much attention will actually work. We’ll have to find a new show to watch–several shows we like have come back with new seasons, and there are new ones that look interesting to me. There are also some movies I’d like to see (Alien Romulus comes to mind), too. We’re still planning on seeing Babygirl on Christmas; it’s showing at Canal Place, which makes it a bit easier to get to–but driving out to Metairie is hardly the end of the world, either. I was thinking about rewatching something last night, something Hitchcockian; Psycho or Rebecca or even Notorious, but didn’t feel strongly enough about any of them to start them up, alas. My mind was kind of floaty last night by the time it was time to put something on and watch it.

I do feel, though, like this is going to be a good, productive, relaxing weekend. I don’t know what Paul’s plans for today are, but I want to read some more, possibly finishing the book I am reading (Winter Counts) before moving onto my next read, which will require some thinking about. So many amazing books I have in my TBR pile, and getting further and further behind as the books continue to pile up. But…that’a always going to be the case, isn’t it? There are always going to be too many books to catch up on over the years, aren’t there? And I would certainly hate to ever get to the point where I have finished my TBR stack and had nothing else to read. That would be my idea of hell–although I could and would always reread something. I used to reread books all the time when I was younger, but now? I barely have time to read, let alone reread something. I’ve not even done my annual rereads of Rebecca and The Haunting of Hill House in years. I’ve not even looked over Daphne du Maurier’s short stories, which are so chilling and creepy, in years. Bad Greg, bad Greg!

But on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines; make a list of what to get at the store, what to do today, and get doing some chores. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One can never be certain.

  1. I was horrified to pick up a copy of an original text of a Hardy Boys book, The Mark on the Door, and was horrified to see how horrifically racist it was. I’d never read the original text version–I’ve not read all the original texts, but I have read all of the revised texts, and the later new ones in the original canon. I’m definitely going to address this particular instance. The book was published in 1934, less than twenty years after Pancho Villa and his raids were splashed all over the newspapers…let’s just say that’s probably what most white US citizens in 1934 thought on those rare occasions they thought of Mexico. It was also the time of movies about the Cisco Kid and…remind me why those were the good old days again? ↩︎
  2. For the record, she never actually worked at McDonalds; but she had the same mentality about cleanliness. ↩︎