Tag: book-review

Cry Little Sister

Thou shalt not fall…1

Tuesday morning in the Lost Apartment and I slept through the night–at least I don’t remember waking up or being in that horrible half-sleep thing I used to deal with all the time (and do NOT miss that shit in the least) and this morning I feel more physically rested than I did yesterday. The weather is continuing to get cooler, which is lovely. I ran some errands on my way home from work tonight, and will probably stop and make a little groceries on the way home this evening as well. After a nice day at work yesterday, I came home to a very needy and demanding kitty who demanded lap time from me; Paul and I also started watching the new season of The Diplomat, which is excellent (I still can’t entirely wrap my mind around the fact that it’s FELICITY in the lead; do people remember that show at all?), and you can never go wrong adding Alison Janney to the cast of anything.

I didn’t get anything much done outside of job duties and errands yesterday; probably a delayed hangover from the emotional release of being done with the book at last. I did pick up some books on the way home: the new Andy Mills mystery by Lev Rosen, Mirage City; American Scary: A History of Horror from Salem to Stephen King and Beyond by Jeremy Dauber; The Pink Marine by Greg Cope White (the basis for Boots); and Breathe In Bleed Out by Brian McAuley, all of which look terrific. I mean, I don’t need more books–it’s quite literally the last thing I need–but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

I do want to do some writing this week; I may extend the week through this weekend (I mean, I am extending Halloween Horror Month, and why should I be ruled by the tyranny of the calendar if I don’t have deadlines?) because I am feeling a bit of the post-book malaise, which always happens but I didn’t think was going to happen this time…I always feel a bit drained and like I need to recharge a bit. But you never know; I may be able to get some words down today–never say never, after all, and stranger things have happened.

I have to say that I’ve been a little shocked and surprised by everything that’s come out since Brian Kelly was fired on Sunday. I haven’t seen anything positive posted by any of his former players (but a lot of negative stuff, including from past stars), but I did see the Lacy family posted something positive about how he was with them after Kyren’s death earlier this year (which I am still angry about, but the news cycle has moved on from his being framed by a fucking state trooper), which was nice. I’m not sure how the rest of the season is going to go; probably safe to assume we’re going to lose to both Alabama and Oklahoma with potential wins against Western Kentucky and Arkansas (maybe)–but I would love to know what went on during half-time of the A&M game, given the utter and complete collapse after we took the field again.

Clearly, he wasn’t much of a motivational speaker.

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

Ramesses, Ramesses, Ramesses…
  1. I really should write about The Lost Boys sometime. ↩︎

Bye Bye Love

Saturday! Sparky let me sleep a little later this morning, but I still have some physical fatigue this morning. I seem to be mentally alert, but the physical shit is weighing me down. We did run errands after work yesterday, including Costco (I got a new vacuum cleaner for my birthday next week), and when we got home from everything and everything had been brought in and put away, I was done for the day. I spent most of the evening being a cat bed and watching documentaries on Youtube about history. Paul eventually finished his work duties and we watched the most recent Platonic, which I love.

Today I have an errand to run and groceries to order for delivery. I want to spend some more time with The Hunting Wives, which I started Thursday night, and my other current books. I need to clean the apartment, too–it’s a slovenly mess–and would again like to get some writing done today as well. I have to say getting groceries delivered might be the best thing to come out of the illness–now I never want to set foot in a grocery store for an extended period of time; I don’t mind dashing in for a few things every now and then. It’s much better that way and I can always swing by the one in the CBD on the way home from the office. I also need to assemble the new vacuum cleaner, so I will probably spend some time getting the floors taken care of, and it’s long overdue.

I certainly am enjoying my coffee and breakfast this morning. It’s already bright and sunny outside, which is lovely and probably means yet another heat advisory. August is flying by, and I really need to buckle down and get my act together. The fatigue and lethargy has been brutal this summer, and I have to understand that I will probably never go back to the way I was before I got sick. Which is also fine; I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore, and certainly not to myself, do I?

I picked up some new books Thursday on my way home from the office: the new Chuck Tingle (Lucky Day); She Didn’t Stand a Chance by Stacie Grey; and Dogs Don’t Break Hearts by ‘Nathan Burgoine. I also need to prune the books again, don’t I? It’s been a hot minute since I dropped off a donation box at the library. Part and parcel of the cleaning/organizing process, isn’t it? I still am a book hoarder, but I’m getting better. I certainly am not buying as many books as I did before. I really do need to make progress on the TBR stacks and piles all over this messy, overly dusty place.

And when the heat and humidity break, I am going to clean my filthy filthy windows.

I also have another newsletter to write this weekend.

And on that note, I am going to head over to my easy chair to read more of my current reads before running my errands and getting cleaned up and starting on the house. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back, most likely tomorrow morning.

The goddess Isis guarding the Canopic Shrine of Pharaoh Tutankhamen

Don’t Cha Stop

It was supposed to rain this morning, but the sun is shining and the sky is bright blue. I slept well again last night until Sparky got me up this morning, wanting his breakfast. (He is such a sweet boy.) I had a lovely day yesterday, actually. I ran my errands in the morning, ordered groceries to be delivered last evening, and had a pretty nice day overall. I finished rereading my Jay Bennett and Barbara Michaels novels1, and hope to finish reading the Megan Abbott today. I also watched a lot of television while doing chores and reading before falling asleep in my chair last night after a nice, relaxing day. Here’s to having another today, right?

Netflix has a new show about the 2024 SEC football season called Any Given Saturday, and so I watched about four episodes of that while Paul slept on the couch. It’s very well done, and while I don’t feel it pays enough attention to LSU–and what there is focuses on games they lost (really? No coverage of the amazing upset of Top Ten-ranked Mississippi?)–it is nice to see the stories on the other teams and get a recap of the season. The show, of course, is hype for the upcoming season; the pro pre-season is already under way. I think LSU can be really good this year, but LSU always manages to find a way to LSU. There are only two episodes of the show left–we switched it off to watch Wednesday, which we also didn’t finish last night–that I may have on in the background this morning while I read.

I think I am going to go ahead and spend some time with the news and my coffee this morning before finishing this. I’ll be back momentarily, Constant Reader. (According to the weather, we should be having a thunderstorm in five minutes, which I don’t think is going to happen, given how it currently looks out there.)

It’s now noon, and it never rained here. It does look like the calm before a storm outside my windows at the moment, but I’ve already closed up my wagon and put it away (I’d left it out last night after the delivery) just in case. I got cleaned up–even shaving–and that woke me up and made me feel being productive for a while. I put Any Given Saturday back on to stream, getting through the last two episodes while reading more of El Dorado Drive and marveling at what a fucking MASTER Megan Abbott is; she may be the best writer publishing today, and is definitely in the top tier without question. I also picked out my next reads: the reread will be Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson2 and the juvenile/young adult will be The Secret of the Red Scarf, which belongs to a close-to-forgotten girls’ series featuring Nancy Drew rip-off Kay Tracey, and I won’t decide on the new new-to-me read until I finish the Abbott–I’m currently torn between Mia Manansala’s latest or Disco Witches of Fire Island or Lev AC Rosen’s Rough Pages; all queer authors, I might add.

But The Hunting Wives might win the race in a photo-finish.

As I finished off Any Given Saturday, I found myself very curious about the lack of coverage for Texas, Georgia, Oklahoma, and Auburn, among others…and LSU and Alabama were only covered in reference to their games with South Carolina and Vanderbilt, period. Was it about getting some of these lesser-known programs more coverage? And it’s definitely difficult to cover 16 teams with any degree of depth and certainly every team had a story to tell this past year. But it definitely whetted my appetite for the return of college football, which was its intent, so mission accomplished, Netflix.

I’d forgotten we’d watched Towards Zero in between the SEC show and Wednesday; I’d seen bad reviews of it so was curious as to what we would think of it. I remembered the story as soon as I saw the geography of the setting, which is crucial to the crime, and yes, I was proven correct in the third episode. It was fine, if perhaps not really needing a third episode? It did feel like it was dragged out more than it needed to be, which is not a good sign for a murder mystery.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I need to do some picking up and organizing and cleaning, and I am also going to write for a while before probably returning to the Abbott. I doubt I will be back later; I may finish a newsletter today and I may not. If not, I will be here again in the morning before the infusion. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader!

  1. I will write newsletters about both authors at some point. ↩︎
  2. I’ve always wanted to write about this unique Jackson book; I usually reread The Haunting of Hill House every October. ↩︎

Photograph

Saturday morning and I feel rested after a very good night’s sleep. I got my work done yesterday after which we went to Costco, and groceries were delivered last night. All of this wore me out on top of all the chores I got done yesterday as well. I finally collapsed into my easy chair, Paul and Sparky curled up on the couch, and we binged about three or four episodes of The Hunting Wives, and there’s only two episodes to finish off tonight. I have a lot of errands to run this morning–prescriptions, mail, and two other stops–and then want to spend the afternoon writing and reading. I am having dinner with two friends from high school (!!!) that are in town for the weekend later on this evening, but it’s early enough so when I get home we can finish off the show, which is amazing (although there is no way that kid has a basketball scholarship to Baylor).

We’re supposed to have thunderstorms tonight, which will be fun as it always is (and will help me sleep very well again). Tomorrow I don’t have to leave the house at all other than taking out trash or using the grill (I think I’m going to make beef stroganoff tomorrow rather than burgers), which will be nice. I am going to try to do some more straightening up around here today–and will try not to be horrifically lazy the way I sometimes get on weekends–around writing and reading. I’d like to finish the Abbott today (or this weekend), and I also need to get through my Elizabeth Peters and Jay Bennett rereads as well. I’m not really sure what to read next: Rough Pages by Lev AC Rosen, perhaps, or maybe some horror, I can’t and don’t need to decide right now, either. I think my next Gothic reread might be either a Phyllis Whitney or Victoria Holt. Not sure on the kids/young adult next read or reread, either.

And I think Wednesday comes back next week, which is cool.

I did make some good progress on my workspace yesterday. It’s still a bit messy this morning, but just some straightening and filing is all that is necessary to get it all under control again. I think I’ve been feeling closed in and claustrophobic in the house because we have so much clutter everywhere, which isn’t much fun (the claustrophobic feeling), and that’s also because the heat and humidity of August is almost a sentient thing outside my windows; something oppressive and thick to the point where it feels like we’re in a cave sometimes. I just don’t have the energy to spend an entire day focused on cleaning, you know? Sparky making messes everywhere he goes doesn’t help on the cleaning front, either–always knocking shit off flat surfaces, like all cats do. He’s lucky he’s so sweet and cuddly.

I did actually think about what I need to revise this weekend yesterday, and I kind of know what to write now; it’s going to be an extensive revision, which should be fun to do and I will feel like I accomplished something today when I am done.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. I’m going to go catch up on the local and national news (depressing and horrifying as the national news inevitably always is) before I go run the errands and kick the day off.

Rhinestone Cowboy

Tennessee Williams is kind of responsible for my career, in a very indirect way. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? But it’s true, even if he had been dead almost two decades.

When we first moved to New Orleans, Paul got a job working for the Grants Director of the Arts Council of New Orleans, and at that time, the Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival had an office in the Arts Council’s suite. Paul got to know the director, and he convinced me to volunteer with him at the 1997 Festival…which was my introduction to the world of the book/writing festival/conference. I had the best time. That first year I met so many authors, and they were so kind and lovely. I volunteered again the next year, after Paul was hired part time (he left the Arts Council), and that was the year I met the author who would offer to mentor me. Three years later, I had a book contract and had sold some short stories and there was no turning back for one Gregalicious at that point.

So, yes, Tennessee Williams had a hand in the establishment of my career as a professional writer. I began reading the plays again, and started using quotes from them as epigraphs for my books.

It was a no-brainer when John Copenhaver asked me to contribute to this anthology to write about Tennessee Williams, even if it wound up being kind of peripheral to the story itself. The anthology is up for preorders everywhere, or you can preorder from Bywater here.

There was a little brass plaque on the next to the table the host showed me to.

The plaque was below an enormous tinted picture window looking down Dauphine Street. Engraved on the face were the words “TENNESSEE’S TABLE.” The host offered me a menu as I sat in a chair facing the door, placing another down on the setting across from me. “Why Tennessee’s Table?” I asked. “Are there tables for Alabama and Mississippi, too?” 

I was joking, but in my two months in New Orleans thus far I’d found there were historic markers pretty much everywhere you looked. The others explained why the place was historic, but this one had no explanation, no words in smaller type below explaining why it was there.

This meant there was a story behind the plaque. I was also finding out the city had a story about almost everything.

His grin exposed a chipper incisor. “Tennessee is for Tennessee Williams, the playwright,” he explained, adding, “He loved the Quarter Scene and had lunch here every day he was in town. This was his favorite table, and he’d just call whenever he’d get in and let them know, so they’d reserve it for him. They put the plaque up after he died.” He winked. “We get a lot of Williams tourists who like to trace his steps—I guess to commune with his spirit, maybe? The plaque makes it easier for them.”

And less hassle for the staff, I added mentally.

I’d heard of Tennessee Williams. He’d also been out and proud when that could have been career and social suicide. The name brought up memories of chalk dust, a cold classroom in winter, and canned dry hot air. We must have studied him in high school. A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, I think the plays were? I’d slept with a Williams scholar once, on a vacation in Honolulu. I’d met him on the beach. He had a stack of non-fiction books piled up on his nightstand for a paper he was writing, pages marked by a forest of Post-It notes.

You see the peripheral connection in that excerpt, don’t you? That’s all Tennessee had to do with my story, other than a later mention.

That table and plaque did exist. The Quarter Scene closed and was replaced by Eat, but it now called the Quarter Scene again. I don’t know if the plaque is still up by his table or not, but I always sat there whenever I ate there.

Years ago, when we first moved here, I started working on two novels. One became Murder in the Rue Dauphine, the other was a kind of Tales of the City kind of thing about three young gay men who rented apartments around a courtyard in the Quarter, with an older gay man living in the main house and kind of being a mentor to them all. I called that one The World is Full of Ex-Lovers, and began putting it together by writing short stories. One of those stories was called “Tennessee’s Table,” and that was what I immediately thought of when casting about in my head to write a Tennessee Williams inspired kind of story. I dug it out of the files–it was dreadful–and threw everything out except the very opening with the main character arriving at the Quarter Scene to meet someone for lunch. I also realized that this story would actually work in a longer project I am also writing–a book set in 1994 New Orleans called Never Kiss a Stranger, and so I wrote that story with the idea that I could insert it into the novel manuscript.

I am kind of pleased with it, to tell you the truth. It’s called “The Rhinestone.”

And just look at this contributors’ list!

A pretty impressive table of contents!

Have you preordered your copy yet?

Tears

The infusion went well–but I began running out of steam in the early to late afternoon, and ended up leaving the office earlier than I’d planned to because I was feeling very low energy and fatigue. They did show me a demonstration-model of the device I will be using to give myself infusions (more of an infusion than a shot; it takes five minutes for the medication to be all injected into me), and so I am not as worried about that as I was. I have to attach it to my thigh or my stomach with adhesive (which comes in the kit) and it will let me know when it’s done. Should be interesting, at any rate.

I did take the new Megan Abbott, El Dorado Drive, with me to read during the infusion (two hours), and man, did I ever get sucked into the narrative! Megan’s authorial voice and the rhythm of her language choices are unparalleled–and it again reminded me of why I always leave an unread book by my favorite authors so I know I always have another to read; I am caught up on her (she and Laura Lippman, among a few others, are the only authors I am current on) and I am already dreading the end of this book. She is so sparing with her words, but the ones she uses are always perfect; it is amazing to me how she can describe a room in like an eight-word sentence and you can see it perfectly. I honestly don’t know how she does it; her voice and writing style are so distinctive, but are fresh and new with each book. She already is one of the greats in crime fiction as well as literature, and seriously, every new book from her is a gift to us all.

I was too tired to do much of anything when I got home from work yesterday, getting home before the next round of thunderstorms–which didn’t give me a lot of motivation or energy, actually. I caught up on the news, and we started American Nightmare–I vaguely remember the case when it happened, mostly because of the Gone Girl comparisons–which is interesting, but I started dozing off during the second episode, and I went to bed shortly after nine. I did sleep very well last night, so hopefully the malaise I’ve been experiencing lately will be lifted. It’s going to be a very busy day in the clinic, so here’s hoping I can get through the day and do some writing tonight–with getting to read more of El Dorado Drive as my reward.

There’s also a tropical system moving into the Gulf of MEXICO, which could develop into something of concern later this week (Dexter will be its name, which begs the question why name a storm after a fictional and popular serial killer?) , but at the very least we’ll be getting even more rain, with street flooding. Huzzah, he typed sarcastically. This weekend we need to do the Costco run, and I’d love to head uptown to see Superman at the Prytania; but if we’re getting lots of rain and street flooding, not so sure I want to venture out into inclement weather. I am hoping to get through the week with some energy left over so I don’t fall into the trap of resting and not getting much of anything done over the weekend. I can always write, and of course, the temptation to curl up and finish the Abbott novel will be hard to put off.

There are worse things, of course.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I will talk to you again tomorrow morning.

Pharaoh Thutmose III, step-son and successor to Queen Hatshepsut

Stray Cat Strut

Congratulations to all!

Macavity Award Nominations 2025

For works published in 2024

Best Mystery Novel

Hall of Mirrors by John Copenhaver (Pegasus Crime)

Served Cold by James L’Etoile (Level Best Books)

The God of the Woods by Liz Moore (Riverhead)

California Bear by Duane Swierczynski (Mulholland)

The In Crowd by Charlotte Vassell (Doubleday)

All the Colors of the Dark by Chris Whitaker (Crown)

Best First Mystery

Outraged by Brian Copeland (Dutton)

A Reluctant Spy by David Goodman (Headline)

Ghosts of Waikiki by Jennifer K. Morita (Crooked Lane)

You Know What You Did by K.T. Nguyen (Dutton)

The Expat by Hansen Shi (Pegasus Crime)

Holy City by Henry Wise (Atlantic Monthly Press)

Best Mystery Short Story

“Home Game” by Craig Faustus Buck (in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, July/August 2024)

“The Postman Always Flirts Twice” by Barb Goffman (in Agatha and Derringer Get Cozy)

“Curse of the Super Taster” by Leslie Karst (in Black Cat Weekly, Feb 23, 2024)

“Two for One” by Art Taylor (in Murder, Neat)

“Satan’s Spit” by Gabriel Valjan (in Tales of Music, Murder, and Mayhem)

“Reynisfjara” by Kristopher Zgorski (in Mystery Most International)

Best Historical Mystery

The Wharton Plot by Mariah Fredericks (Minotaur)

An Art Lover’s Guide to Paris and Murder by Dianne Freeman (Kensington)

Fog City by Claire Johnson (Level Best Books)

The Murder of Mr. Ma by John Shen Yen Nee and S.J. Rozan (Soho Crime)

The Bootlegger’s Daughter by Nadine Nettmann (Lake Union)

A Grave Robbery by Deanna Raybourn (Berkley)

Best Nonfiction/Critical

Writing the Cozy Mystery: Authors’ Perspectives on Their Craft edited by Phyllis M. Betz (McFarland)

Some of My Best Friends Are Murderers: Critiquing the Columbo Killers by Chris Chan (Level Best Books)

Witch of New York: The Trials of Polly Bodine and the Cursed Birth of Tabloid Justice by Alex Hortis (Pegasus Crime)

The Infernal Machine: A True Story of Dynamite, Terror, and the Rise of the Modern Detective by Steven Johnson  (Crown)

On Edge: Gender and Genre in the Work of Shirley Jackson, Patricia Highsmith, and Leigh Brackett by Ashley Lawson  (Ohio State University Press)

Abingdon’s Boardinghouse Murder by Greg Lilly (History Press)

I Did Something Bad

Wednesday! Short weeks really do seem to zoom past, don’t they? Yesterday was actually a good day. I felt rested and not tired–but by the time I got home from running my errands I had to rest a bit before doing the chores, which I did do: unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, and folding a load of clothes. Now the week is half-over, and I am staying on top of the daily chores so this weekend I can do some more deep clean, organizing, reading, resting, and writing. I also spent some time reading both Moonraker and Murder Takes a Vacation (which I am loving, but I knew I would because I loved the character, Mrs. Blossom, since Laura Lippman introduced her in one of her Tess books).

And it’s always a pleasure to read good writing, you know?

In other exciting news, the weight loss has stopped. I weighed 177 at the doctor’s office last week; yesterday I weighed 192. It was also a good day; I , I was walking better, and I even walked across the street at lunchtime to CVS to get ice cream and a candy bar (still have some weight to gain back, after all!) and didn’t get worn out. I was tired by the end of the work day and while running my errands, but that’s fine. I stayed at the office all day and didn’t leave early, so that should have been expected. I finally got my new debit card, the purple LSU eye of the tiger card, and it’s gorgeous. I’ve also been kind of overeating lately but am hungry all the time and craving things. This weekend I am going to try one of those delivery apps to get lunch; I need to pop that cherry.

I also picked up my copy of Summer House by Yigit Karaahmet, translated by Nicholas Glastonbury; which came highly recommended by Kristopher Zgorski’s BOLOBooks blog, which always has great tips for books to read. I also swung by the library to pick up Sisterhood of the Lost Cause: Confederate Widows in the New South racism, which I am reading as research for my lengthy entry on the Lost Cause mythology, and an even deeper dive into the history of racism in this country and how it was allowed to perpetuate after the Civil War–which was a huge fucking mistake. It’s also going to be helpful as I continue to unpack my own grooming into prejudice and bigotry as I try to be a better person than what I was raised to be.

I am feeling so much better these days, and people are noticing that I look better, too. I look healthier and not as gaunt and skeletal (that fifteen pounds came in handy, clearly), which is also incredibly nice. I’m still not there and I know it’s going to take a hot minute, and I have to be patient, but I’ve also tentatively scheduled a trip to Alabama to meet Dad for their anniversary in late June. That will be the real test, won’t it? I’ve gotten behind on my audiobooks in the car listening, too, so that trip will probably help get me going on that as well. If someone would have told me twenty years ago that I’d love audiobooks, I would have laughed in their face. I’ve never liked being read to, but somehow audiobooks are different.

As far as the Patti LuPone discourse on-line is concerned, all I have to say is she needs to play Helen Lawson in a remake of Valley of the Dolls and leave it at that.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely midweek Wednesday, and I’ll be back later.

Bold Strokes retreat, Bombay Beach, album cover photo

Turn the Beat Around

Nottoway Plantation, one of the beautiful old homes along the River Road north of New Orleans, burned to the ground Thursday.1 But what that lovely old historic home actually was? Just a monument to enslavement and stolen wealth. I also can’t help but hope the backstory to the fire is some Gothic shenanigans, a la Rebecca and Manderly burning to the ground.

Nottoway before
Nottoway after

I’ve certainly come a long way from that kid who was raised to believe in white supremacy and the Lost Cause ideology, haven’t I? My relationship to the South has always been fraught, once I began to read more and understand more and deprogram myself from that horrific grooming as a child. I can remember, though, reading Gone with the Wind when I was ten or eleven for the first time and my hackles being raised by the happy, contented enslaved people and how they were described and how they talked. (I loved the story itself, but the racism was so unrelenting and unending and horrible; I need to do a deconstruction of that book sometime–as well as other “make white people feel better about racism” books.)

Nottoway was a beautiful home, but it was also one of the most monstrous sugar plantations in Louisiana with an excessively brutal history. I am not sorry in the least this horrific place–where they teach nothing about the true history of the place and rent out for weddings and parties for white people (“yes, you too can have a Scarlett O’Hara wedding on an old plantation! So what about the brutal treatment of generations of enslaved people?”). It really was nothing more than a monument to oppression, cruelty, and the evil that men can do.

I started dealing with the ghosts of my own Southern past in Bury Me in Shadows, and this new repurposed book from an old manuscript is also going to deal with race in Alabama, too. I just have to finish this damned Scotty book and get it out of my scalp. New Orleans also has its own dark, bloody and brutal history I have to deal with at some point, too. I was reading a piece about Madame LaLaurie and her abuse of her enslaved people, and wondering how to turn that into a short story–and likewise, my Sherlock story will also have to deal with race, because of the Voodoo Queen. I’m not afraid to address any of these issues, really; as long as I do it and am mindful of the potential for offense and/or getting it wrong (I have a great editor, thank God) and tread carefully. You really can’t write about the South authentically without talking about race.

After I finished working yesterday, Paul and I ran some errands (including Costco) and by the time we got back I was completely worn out and exhausted. I started reading a Dana Girls 2mystery (one of the kids’ series I collect) titled Mystery at the Crossroads, which was originally published in 1954–right around when the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew books began being revised to remove problematic content–and ho boy, is there some problematic content in this book! It’s about “gypsies”–and every handy stereotype about the Romani people is crammed into this book. But it was easy to read, it engaged my brain, and now maybe today I can get back into reading something substantial.

I also rewatched two movies last night–the animated Beauty and the Beast (yes, I get that it’s problematic but I love it) and Jesus Christ Superstar before falling asleep in my chair. Paul woke me at one, and I managed to sleep through the night and this morning I feel rested and good. I have some errands to run today, but I am going to try to just clean and read and rest and relax as much as humanly possible. I am still not 100% recovered from the illness, but I am getting there.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back on the morrow, if not sooner.

  1. And yes, the Lost Cause traitors are weeping publicly of the loss. Since it was one of those destination wedding/party places that glossed over its hideous history…good riddance. ↩︎
  2. I will be writing about the Dana Girls for my newsletter at some point; I want to write about all the kids’ series I read growing up. ↩︎

Tragedy

Thursday, and it’s almost the weekend. Not a normal weekend, but one where I have to actually be presentable and lucid periodically…and have to leave the house for extended periods of time. I slept pretty well last night, for my first night as a Festival widow; Sparky actually slept in the bed with me, too. I didn’t get much done when I got home last night, because I was tired after I got off work and the errands didn’t help much. I did start a load of laundry and ran the dishwasher, so tat is something I got done. I also managed to get some writing done, but not very much, so hopefully tonight’s writing journey will be better. We shall see.

I did watch the season finale of a reality show I follow for some reason–habit more than anything else at this point (I’ve almost always been a completist, and I usually will only ditch a show before its series finale if it gets really bad and stupid and I get annoyed with myself for watching)–and I think I might be pulling the plug on it. I had come very close to stopping watching a few seasons back when the show took a turn I didn’t much care for, and it seems like the cast has decided to circle back around to the behaviors that had me almost stop watching in the first place. I may watch the reunion episodes, but most likely not. I’m not really interested in the bullying antics of a failed grifter, failed gold digger, and failed child star who are actually so bad at their jobs that they can’t even give me a meme-worthy moment or line. I do sometimes need a break from Bravo’s reality shows because the lack of consequence for any of these horrible women reminds me that horrible people often never have consequences in reality (cough Tulsi Gabbard cough Pete Hegseth cough), and that’s not messaging I can really get behind.

The immorality of rewarding amorality gets to me sometimes, you know? I guess that’s why so many people embrace religion and the whole “afterlife” thing–bad people go to hell, right, so their punishment is in the next world, but the concept of the “get out of hell free card” methodology and epistemology negates every bit of the punishment/reward structure of modern American Christianity. “Faith without works is dead,” remember that part?

I think the lack of consequences in the real world is why I started writing crime fiction in the first place, so the guilty are actually punished. A definite argument can be made that crime fiction’s roots are in conservative ideology; the restoration of order after disorder, the Apollonic v. Dionysian paradigms that lie at the root of all good crime fiction, whether we want to admit it or not. I first started thinking about this in the wake of the police murders of innocent Black people over the last decade (shameful that it took me that long to open my eyes), which made me reevaluated my own biases about the police (the mythology vs. the reality), while all the time knowing that as a gay man the police are most definitely not looking out for MY best interests in any way. I was conditioned as a child, by the Chicago public school system, to see the cops are protectors and friends. (Did anyone else have an “Officer Friendly” who came to talk to your class about safety? I remember distinctly being conditioned to trust the police…)

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.

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