Tag: books

Brandy

April is the cruelest month.

I started feeling off, if you will recall, during Saints & Sinners. I couldn’t shake the fatigue, but I also didn’t handle it properly, since I apparently never learn anything. I had a big physical crash and have been sick now for several weeks. Woozy, foggy-brained, dizzy, nauseous…I’ve been able to work remotely so the financial hardship has just been all the testing and Lyfts (can’t drive). and IV’s and whatever. It’s bad, of course, but I’m not going to be stressed about any of that, because it won’t do any good. I’ve slept a lot (one of the new medications for this caused drowsiness, which also made dizzy, and I fell a few times. My mind has been foggy off and on, too. But I did write a lot of essays and short stories in my head (only one of which I remember, of course), and this hard reset has also given me a chance to reevaluate, reexamine, and rethink a lot of things. I need to make some life changes, and stop just passively pass through life the way I’ve been doing. I also thought a lot about the past and my writing, and knowing I’ve been feeling defeated with my career for a while now. Don’t get me wrong; I’m doing fine…but I want to do better.

Someone also died recently, and it kind of shook me to the core. I’m not ready to talk about it yet (then why did you bring it up?) because I want their family and friends to grieve in peace without being bothered with my narcissistic writings. It did make me realize how horribly selfishly I’ve always remembered and discussed the event that brought us together, which was another slap in the self-awareness face, and it also made me think about finally writing about it, because it’s always about me, isn’t it?

I owe emails. I owe articles. Hopefully now I can start getting all that together.

American Pie

…drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.

Which also doesn’t make sense; levees are neither wet nor dry, simply an earthen man-made wall to keep water in or out. I do wish I had a twenty, though, for every class where we had to dissect the meaning of “American Pie.”

I feel good today, and alert, and like I can get things done today. I wasn’t tired physically yesterday, but there was some mental fatigue so I didn’t get much writing done. It was literally like banging my head into a brick wall, but I did get almost a thousand words done. We also finished watching The White Lotus, which was good and interesting and all, but was it great? I don’t know, but the acting was on fire, which was terrific. We then spent the rest of the evening watching news clips of the world burning to the ground (my favorite are the tears of the MAGA grifters losing money now; sucks to be you, live by the MAGA die by the MAGA), and ironically, I started thinking about the book and the closed door in my brain that had been constraining and holding back everything I was trying to do with this book suddenly burst open in my head and I know exactly what to do with this book going forward. Huzzah! Now to get the words down…

As you may well also remember, I am researching the 1970s (mostly the early to mid) for my next book, and yesterday I went down the wormhole of short-shorts for men. The 1970s wasn’t maybe the best time for men’s fashions, but for the first time in a long time men’s clothes became more showy, and everything was super-tight, to show off the bodies. (Sadly, most men still neither worked out much–and those who did, often skipped leg day so they really didn’t have much of an ass to show off in their tight jeans.) Shorts were short–sometimes barely covering the full butt cheeks, and those ragged strings everyone had in their cut-offs that were barely more than a square cut today. It was a tragic decade for fashion–for most styles of everything, really. Cars were big and ugly, so was furniture, and the middle class’s tract homes all looked the same with the dark shag carpeting, the wood paneling (even on some cars!), and linoleum. And the memories these forays into research wormholes bring back! And the nice thing is those memories aren’t painful anymore? So what if I didn’t have any real friends because most everyone was afraid of fag cooties? I read a lot of books, made up a lot of stories, and was always able to entertain myself so I was never lonely. Sometimes I would just pick out a kids’ mystery to reread. I didn’t leave the house much, really, other than for school or the occasional shopping foray with my mom until we started going back to church (a tale for another time). But I didn’t get into trouble, I kept to myself, and it didn’t bother me that I was solitary because…my natural default is solitary. Whether solitude was meant to be my default, or not minding being alone developed it that way or not, is a mystery for the ages.

And now that I’ve grown up into a published author, I find that I really do prefer solitude. It’s lovely to get together with people I care about, but…much as I enjoy that (and I do), I wouldn’t miss it terribly if it went away tomorrow and I spent the rest of my life as a hermit in my apartment. Oh, probably enforced solitude would probably not be my thing either, but it’s something one can dream about, at any rate.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have yourself a lovely little Tuesday, and I’ll be back to check in with you again tomorrow for Pay the Bills Wednesday!

Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)

Saturday morning and I have a couple of errands to do this morning. I need to go by the bank (I haven’t made a deposit in person in eons) and I have to swing by the grocery store. Sigh. I really didn’t want to leave the house today, but here we are. It’s also a struggle these days to get through as we go through and experience the collapse of the American experiment in self-rule. I think another significant part of our history that isn’t taught the way it should be is we aren’t taught about how many Tories there were in the colonies during the lead up to and aftermath of the Revolution. We aren’t taught New England threatened to secede during the War of 1812, or that there were people on both sides of the Civil War1 that sympathized with the other side; North and South weren’t monoliths the way we are taught. We aren’t taught about how many Americans were Nazi sympathizers and isolationists before Pearl Harbor, using the slogan “America First”–so you see why I have always raised a cynical eyebrow whenever anyone uses that slogan; it was tied to Nazi sympathizers to me.

Watching the collapse of our country is challenging and more than a little bit depressing. It is terrible that just as I approach the age of retirement and the final chapter of my life…well, the retirement may turn out to be involuntary, as my clinic’s funding is definitely on the chopping block, Social Security is about to be looted and destroyed, and I don’t want to even look at the paltry 401k, which has also probably evaporated. No job and no retirement funds is going to be awesome when I turn 64. Paul got the notice from the NEH to not bother applying for grant funding, as it’s all been cut, so his job may not survive this, either–no more festivals in the spring. So, miss me with “we need to be nice to MAGA voters now finding out”–fuck them now and forever. I will never forgive them, and their suffering lightens mine. You want to embrace them, be my guess. Me? I will never stop laughing and pointing, let alone mocking them and enjoying their tears. My patience has worn out for ignorant haters, sorry not sorry– and as they so eloquently put it, “fuck your feelings.”

Yesterday was a nice day, overall. I got up, had a virtual meeting at work, and then did my Admin work before running some errands. I got that done, and then Paul and I made a Costco run and spent an insane amount of money. After getting home, lugging everything into the house and putting it all away, I was tired. I collapsed into my chair for a while as Paul went upstairs to work on the NEH grant–but got the email so didn’t have to bother for the rest of the evening and we dove further into The Residence, which I am greatly enjoying. Uzo Adoba is fantastic as Cordelia Copp, the world’s greatest detective, and it’s very well cast, high production values, and the writing is quite crisp. The chief usher at the White House (the divine Giancarlo Esposito) is murdered during a state dinner, and Cordelia is brought in to solve the murder. I think what’s most interesting is the divide between the White House domestic staff v. the White House political staff; the domestics work for the House, the political staff comes and goes. I’d never really thought much about the staff of the residence, so it’s an interesting look at how that all works, and it’s very cleverly structured. Highly recommend.

I do have some errands to do today, and a lot of straightening up to do as well. I want to get some reading and writing in this morning, so I can go to the gym tomorrow (I know, right?) and get some more done. I’ve been letting things slide a lot lately, which probably means I am depressed, which isn’t surprising, given the state of the world and everything else going on in my life. I think there’s an element of why bother with this book, to be honest, which is counter-productive and quite self-destructive, but it’s hard to be productive when your default is almost always pessimism. I always knew Republicans were working very hard to destroy everything decent about this country (unfettered capitalism is sociopathic in nature), but I never dreamed they might actually succeed. To paraphrase Game of Thrones: “Whenever I wonder why the Republicans would do something so counter-productive to democracy, I like to play a little game: what is the worst reason they would want to do this?”

Littlefinger was right, even if he did end up with his throat slit for his treachery.

Yesterday I also realized that one of the great American traditions, going back to colonial days, of evading paying duties and tariffs was smuggling. I used to love to read about Colonial smugglers (John Hancock was one), and some great fiction was built up around smuggling. I’ve always thought the years of Prohibition (and alcohol smuggling) in New Orleans would be an interesting time to write about. That decade saw the rise of Huey Long to power in Louisiana, and there are some fantastic stories about that post-Storyville time here. Jean Lafitte was a pirate, too–but he was also a very successful smuggler. But again, one of the great problems of New Orleans/Louisiana research is going down wormholes and sidebars–my ADHD does not matters at all in this regard; I do remember wanting to write about “Mrs. Officer,” the first woman cop in New Orleans, who was hired because they needed a woman to search and interrogate criminal women, which was a problem during Storyville days. I mean, what a great decade to research and write about! Imagine what “Mrs. Officer”2 endured in terms of misogyny as the only woman cop in an era where women couldn’t vote.

There’s also a protest today scheduled in New Orleans, as well as around the country. I’m hoping to make it, it just depends on how tired I am after getting things done this morning. I feel pretty good right now, but that also doesn’t mean I won’t flag later, either.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you most likely tomorrow morning.

  1. This is a classic example of why I say we don’t teach history properly (which will end up being a longer-form essay for my newsletter at some point). There were plenty of Tories during the American Revolution. There were Southern sympathizers in the North and Unionists in the South–I knew about the North, but whenever I’d come across that about the South I figured it was after-the-fact apologia, excusing Southern whites for their inhumanity. But over the least few years as I’ve done more deep dives into Alabama history, and hearing more old family stories, I’ve come to realize it was actually true. Erik Larson discusses this in more detail in his The Demons of Unrest, which I do recommend. ↩︎
  2. SHe was always referred to as “Mrs. Officer,” which also makes a great title. ↩︎

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

You don’t sing me love songs…anymore.

I had been waiting to hear about an anthology I sold a story to (they asked me to keep it quiet until further notice), but had never did so I could never mention it. But it was announced; they just hadn’t tagged me. Anyway, the anthology is Celluloid Crimes, and will be released this summer from Level Best Books. My story is “The Last To See Him Alive,” which actually now is the first, revised chapter of Chlorine, which, if you’re wondering, I’ve never stopped thinking about or working on since I first brought it up on my blog six or seven years ago. Over the weekend, I did confess to someone that I have about six or seven novels currently in progress; Chlorine is definitely one of them. In fact, taking Chapter One and turning it into a stand-alone short story also triggered some creativity in my brain, and that helped the entire novel take shape, and now I know what the middle part will be, and the end will become even more poignant and noir-ish with these necessary changes to the story. Huzzah! More about the story and the anthology as it nears its publication date.

The auction for the Transgender Law Center concluded last night, and we raised over $58,000! I have to admit being enormously pleased and proud of the organizing committee as well as all the people who donated items and those who bid on them. Well done, everyone! This project began two or three years ago (it was before my arm surgery, I do know that much–I have no grasp or concept of time anymore–but other than that? Pfffft.) and it’s kind of hard to believe it’s over and done with at last. I didn’t do that much–the driving forces were truly Susanna Calkins, Sandra SG Wong, Ellison Cooper (Jen Dornan-Fish), Cheryl Head, and Ed Aymar. The group was exceptionally fun to work with, despite my on-going issues, and I didn’t contribute nearly as much as I ordinarily do when I am volunteering because of my on-going issues, but my fellow organizers were so efficient and on top of things I didn’t need to, which was lovely. It was truly a great group, and our advisory board (including spokesperson Robyn Gigl, Brenda Buchanan, and John Copenhaver) were also amazing and hard-working. What a lovely experience this was indeed.

I did get some writing done last night, but not nearly enough. After driving uptown to get the mail and then making groceries, I was pretty fried by the time I got home, so wasn’t really able to resist Sparky’s meowing insistence that I get in my chair and let him sleep in my lap, so I did. We continued watching Mid-century Modern, and you know, not every joke lands nor does every scene necessarily work, but all the actors are clearly having a good time with it, and Matt Bomer is absolutely perfect as the beautiful, former Mormon flight attendant who is actually very sweet and a little like Rose from The Golden Girls, completely without guile and literal. Nathan Lane can be a bit histrionic, but he’s Nathan Lane; always charming and likable. Such a shame Linda Lavin died, because she’s terrific as Lane’s mother–and was probably going to at least be nominated for an Emmy. But Nathan Lee Graham steals the entire show as a former fashion editor who is very quick-witted in that bitchy sarcastic way that so many of us develop as a shell for self-defense. It’s also refreshing to see a show about older gay men who, like The Golden Girls, still are vital and have sex lives and embracing life rather than sliding into self-pity or caricature. These characters would have been easy to play as one-dimensional stereotypes, but it’s a tribute to these actors’ skill that they have heart and are real people. I’m sure it won’t thrill some queer people–nothing ever does, we are notoriously critical of things about us–but it’s nice to see gay men as realized characters on a traditional style sitcom, and definitely a progression from Will and Grace.

I feel better today than I did yesterday; another good night of sleep was had, and this morning I don’t feel any brain fog or exhaustion like I did yesterday. I think I am now acclimating back to my life, which is nice because I also need to get my act together and start getting things done again. This weekend will most likely be restful and lovely as well; and perhaps time to start working on household projects (like cleaning out the attic) so the house can be sort of presentable and livable again. Stranger things have happened, you know. I started writing a tribute to Dorothy Allison for my newsletter, triggered by the tribute reading I did Sunday, as I have been remembering how much she and her work have always meant to me. It’s kind of hard to believe such a force is gone from the world.

Sigh. And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Saturday Night Special

SMFS Official Announcement: 2025 Derringer Award Finalists

Since 1998, the Short Mystery Fiction Society has awarded the annual Derringers—named after the popular pocket pistol—to outstanding published stories. The awards recognize outstanding stories published during 2024. Results of membership voting are scheduled to be posted on May 1, 2025.

The full listing of our nominees and the markets that published the finalist stories has been compiled and supplied by Derringer Coordinator Paula Messina.

FLASH

Sweet Red Cherries by C.W. Blackwell

(Punk Noir Magazine, November 28, 2024)

Mob Mentality by James Patrick Focarile

(Shotgun Honey, June 20, 2024)

La Petite Mort by Susan Hatters Friedman

(Bristol Noir, February 16, 2024)

Kargin the Necromancer by Mike McHone

(Mystery Tribune, December 15, 2024)

Lockerbie, 1988 by Mary Thorson

(Cotton Xenomorph, October 13, 2024)

SHORT STORY 

“Skeeter’s Bar and Grill” by Julie Hastrup

(Larceny & Last Chances: 22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense, Superior Shores Press)

“The Wind Phone” by Josh Pachter

(Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, September/October 2024)

“The Heist” by Bill Pronzini

(Shamus and Anthony Commit Capers: Ten Tales of Criminals, Crooks, and Culprits, Level Best Books)

“The Last Chance Coalition” by Judy Penz Sheluk

(Larceny & Last Chances: 22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense, Superior Shores Press)

“The Kratz Gambit” by Mark Thielman

(Private Dicks and Disco Balls: Private Eyes in the Dyn-O-Mite Seventies, Down & Out Books)

LONG STORY

“How Mary’s Garden Grew” by Elizabeth Elwood

(Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, January/February 2024)

“Heart of Darkness” by Tammy Euliano

(Scattered, Smothered, Covered & Chunked: Crime Fiction Inspired by Waffle House, Down & Out Books)

“Putting Things Right” by Peter W. J. Hayes

(Thrill Ride – The Magazine, December 21, 2024)

“Motive Factor X” by Joseph Andre Thomas

(Howls from the Scene of the Crime: A Crime Horror Anthology, Howl Society Press)

“Cold Comfort” by Andrew Welsh-Huggins

(Private Dicks and Disco Balls: Private Eyes in the Dyn-O-Mite Seventies, Down & Out Books)

NOVELETTE

“A Band of Scheming Women” by Joslyn Chase

(Thrill Ride – The Magazine, March 21, 2024)

“Christmas Dinner” by Robert Lopresti

(Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, November/December 2024)

“Barracuda Backfire” by Tom Milani

(Chop Shop Episode 4, Down & Out Books, April 1, 2024)

“Her Dangerously Clever Hands” by Karen Odden

(Crimeucopia – Through the Past Darkly, Murderous Ink Press)

“The Cadillac Job” by Stacy Woodson

(Chop Shop Episode 1, Down & Out Books, January 1, 2024)

ANTHOLOGY

(Previously Announced)

Devil’s Snare: Best New England Crime Stories 2024

Edited by Susan Oleksiw, Ang Pompano, Leslie Wheeler, Crime Spell Books

Friend of the Devil: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of the Grateful Dead

Edited by Josh Pachter, Down & Out Books

Larceny & Last Chances: 22 Stories of Mystery & Suspense

Edited by Judy Penz Sheluk, Superior Shores Press

Murder, Neat: A SleuthSayers Anthology

Edited by Michael Bracken and Barb Goffman, Level Best Books

New York State of Crime: Murder New York Style 6

Edited by D.M. Barr and Joseph R.G. De Marco, Down & Out Books

The 13th Letter

Edited by Donna Carrick, Carrick Publishing

Good Times

Up early before the sun, although the sky is beginning to lighten as the days get longer and summer looms, with all of its brutality, just over said horizon. I am feeling rested and more like myself this morning, which will make sliding back into reality and heading into the office a lot easier. I am so glad I took yesterday off. I was so tired yesterday I don’t even want to remember how that felt. I feel asleep in my easy chair with Sparky in my lap numerous times before I finally stumbled up to be around ten and slept like a rock for a solid eight hours. I’m still a bit disoriented, but by the end of the day that should be all sorted out, one way or another.

We finished watching Reacher last night and enjoyed it. This is the character I remember from the books, and the show is very well cast and very well done. Alan Ritchson is perfect for Reacher–acting, physicality, attitude–and I’ve always been a sucker for a paladin, haven’t you? Reacher is the epitome of the lone wolf/mysterious hero who always somehow manages to be in the right spot at the right time to rescue/help someone who needs it. I don’t know that I could write such a character or series, but I certainly have enjoyed Lee Child’s take on the classic paladin trope. I’m already looking forward to season four.

I feel rested today but still a bit disoriented and discombobulated from the weekend and making the transition from Famous Author Greg to regular go to the office every day and do chores Greg. I need to get back on the writing horse and get this fucking book finished (it’s not, and it’s due today, sigh)–it’s funny how every time I get on a roll with it, I get distracted and disturbed away from it. Naught to do but dive back in head first, right? I do have to go run the errands I didn’t run yesterday (too exhausted) on the way home tonight, but hopefully I can get some words in before we finish watching Mid-century Modern, which we started last night. The first episode has some flaws, and got off to a not very good start…but started picking up steam in the latter half and had some surprises–subverting expectations from what is clearly being done in a classic sitcom format (complete with annoying as fuck laugh track); despite setting up a traditional sitcom plot with a gay twist, that’s not where it went, which was a very pleasant surprise, and there were some really good laughs in the second episode. Linda Lavin is the jewel of the cast, playing Nathan Lane’s mother, and the fact she died during production is truly sad. I can see how it might turn some of its intended audience aside, but…can we really justify not even giving it a chance while bitching about our lack of representation in entertainment, let alone in the world of sitcoms? There is no pleasing some gays. My primary critique of Will and Grace was that it sanitized being gay so it wouldn’t scare some viewers–but it was also a network show airing mostly during the Bush years. The show was important, and some of the criticisms directed at it were definitely fair….I’ll probably explore my ambivalence to that show (while recognizing its importance) at some point over on Substack.

I also need to sort out my checkbook, figure out where I am at with things, and put proverbial nose to grindstone.

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

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.

Screenshot

Fire

I’m riding in your car…you turn on the radio…

I love the Pointer Sisters, and “Fire” is definitely one of my favorite Pointer Sisters songs. I saw them in concert in the summer of 1985 on Oakland–and the live rendition of “Fire” was, simply stated, phenomenal. The opening act was Katrina and the Waves and the headliner was Wham! Most of the people there were there for Wham (I wasn’t), and when I tell you the Pointer Sisters turned that sold-out crowd in the Oakland Coliseum into fans, I am not lying. Three songs into their set and the entire place was on its feet and dancing. I was a fan before, but seeing them live turned me into a super-fan. (In fairness, I wasn’t a fan of Wham, but seeing them live turned me into one…and I remain grateful that I saw George Michael perform live, when he was still barely out of his teens.)

Well, it’s Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again, and Paul is moving into the hotel for the weekend so won’t be here tonight when I get home from work. Sparky will be terribly needy all evening when I get home, which is fine. I really need to get my act together for this weekend, although I suspect that getting prepared in the morning every day will be enough. Hey, at least I prepare now, which I didn’t used to do. Can’t imagine why I always had such stage fright, can you? Of course, that was also the anxiety controlling me, although I probably should have come up with a different coping mechanism than alcohol, which is what I used for a very long time.

Don’t miss that in the least.

I worked on the book last night, and I realized also that it was a transitional chapter–which I’ve always struggled with. But it’s done, and now I can move on with the book. I’ve a lot of writing to do in order to meet the deadline on this book–and as always, present-Greg is very annoyed with past-Greg, for once again doing this to myself. I always think, when I’m in the middle of rushing to finish a book, that I am never going to do this again and then…I do it again with the next one, and the next and the next…heavy heaving sigh. It’s the story of my life, over and over and over again. I am also not going to lie; I’ve worried that having my anxiety now controlled by medication meant that I’d not be as driven to write as I was before, but it seems like nothing’s really changed, rather than the level of anxiety I have about finishing a book. But…I’ve sold three short stories already this year, how cool is that? And now that I am rolling with the writing again, I am starting to get excited about the next book to write and finishing some other short stories. Woo-hoo!

I was too fried after writing last night to do any reading, so here’s hoping I’ll be able to get back into reading tonight. I’ll probably do some straightening up around the place once I get my writing done for the night, too. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, and I must pay the bills. Be back later!

Makin’ It

I’ve always felt that Tuesdays are worse than Mondays. Sure, it sucks to get up on Monday morning and go back to the office, but at least you’re coming off the weekend. Tuesday means you’re not even halfway through the week and you’ve already worked the day before. Horror of horrors! I felt this way even in high school–which is where and when I started wishing my life away, as my mom always used to say. Of course, she didn’t start saying that until she stopped working and became, for want of a better word, a housewife. Such an ugly and weird sounding word, isn’t it? But it’s better than “tradwife,” which just might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard–and the whole “tradwife values” thing just kind of turns my stomach ever so slightly.

I do want to write about one, of course. I also want to write about one of those horribly creepy “boymoms.” Straight people are so weird…

But this morning I feel rested and good. I ran some errands after work last night, which was not as painful as I might have expected, and I have to run one tonight when I leave the office. I finished revising my short story and send it in (it’s for a queer crime anthology called Crime Ink), which felt really good (the story is an excerpt from Never Kiss a Stranger called “The Rhinestone”), and I did work on the book a little around Sparky’s intense neediness. I think Paul is moving into the Monteleone tomorrow, so after tonight I’ll be home alone with a super needy cat, which will be challenging. I also need to figure out my schedule for the weekend’s Festivals. I am moderating a panel for the Pinckley Prize tenth anniversary celebration, I know, and I have to do the anthology launch Saturday night, and I am in the Dorothy Allison tribute reading. There’s also a panel on Sunday I am on, and of course both the opening and closing parties. Sigh. I get tired just thinking about it, you know?

But it’ll be fun and invigorating intellectually, and it’s always inspiring to be around wonderful people who love books and writing.

Remember the author I talked about who created a firestorm by writing and publishing that dreadful book where the man fell in love with his best friend’s three-year-old daughter but waits until she was legal before doing anything (as though the pedophilic grooming wasn’t bad enough)? She was arrested yesterday and charged (in Australia) for possession of, and intent to distribute, child pornography. The copies of her own book was the evidence they needed for the arrest! I don’t know what the laws are in Australia, but quite frankly, arguing that it’s a “slippery slope” to be arrested for “dark romance” writing? Dark romance actually requires consent, otherwise it’s rape. You’re trying to ban queer books in the US, yet people are trying to defend the principle of free speech about a book that is 100% about grooming? Yeah, miss me with that. Child rape is child rape, period; and I think the fact so many people missed the real point of Lolita and think it’s a “romance” is why no one should be writing about child rape like it’s just another style of “dark” romance.

And who would ever think to themselves, “I’m going to write a dark romance about grooming!”

Someone I wouldn’t let around kids, that’s who.

Not all speech is protected–which no one seems to understand, which isn’t surprising since they don’t understand their own protected right to free speech and what precisely that means. We really are the dumbest country. This whole “let’s share classified intelligence with a reporter in a group chat” thing would be laughable if it wasn’t so fucking terrifying. IMAGINE EISENHOWER SENDING THE D-DAY PLANS TO A REPORTER, or Truman accidentally telling the Washington Post about the plans to use the atomic bomb on Japan the day before?

Americans have never appreciated our system, or they’d have learned how it works better when they were younger. (I wish I had a quarter for every time I had to explain the Electoral College to smart people–or people I’d thought were smart previously–in 2000 I’d have retired years ago.) So, we kind of have the government we deserve right now.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day. Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again at some point.

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Love You Inside Out

Remote Friday! I slept decently last night, which was a lovely thing. Sparky cuddled with me this morning when he got hungry, which was very sweet–I’d rather wake up to a cuddling, purring kitty than to an alarm any day. I’ve always believed alarms were unnatural, forcing you to wake from sleep before you’re ready or you’ve had enough. But that’s all part and parcel of the tyranny of capitalism we’re all subjected to most of our lives, and we’re all about to be (or already been) sacrificed on the altar of Ayn Rand acolytes who only read The Fountainhead or Atlas Shrugged, and not her actual philosophy. (Whenever someone mentions her admiringly, I always ask if they’ve read her essay collection The Virtue of Selfishness and the answer is always no…so I stop listening to anything they say and see no point in arguing with them from a place of better knowledge;1 and the true believers are just another branch of the MAGA family tree of cruelty and bigotry.) Must get up, must make money to spend money to keep the economy going…and round and round it goes.

I was very tired when I got home from work last night and sadly, didn’t get much of anything done. I came home, fed and played with Sparky, and then collapsed into my easy chair with a tired body and worn out brain. Thursdays really are my least favorite day at the office. Paul got home later than I would have liked, but I have to say this year I’ve seen more of him than I usually do during my Festival widowhood, so in a way I’m kind of glad the building collapsed? He’s going to be gone most of today, too, once he gets up, and I am going to be doing my remote work and writing and doing chores and getting the house as in order as I can manage. That always makes me feel better; I always find a messy apartment to be kind of…unsettling and oppressive, which has everything to do with fears of being a hoarder. I’m letting go of my need to never get rid of a book under any circumstance, but that comes from the reality of limited space options. I’ve also cut back on my buying books all the time, and limiting myself to new books from friends, or their recommendations. That has definitely helped financially, too. (But I will never donate my kids’ series books, ever.)

I also want to get some reading done this weekend. I want to get further into my revisit of Moonraker, and I have already moved Christa Faust’s The Get Off to the on-deck position of the TBR list. I’ve been waiting for this book for fourteen years! I love Christa’s voice and her style of writing, as well as how fierce she is, and boy, does that ever come across in the Angel Dare trilogy. Angel is an unusual heroine, and I do think the series will become noir classics to shelve alongside James M. Cain, Patricia Highsmith, and Cornell Woolrich2. I’d love to see them filmed, to be honest, and what a great role she’d be for an ambitious actress.

I did try to write some last night to little or no avail. I really need to get back into that saddle again and get things going. Deadlines loom overhead, and the Festivals are next weekend, and I am going to be super busy during both–I have several things I have to do, and I have all kinds of friends coming into town to speak at one or both. It’s going to be so exhausting, I am already kind of dreading how tired I’ll be. Not to mention commuting to the Quarter and back so we don’t have to board Sparky…and all that walking. Yes, I am going to be completely exhausted…but at least nothing I am doing is in the morning, thank you God, so I can at least sleep in some.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you either later today or tomorrow morning. We shall see, shan’t we?

  1. I read Ayn Rand in my twenties–I read her short novel Anthem in high school–and studied her philosophy, which required reading her non-fiction. I saw the fallacy in her “objectivism”, the flaw that unspools the entire thing, almost immediately, which gave me the knowledge to know she–and everything she believed, was patently predicated on a lack of understanding of human nature and behavior, and most of her acolytes embraced only the parts that confirmed their own biases while ignoring the rest. Check out her writings on religion sometime, and ask yourself how Paul Ryan and others–anyone, really–could be a “devout Christian” and an objectivist, when she wrote and believed that religion was ignorant superstition and unworthy of an intellectual. ↩︎
  2. Note to self: revisit Cain, and read more in the Woolrich and Highsmith canons. ↩︎