Tag: books

Rock and Roll Suspension

Monday morning after the holiday weekend, and I must return to the office today. I am not going to beat myself up over not getting as much done as I would have liked. I did get some writing work (editing, at any rate) done yesterday; we didn’t go to the movie again because we started watching Wimbledon and there was a massive thunderstorm we didn’t want to go out in. It pretty much rained for most of the day, which was a lot of fun for my sinuses, as i am sure you can imagine, Constant Reader. After the tennis we started watching We Were Liars, which I read years ago (and don’t remember much of anything about), and we are enjoying it thus far. I read a very little bit during Wimbledon, not starting the new Megan Abbott out of a fear I wouldn’t want to put it down once I’d started. I slept really well last night, too–I slept well all weekend, actually, which was lovely–so hopefully I’ll feel rested all day and can get a lot done at the office. I’ll have to run some errands on the way home, but that’s okay; there are worse things, after all.

There’s always worse things.

I am officially off the steroid treatment as of today, and my next infusion is next Monday morning. I don’t know if round 2 will make me as tired as round 1 did, so we’ll have to see and I’ll have to get things done before next Monday just in case the fatigue returns. Will the lack of a testosterone pill make a difference in how this weeks goes? Perhaps, perhaps not. I was down to a quarter of a pill per day, anyway, so probably no change in anything, really.

I have a headache this morning, probably due to thunderstorms and sinuses, which is really annoying. It’s going to rain again all afternoon and into the evening, which should be lots of fun. But despite all these hurdles I am determined to have a good, productive day. I have a gazillion emails to answer, for one, and I need to get my checkbook balanced and make sure the bills were all paid and all of that fun stuff, too. I also have to figure out what I do owe on medical bills and what I don’t; you have to love deductibles, don’t you, and a health insurance company that makes it very hard to figure this shit out? Heavy heaving sigh. I also have to get a hip X-ray done, and bloodwork again this week. Lord. I guess the smart thing to do would be to get the bloodwork done first thing Friday morning, then walk over to Touro for the hip X-ray. Remember how I was dizzy and kept losing my balance when I was sick? One time I lost my balance going out to get a delivery at the front gate and fell, hip first, into the fence. My leg had felt bruised after that, and I only recently realized it a) still felt bruised; b) it couldn’t still be bruised and c) it’s actually numb. My doctor thinks I may have pinched a nerve when I fell, hence the X-ray. Yay.

Getting old is fine for the most part, but the physical decay absolutely sucks.

As I was finish reading Summerhouse (which I really enjoyed), shortly after finishing Laura Lippman’s Murder Takes a Vacation, it occurred to me that maybe I should try writing about older characters (since I’m now older myself and my Imposter Syndrome–which rarely needs any help to kick into gear–makes me question my ability to write about people younger than myself anymore); but what would I say? For me, being older has meant being more delicate physically, obviously; aches and pains and getting tired more easily–but again, I am not sure if that’s part of getting older or just a by-product of all the illnesses, injuries and medical treatments I’ve needed since 2020. It could be interesting, though, and I could potentially make it really funny, too. The last thing in the world that I ever want to write is about some bitchy and bitter old queen who’s constantly living in the past and thinks the past was better than the present. Who would want to read such a thing? Certainly not me.

But I am capable of creating likable characters, aren’t I? Maybe I could create a likable older gay male character, full of wisdom and experience, who accepts his age and is happy about it? But…the plague years! I’ve never wanted to write about the plague years, and it would be kind of hard to avoid with an older gay male character, wouldn’t it?

Sigh.

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

Noticeable One

Saturday morning, although all day yesterday I kept thinking it was Saturday. I much prefer Monday holidays, for that very reason, over Friday ones. We didn’t go see the movie yesterday, because my sinuses (sinii?) refused to cooperate and were kind of a pain in my ass all day; making me tired and a little grumpy and giving me the occasional headache. This was highly annoying, needless to say, and so I spent the day (other than doing chores) reading and watching television. I am almost finished with Summerhouse–there was a delightful twist two-thirds of the way through that I didn’t see coming, and it’s changed almost everything about the book–and should finish the remaining thirty or so pages this morning. We might go see the movie today–I’m not sure what Paul’s doing; he may be seeing his trainer. I may order some groceries for delivery (again, depends on what Paul is doing) and I was thinking about washing and cleaning out the car today if it’s not super miserable outside.

We watched a gay show through Prime last night, Single Out, which was adorable and cute. There are two more seasons, but alas, we need to either rent them or subscribe to Here–which might not be a bad thing for a little while; get some good gay content to watch–and then we watched Sinners, which is now streaming on MAX. I really enjoyed it, and thought it was excellent. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s a horror film, I’d say it would get a lot of Oscar nominations, but the voting members of the Academy generally don’t take horror very seriously as art, and there’s also some racism there, too. I may be pleasantly surprised, but the production values–set design, costume design, cinematography, screenplay–were all exceptional, and of course, the acting was stellar as well. I highly recommend Sinners, and I may watch it again to catch things I may have missed the first time around.

I feel better this morning than I did yesterday morning, which is nice. I was kind of worn down by the week, and of course the sinus revolt wasn’t much help in that regard, either. But I did make progress on the house, which is always a good thing, even if I didn’t get everything done. I should be able to get everything under control today. My coffee is hitting perfectly, I’m enjoying my breakfast, and his Majesty Sparky Lord of the Apartment isn’t demanding my desk chair for his morning nap, so…that’s a pretty good thing. In fact, when I finish and post this, I may go finish Summerhouse, and read some more of my other two current reads before getting cleaned up and back to work on the house. The dishwasher needs unloading, and there are some other dishes from last night that need to be cleaned–but at least all the laundry is done. Huzzah!

Okay, I was looking at Here’s website, and maybe a few months of paying for a subscription might be worth it (they have Dante’s Cove, which I would love to write about), so maybe we can finish Single Out (the best way to describe it is Heartstopper only with sex and teenagers being horny all the time, yet incredibly sweet and charming at the same time) and watch some classic queer movies, and try out some of their original queer series. Could be fun.

I was also looking through the drafts for my newsletter and sheesh, there’s a LOT I’ve started and not finished, as well as any number of finished entries I didn’t want to publish because it was Pride Month. As for the newsletter’s “identity crisis” I was experiencing last week, well, I think I am going to keep it as is; primarily focusing on queer rights (or the queer American experience), while also doing longer reviews of art (books, movies, TV shows) and perhaps, just perhaps, about writing and publishing. I have a shit ton of columns about writing (and fitness, for that matter) that I could republish in the newsletter (actually, now that I am thinking about it, that was the intent behind this blog in the first place; giving me a place to write about things no one would pay me to write about), and that could also be helpful.

It also occurred to me yesterday that I often shy away from writing more in depth about art because I feel like I am not educated enough to delve more deeply into them–and I also worry that anything I might come up with along those lines might not be original and may have been written about extensively already. But…it’s all opinion in the first place, isn’t it, and yes, maybe I haven’t read all the “classics” or the “modern literary writers,” but do I really need to do that in order to express what my takeaway from experiencing art is? No, I don’t. My takeaway might be better informed if I were more trained in criticism and had I read all those books, but the truth is, I didn’t. Most literary fiction, whether classic or modern, is like any other genre of literature–some is excellent, some is okay, and some is just fucking garbage. I really need to let go of my imposter syndrome once and for all, don’t I?

And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and head to my easy chair. Have a lovely Saturday, and I may be back later. One can never be entirely certain, can one?

It Ain’t None of Your Business

I woke up this morning with congestion and post nasal drip, which isn’t much fun. It’s been a while since I’ve had sinus issues, and it occurs to me that this bout might have something to do with my compromised immune system. Great! Another lovely side effect of my illness and its treatment…but of course, as always, it could be worse. (Theorem: bad situations can always be worse.) The Flonase is kicking in now, and I feel a lot better already. My coffee is delicious, and the coffee cake is quite tasty (chocolate marble swirl, if you must know(

I was tired when I got home from work, but I had a very productive day at the office and managed to get everything done that needed to be done for the end of the fiscal year. (Much worse for my supervisor than for me, and I do try to make it easier for her, but there’s only so much I can do.) She’s on vacation next week, which leaves me in charge–I’ll worry about that when Monday rolls around again; the last thing I need is to worry about work over this holiday weekend. I did run some errands on my way home, and managed to get some things done around the apartment as well, but there’s more to do as always. I’ve got some laundry going right now, and it’s also “wash the bedding” day, too. Paul’s planning on going to the gym this morning when he gets up, and then we’re going to probably go see the latest Jurassic movie as a treat to ourselves. Just before bed last night I started writing a post about the holiday, and the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and how I don’t really feel particularly proud of my country anymore after yesterday’s passage of the heinous legislation that takes us back to pre-FDR days…which was such a great time in our history for the poor and the working and middle classes. I’ll probably finish it this morning and post it–else I’ll have to save it for another time, and is there a more appropriate time to look back as well as to mourn for the country?

There’s the added plus that being critical of the administration will no doubt get me on a list, if I’m not on one already just for being a gay creative with socialist beliefs and values.

Ironically, we streamed a movie last night which was a fun, enjoyable watch–Heads of State, starring John Cena and Idris Elba and Priyanka Chopra, with Jack Quaid in a hilarious supporting role. It’s a silly premise, and it’s an action-adventure movie which opens with Air Force One being shot out of the sky above Belarus, and the President (Cena) and the British Prime Minister (Elba) escape with parachutes and have to get back to civilization to save the NATO Alliance, while trying to figure out who is the insider who helped set up the attack on Air Force One and sent assassins to finish them off. Lots of action, lots of funny situations and dialogue, and a very charismatic, likable cast made it a lot of fun to watch. It’s not going to ever make AFI’s Top 100 Films of All Time list, but it was a terrific diversion for the evening. I did stay up later than usual–the whole 4th of July entry thing, which may actually be better for the newsletter than the blog…decisions, decisions. It’s cloudy this morning, but according to the weather there’s no chance of rain for the weekend, which is a bit disappointing as I love the rain, but what can you do?

I want to finish reading Summerhouse this weekend, and make headway on The Crying Child and Sing Me a Death Song, too. My next read is going to be Megan Abbott’s El Dorado Drive. and will probably do another Jay Bennett for y/a and the next reread will be maybe something by either Mary Stewart or Phyllis A. Whitney, as I love them both and I want to write more about them both. I also want to get some writing done this weekend, as well. I don’t feel tired this morning, which is a nice thing, and Sparky isn’t demanding either my desk chair or my lap (yet, at any rate) so I am going to work on the kitchen a bit this morning while having Youtube on so I can get caught up on the insanity of the world (someone really should write a series of essays about where we are as a nation and what led us here and call it As the World Burns) which will inevitably make me angry and/or depressed and will spoil the rest of the day and maybe I’ll just not do that? There are always LSU highlight videos, after all.

In other exciting news, I found Go Ask Alice on a streaming service, and Paul and I agreed that a rewatch for the first time in fifty years could be campy fun; it was a message-oriented made for television movie based on a fraudulent “diary” novel that hit you over the head with its message and probably was the first real ABC Afterschool Special (I knew the book was bullshit when I read it, and was only eleven, but it fooled a shit ton of people).

And on that note, I have dishes to wash and laundry to fold, so I am going to bring this to a close and open the 4th of July draft to work on while doing the chores. Have a lovely holiday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back shortly!

Adorable out actor Brandon Flynn, whose career is really taking off.

Walking in L.A.

But nobody walks in LA, as the song says. I did a few times, and always heard this song in my head as I strolled down Santa Monica Boulevard. I do miss my annual visits to Los Angeles to sign at A Different Light. I don’t miss the stress and anxiety of signings (will anyone show up? Will I make an utter fool of myself?), but yes, I used to walk down Santa Monica from my hotel and shop on my way to visit the store.

Ah, the good old days…

But it’s Pay-the-Bills Wednesday, always a fun exercise in depression that always ends up with the plaintive cry where did all my money go? At least I can pay them–for now, at any rate. I just really hate paying them and trying to remember all my user names and passwords; nothing makes me feel older than not remembering things.

I was tired when I got off work last night–and actually, was kind of dragging all damned day yesterday. I’m not sure why, either; I was kind of mentally lethargic–and when I am that way, I inevitably come up with new ideas…which is my brain trying to get me to not stress too heavily about not doing any writing: but at least I had some ideas! Insanity, but that’s the way my mind has always worked. I’ve really been wanting to write some more essays for the newsletter; I already have several done that I don’t want to send because I don’t want to become that annoying person dropping into the subscribers’ (I can’t believe I have subscribers!) inboxes all the damned time. I don’t think all my book/movie/television reviews need to necessarily go there? I don’t know. I originally decided to use the newsletter to write longer form essays–ones that were too big to go here–but somehow that evolved into my writing longer reviews of books and movies and television shows there as well. Heavy heaving sigh. I guess I am having a newsletter identity crisis….but now that I am up this morning, I’m thinking I don’t need to write reviews there; I can do shorter ones here and do the longer ones, the ones where I really have something to say about the art, on the newsletter.1

We watched some more of Olympo last night, and there was finally some more gay storyline; Roque, the gay rugby star, is now getting involved with a teammate (Sebas) who is only now beginning to experience same-sex desire, which should be interesting to see play out. Both are gorgeous, too–so was the closeted guy Roque was hooking up with until the closet case turned on him–and as Paul said, “the most interesting characters are the men–the women are unlikable.” He was right, of course, and I don’t think that is gay misogyny at play; they really are unlikable. It’s not as good or as involving as Elité, which took off like a speeding freight train from the opening of the very first episode; this one is more of a slow burn–the primary story of the season is doping, as it would be in most shows about up-and-coming Olympic hopefuls. There are some curiosities about the show–little mysteries that might become bigger story-lines as the show goes on, but for now, the doping is the primary story–as well as the homophobia Roque is experiencing on the rugby team and in the school.

Plus, I love that name: Roque.

I only have one more day of work this week after today thanks to the 4th of July holiday, which seems kind of muted this year. Not surprising, since the entire country is being reshaped in the image Christian Nationalists have been pushing for since Brown v. Topeka Board of Education was decided by a decent Supreme Court, as opposed to the conservative activists currently sitting on our present-day court. I mean, it’s not like the country has ever lived up to its ideals; our country’s sad history of racism, homophobia, and misogyny goes back all the way to Columbus arriving in the West Indies (Spain and Portugal really never get enough credit for kicking off colonization and inventing racism).

I started thinking our empire was beginning to crumble in the 1980’s–I just hoped it would wait to collapse into authoritarianism after I died.

Ah, well. Somber thoughts on this July 4th Eve Eve. I try not to talk about politics or what’s going on in the world; if you come here to read this blog periodically where I fall on the political spectrum shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I try to leave talking about politics and world events out–I am hardly an expert, and adding to the angry on-line chatter isn’t really appealing to me: there’s no point in preaching to the choir, and anything I say isn’t going to convince someone who disagrees with me that they are incorrect (and vice versa; I don’t engage with conservatives because I will never agree with them on anything, really), and all it does is get me riled up. Sure, I’ll sometimes give in to the urge and go all Julia Sugarbaker here–ignorance and deliberate stupidity get under my skin like nothing else, but I try to resist the urge because I prefer to save my energy and time for productivity. I’m back to not engaging with anyone monstrous on social media–I find blocking trash more satisfying than scoring points off a troll anyway, which is performative in the first place, since all you are doing is showing your followers how witty and smart you are.

Sigh.

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like this is a more New Orleans-style summer than we’ve had in years. It’s already miserable outside when I leave the house for work, and even more miserable later in the day when I’m running errands. I know it’s worse because my sinuses and allergies are really kicking in this year–wet and humid with the thick heavy air, the heat, and the sun beating down mercilessly from above; we’ve also had a lot more rain (another sign of insane humidity) this year than we’ve had in the last few. I think the weather, coupled with trip recovery (I was in a car for almost twenty hours over four days), is why I’ve been so out of it this week.

I kind of hope we have some delightful thunderstorms this weekend, too; so I can snuggle under a blanket in my chair while reading. Sparky has been very attached to me since I got back–demanding my lap to sleep in when I get home from work every day, wanting to ride on my shoulders while I do things, and being incredibly playful, too. He really is a dear thing.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably check in with you again tomorrow morning. Till then!

Seriously, where were all these muscular pro wrestlers during my adolescence?
  1. Which means I’ll be moving some of those reviews from the drafts on my newsletter page to the drafts here; and deleting some of the ones in the draft files here. ↩︎

Destination Unknown

Tuesday and back to what passes for normality around here. My eye appointment went very well; my eyes (despite their inability to see much) are very healthy and there’s no trace of either glaucoma or Stargardt’s disease; there is some slight cataract development but “nothing you need to worry about for fifteen or twenty years.” *Whew*, am I right? I feel bad still for my sister, of course, but it’s a relief to know that I most likely will not be losing my sight as I get older.

I also have to share this piece about my friend Mark. Mark and I have been friends for well over twenty-five years. I also knew his late husband Johnny; I remember when they first became a couple. Mark was my workout partner for about ten years or so; I had to abandon our workouts when I went back to work full-time. If you’ve been around this blog since its beginning all those years ago, I helped Mark and Johnny gut their house and remove all of its water-damaged contents; Mark was the basis for Scotty’s best friend David in Bourbon Street Blues and has appeared in numerous others of the Scotty books. And yes, it is deeply ironic that the Archdiocese of New Orleans let him go for the morality clause as they try to navigate bankruptcy and financial settlements for covering up all the child rapes committed by their priests. I first saw this on Facebook when Mark posted it; it was picked up by one of the news stations here; the Guardian on-line, but I frankly enjoyed the editorializing evident here by the Friendly Atheist newsletter; imagine my surprise when it dropped into my inbox talking about what happened to my old friend Mark! Mark was the one who took me to Charity Hospital when Paul was attacked because I was too upset to drive. (I miss Mark. I don’t see him as much anymore and that is mostly my fault.) Mark is a good guy, and this pisses me off–even more so because Johnny is dead and Mark is no longer in violation of his contract. I don’t think my opinion of this Satanic archdiocese could have gone any lower–and here we are. Maybe it’s time to write a book addressing the child rape cover-ups…if it isn’t already a cliché.

I proofed my short story for Crime Ink yesterday and sent the corrections back in; which also required me to reread the story (“The Rhinestone”) again for the first time since the copy edits, and of course, I’d pretty much forgotten all of it. It’s a good story, an excerpt from Never Kiss a Stranger in which I had to fill in a lot of the background…since it’s already established in the longer piece; I winced a bit at the background before remembering oh yes, you had to add all of this in because no one would have a clue what was going on without the back story, and of course I was worried that I was “telling” too much rather than showing. I’m not sure when I am going to get back to Never Kiss a Stranger since I want to finish the Scotty and Chlorine before I can give it my full attention, if then; there are some others that are itching to be written and finished as well and I always seem to get distracted from my planned schedule…I had wanted to get The Summer of Lost Boys done this year, but I don’t think that’s going to happen…and of course, now I want to write about the cursed lake, too.

Sigh.

But no more defeatist talk around here! It’s absolutely okay to have days where you need to take care of yourself and not get as much done. I did take care of the kitchen last night, and started working on the living room again (I also found a lost remote control we looked for everywhere; it’s been awhile since the ghost played a trick on us…and now I am missing something else entirely). I also made a to-do list, picked up my mail, and made groceries. So, yeah, I should have been tired when I got home! Cheers and applause for everything else I did, thank you very much. I also went to bed early; I was falling asleep in my chair and staggered upstairs for a lovely night’s sleep. I’ll go straight home from work tonight and finish everything I started last night, and hopefully do some reading and writing. (I did write a bit yesterday–not very much, mind you, but it was something.)

I have a severe lack of motivation this week, and that’s going on the to-do list; find my motivation and reawaken my ambition and my sense I can conquer the world.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, happy July, and all that jazz. I’ll be back tomorrow.

The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles; something I’ve always wanted to see

For All Tomorrow’s Lies

Alabama.

I love Alabama, despite the way the state continually disappoints me. It’s such a beautiful place, with its kudzu and towering pines and broad rivers and that startlingly gorgeous red dirt. (Red dirt is often used to symbolize poverty and ignorance and bigotry…but it’s also gorgeous. I’d much rather have red dirt on my car or my shoes than regular black dirt any time.) Driving through the state I am always amazed at the strange range of country homes, everything from crumbling abandoned wrecks to expensive looking McMansions to trailers of all kinds and all conditions, the creeks and mimosa trees and hollers, sometimes filled with out of control kudzu (kudzu has fascinated me since I was a child) and sometimes just bushes and flowers and wild blackberry bushes growing out of control. It always inspires me when I go back to Alabama, reconnecting with my roots and where I am actually from, or, as we say in New Orleans, where my people are from. I also find myself spending a lot of time visiting graveyards where relatives are buried, while my father once again explains who many of them are (I love visiting the graves of my mother’s paternal grandparents; there’s a picture of them posing with four of their children and they are one of the most gorgeous couples I’ve ever seen; their daughters look just like my mother–and by extension, kind of like me–and seeing that picture always pleases me so) and stories about them, and I know he enjoys remembering the family history while passing it along to me. I enjoy the stories of the county, too; as we drive around the backroads and past places from his and my youth (“we took this road home from Auburn when you were just three months old, remember it?”–Dad humor, sure, but I love every bit of it) and I marvel at it all, hoping that it’s all being imprinted on my faded and dying memory. I really do want to write more about Alabama (which is what I say every time I get back from there, isn’t it?), and yeah, I do need to get back to writing, don’t I?

And some of that county and family history? Let’s just say the county is a lot more like Peyton Place than anyone from there would care to admit.

Dad also brought me a case of Grape Crush in bottles, which was so sweet and thoughtful (you can only get cans here, so Dad always brings me some from Kentucky and yes, I am very spoiled and always have been). We drove down to visit my aunt and uncle (another seven hours total in the car on Friday), so am very worn out this morning, now that I am back home; the drive back yesterday was nice but was very tired by the time I got home. I did listen to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors in the car (more on that later), but spent the evening watching My Mother Jayne, which was very well done (I always have been interested in Jayne Mansfield) and we really enjoyed. After that, I got started unpacking and putting things away and yes, I really do regret not thoroughly cleaning the apartment before I left on Wednesday. So instead of chilling out and relaxing today, I’ll be cleaning and making groceries (ordering them, at any rate), and hopefully reading and writing some.

It occurred to me last night that I didn’t get to all the queer books I wanted to read for Pride Month, and it also occurred to me that just because it’ll no longer be Pride Month doesn’t mean that I can’t read queer books; that’s the trap of having these celebratory months–I do not only read Black authors in February, after all, so why do I only focus on queer work in June?1 But I am glad I caught that I’d not finished Hall of Mirrors–and I know how it happened. I was reading it and about to go on a trip, and I always keep the books I am reading and the ones that are on-deck on the end table near my chair. I’d gotten down several potential books to take for the trip, and after I packed the books I decided to take I put the others back, and I must have reshelved Hall of Mirrors then; I was convinced I’d read it until before this trip, when I couldn’t remember how it ended and Audible suggested it–and when I got the book down from the shelves again there was a bookmark in it marking my place. Shamefully I downloaded it to my Audible, and decided to listen to it on this trip. There were three chapters left when I pulled up to the house; I finished it after watching My Mother Jayne…and then I fell asleep in my chair.

What a glorious night’s sleep I enjoyed last night, too! And it’s always nice to be home with Paul and Sparky. I didn’t make myself sick on the trip, either–remembering to have protein drinks and to take my pills and rehydrate properly. It was hot as fuck up there, too.

But I am going to bring this to a close, so I can get things done and groceries ordered and prepare for the week. I have an ophthalmologist appointment first thing tomorrow morning that requires me to drive out to (shudder) Kenner before I go into the office…and of course, Friday is the 4th of July so I have a three day weekend this week, too. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your Sunday, Constant Reader, as I intend to enjoy mine, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Staircase in the step pyramid of Pharaoh Djoser at Saqqarah
  1. I don’t, but it seems like I put a lot more pressure on myself to do during Pride. ↩︎

The Metro

Wednesday, and in about five hours I’ll be heading out on I-10 East to connect to 59 north to make it up to Where-we-are-from, Alabama–with pit stops for gas, food, and bathroom, it should only take between five and six hours. If I owe you an email, it probably won’t come before next week, as I come back here on Saturday and then Sunday have to prepare for the coming week.

I will be listening to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors, which I am embarrassed to admit I’ve not yet read. I had started it, but got distracted by something–oh yes, I meant to take it on a trip with me and left it sitting on the counter instead of putting it into my backpack, so had to read something else, and then never got back around to it, which is disgraceful conduct by a reader, frankly. But I am grateful for forgetful me of the past because now I can enjoy it on my drive. I had thought about getting caught up on Donna Andrews or Carol Goodman or Lisa Unger; I am frightfully behind on all of them as well–I really don’t want to think about all the wonderful authors whose work I have fallen behind on, because it will just depress me.

I did do some work on a project last night doing something I’ve not done in a long time; mapping out a book and writing out biographies of the main characters, as well as the through-line of the crime. I’d gotten to the point that I didn’t really need to do this anymore; the characters would often reveal themselves to me as I wrote about them, but when you’re not writing as much as you used to and need to get back on that horse, go back to the things you used to do when you were trying to become a writer, that made the writing actually easier to do rather than trying to think it all up as you go. I’ve really gotten lazy with my writing, but a lot of it is, as I said, the muscles were always pretty much warmed up and strong and raring to go, so the extra steps I used to take when I was getting started no longer seemed necessary; I am also working on an outline–I can’t remember the last time I outlined a novel. But here we are, and I’ve always been about adapting to get things done and make progress. I think it is going to turn out pretty well, to be honest. I’m kind of excited about this and getting back to the Scotty, in all honesty. Soon, my precious, soon…

Ironically, I was too tired to pack last night and didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, either–but I also realized, this morning, that it actually made more sense to come home after work and pack, and leave from home rather than from the office. Leaving directly from the office would shave an entire five minutes off the drive, and is that five minutes really worth the hassle than leaving an hour later this afternoon will create? No, it really wasn’t. And while I always try to be time-efficient–a lifelong habit I am trying to break now because it’s part and parcel of my anxiety, and letting go of anxiety is always a good thing–getting there around seven instead of six? I’ll still be tired from the drive and will end up going to sleep early, so what difference does it make?

Progress, I think.

I also doubt I’ll be around here much until I get back Saturday, so probably the next entry will come on Sunday. I think you can handle it, Constant Reader, so until then–adieu.

Massive Ramses II at the Egyptian Museum

touch

Saturday! Sparky didn’t let me sleep as late as I would have perhaps preferred, but I am awake now and slurping down coffee and having a lovely morning thus far. I slept really well last night, which was nice, but mostly spent my evening after our Costco run (it was bizarre; we ran into two people we know there, which rarely, if ever, happens anymore) watching videos on Youtube about a) the 1970s for another project and b) World War II (for obvious reasons) before I fell asleep in my chair and had to finally go upstairs to bed. I did get a lot of chores done yesterday, which was lovely; the dishes are all done, and there’s a load of clothes in the dryer that also need to be finished and folded and put away. I have to run to the mail today, get gas, and make some groceries (while having others delivered1), and the floors need to be vacuumed, but other than that, I have a nice restful day at home planned. LSU plays game one of the National Championships tonight against Coastal Carolina at six tonight, but isn’t anything college baseball related going to seem anti-climactic after the ninth inning of the Arkansas game the other night? Probably.

I decided to read The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels as my next reread; I did some poking around on-line about Myra Breckinridge and apparently I missed a lot on my two previous reads of the book, so I am going to have to spend more time with it when I read it, and right now I am not feeling the bandwidth in my head to do that kind of critical reading of it–while trying to finish Summerhouse, which is my goal for this weekend. (Next up for my new-to-me read is going to be Mia Manansala’s y/a debut, methinks.) I am also thinking I may rewatch Surviving Ohio State–I was doing things and reading during my first watch, so wasn’t paying as much attention as perhaps I should have, and I’d like to write about it more in depth.

I missed the deadline for the short story I’ve been working on, which means I can now talk about the story and the market without jinxing anything; I was so fatigued this past week from the infusion I lost track of dates and thought the 20th, for some reason, was Monday. Nope, it was yesterday and so I missed the deadline and still didn’t finish the story. I will have to put it aside and finish it later–I think going forward, to keep from having so many story fragments, I’ll finish the story anyway rather than just putting it to the side and forgetting it. For one thing, I kind of got wrapped up in it and the main character. Anyway, the anthology was about sea monsters–anything below the surface of any water, really. When I was in the hospital, I had an idea for a new book–and realized I could use an old unfinished manuscript and its characters to graft onto the new idea (the old idea didn’t work because of its setting), which actually got me a little excited, and when I saw this submission call, I thought, oh, I can write something for this that will be an excerpt from this longer novel. So, that’s what I was trying to do with the story I called “The Lake Must Be Fed.” The original manuscript was called The Enchantress, and was set on the coast of the Florida panhandle, but it never really worked for there; the actual terrain was too different from what I imagined. I’ve also always been interested in the concept of “drowned towns,”–places that were evacuated to make way for a reservoir after a river was dammed. Scott Carsen’s last book that I read was one of these (completely different from my idea), and of course, the primary inspiration for moving it from the panhandle to northwest Alabama is Georgia’s own cursed lake, Lake Lanier. I’m sorry I didn’t finish the story, but I’m not putting it on the back-burner just yet; I have other things I need to write at the moment, but when I get stuck on the front-burner stuff I can work on “The Lake Must Be Fed,” which I think is a great title. I don’t know where it’ll get published, if ever, but it would be nice to have it finished and ready to go.

That’s the thing with short stories. I love the form, I love writing them (even as I always struggle with them), but the problem is there’s not many markets for them and you have to get really lucky with a specific submission call to say “oh, I have something for this!” and not have to write something new…which is partly why I have so many partials and unpublished stories in my files. Heavy sigh. AH, such is the writer’s lot in life, is it not?

I also managed to finish and send out another newsletter yesterday, and I also realized that I don’t have to finish and send every newsletter about my queer life during Pride, just like I don’t just read queer fiction during June, either. I do make more of an effort to talk about these things during Pride Month, when it’s more likely the straights might read it and reflect on what I’ve said (whether they agree or disagree with the points I make), but I’m not just gay during June; I’m gay all the rest of the year, too, and it’s just as important to speak out all year rather than just in June. I am writing one now about Overcompensating, and extrapolating that out to other shows/movies about queer people–and how you can pretty much tell when something queer is made to “play in Peoria” as opposed to being something authentic queer people can relate to other than just the sexualities being portrayed. (For the record, Overcompensating seemed authentic to me; but was it, or was it just something I could relate to? This is why I generally don’t do criticism–because it always feels like you’re speaking for the entire community, and I am uncomfortable with that, always having to make certain people understand I only speak for myself and not others, certainly not for the queer community as a whole.)

Well, my coffee certainly is working its magic on me this morning, isn’t it? This is fairly long already, and I don’t think I’ve covered everything that I want to as of yet? Let me get another cup of coffee and the next stage of my breakfast before I continue on here, shall I? Let’s shall.

1 do love me some honey-nut Cheerios. I started craving them when I was sick, and have been having them for breakfast almost every morning since I was able to start eating normally again. I’ve never been a breakfast person, choosing to use the time I’d spend getting breakfast together and then eating it instead staying in bed longer. That changed a bit when I started having to get up early every day, but now I eat so much breakfast that I’m really not all that hungry the rest of the day. And if I don’t eat a lot in the morning, I am starving by mid-afternoon. And I am also eating in the evenings; my dinners are usually lighter than breakfast, but I’ve been making dinner since I came home from the hospital. Again, I am generally not exhausted every night when I get home from work, and do not always repair to my easy chair to be a Sparky bed and relax from the day the way I used to; I can generally get some writing and reading and cleaning done every night, which is kind of nice. I don’t feel as defeated as I did before I got sick, either. I am suspecting that before it erupted into full-scale illness it was already affecting me physically before the lower intestine/colon went into a full revolt.

All right, I should probably bring this to a close and get to work this morning. I need to do some reading and cleaning and possibly some writing, this morning. I also need to do some editing, which I always seem to hate to do because it means more work. But I also always put it off, which is a mistake. So I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be back no later than tomorrow morning.

I always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, among other sites. Egypt has fascinated me since my childhood, and I’ve always wanted to write about Egypt.
  1. Remember the other day when I was talking about not having a day job but would have to leave the house to run errands? I forgot about having things delivered! ↩︎

Pictures of You

Yesterday was lovely, really. Sparky let me sleep a little longer than normal, and I felt good when I woke up, although unsure as to whether or not I would be fatigued and foggy-brained yet again for the day. But breakfast and morning coffee were marvelous, and I started doing some chores while watching coverage of the game from the other night. I also was basking a bit in the afterglow of that insane final two innings and the insanity of the win–going into that bottom of the ninth, and two outs from Arkansas winning? Apparently, Arkansas has never won the College World Series and is also 0-5 overall playing LSU there. That, and the fact that errors cost them this game, has got to be galling for their fans. I’m sure it doesn’t go down any easier since the Razorbacks also see LSU as one of their major rivals. It’s also kind of weird–and nice–to see LSU fans on-line congratulating and talking up the Razorbacks since the game; we all felt bad for those kids suffering through such a heartbreaking loss. I was glad to see it wasn’t just me; the finals will seem almost kind of anticlimactic now. I hope the Arkansas players–especially poor Charles Davalan–are feeling better now. And now I kind of feel like I should root for them in the future when they aren’t playing LSU. Well done, Arkansas baseball team–you’ve made Arkansas a secondary team for me to root for, which I would have never thought possible.

It’s never dull being an LSU fan. That game was intense.

Anyway.

I also watched Surviving Ohio State–Jim Jordan should be behind bars–while finishing The Dark on the Other Side, which was a lot more interesting than I remembered. All of Barbara Michaels’ work is good, but this one isn’t quite as good as the ones I consider her best (Ammie Come Home, The Crying Child, Be Buried in the Rain, House of Many Shadows, and Witch); but she is an excellent Gothic writer, and probably a much bigger influence on me as a writer mysel than I’ve probably ever realized; the Scotty books are actually kind of similar in tone to some of her Elizabeth Peters novels, which are also delightful. I am debating what my next reread will be; I was thinking about another Michaels that I’ve not revisited in a while (The Crying Child) or, since it’s Pride Month, perhaps Myra Breckinridge? I was thinking about Gore Vidal the other day, which reminded me of the book, and wondered how it would hold up to modern scrutiny. I will not lie; I’ve read it twice at different periods of my life and didn’t know what to make of it–and with the current day trans community under relentless attack, I thought maybe try it again? I do remember how it ends, and I am not entirely certain how any reading of the book could make the ending not problematic–but the thing about Vidal is he never gave a shit; I can only imagine how vitriolic he would be about modern times and social media and trigger warnings…he died before social media became the monster it did, and when someone came for him he threw acid back at them. He didn’t mind offending people, nor did he take criticism well.

Although I suppose the fact Myra Breckinridge has never appeared on any list of great and/or influential and/or important queer novels that I’ve ever seen is probably giving me my answer about whether the book has aged well or not.

Surviving Ohio State was horrifying, simply horrifying. I do not believe Jim Jordan and the head coach didn’t know what was going on, but I also can’t understand why they didn’t stop it. It was also infuriating to see how shitty people can be about male sexual assault victims (the patriarchy at work again, hand in glove with toxic masculinity), especially ones that are athletes, without taking into consideration how young and naïve so many of them were. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things we take for granted in order to function in this life and world, and one of the things is trusting medical professionals. When you’re young and have been raised to with that institutional trust (trusting doctors, and trusting that your college will take care of you and protect you from predators), and the fact that it seems like everyone knows and acts like it’s not a big deal (Narrator Voice: It was, in fact, quite a big fucking deal), what do you do? It’s horrifically corrupt, just as both Penn State and Michigan State were institutionally corrupt in how they handled their athletic staff’s predatory conduct. The documentary left me very angry, and hating Jim Jordan even more than I already did. (Of course, if I were writing the story Dr. Strauss would have been murdered, which would have uncovered his behavior–only to have the murder not be related to the abuse at all.) Unsettling, but I think everyone should watch this documentary.

Today is a work remotely day, and I feel pretty good this morning. I rested for the most part yesterday, which was nice, and slept really well last night, too. I have things to get done today–some of it very tedious, but it has to be done–for work but being at home makes it a little better for me. We’re going to go to Costco after work today, and run some other errands as well, before coming home and settling in for the weekend. I have a lot of things I need to get done this weekend, writing-wise, so hopefully today won’t wear me out too much and I can get everything done. I need to finish a short story, and I need to work on some of my other writing as well. If I miss the short story deadline it’s not the end of the world; the story is an excerpt from what I hope will turn out to be a much longer work, so if I don’t get it finished and submitted it’s not the end of the world. I didn’t anticipate the fatigue and foggy brain I’d get from Monday’s infusion, and so didn’t really plan for it.

AH, well.

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and make my breakfast before going to work. Have a great Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today or tomorrow morning. Until then…

Nureyev. Need I say more?

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)