Tag: books

Pour Some Sugar on Me

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. I slept well again last night–didn’t want to get out from under my pile of blankets this morning, yet again–and we also had an amazing thunderstorm last night. Lightning was very close, the thunder rolled for what seemed like forever, and twice the power fluttered on and off before I went to bed. I had a good day at work yesterday–got a lot done there–and picked up the mail on the way home and there was plenty of it, too. This weather is the return of the system that was supposed to flood us this past weekend; it made a U-turn and basically came back. There’s no flood watch or anything, so it’s not as scary this time around, methinks. I did some chores when I got home before my usual catch-up on the news, and once Paul got home we started watching Untamed. We were on our second episode of the evening when the power blinked out then back on the first time, and it took forever for the wireless server to come back on line–Netflix is always slow to load, too–so we gave up for the evening. We’ll probably finish the show in another night or two, and then will have to find something new to watch again. Huzzah.

I am also still reeling a bit from how much my bi-monthly medication costs (#madness). It’s almost two hundred thousand dollars per year. Granted, that also includes the cost of the injection device that I have to attach to myself every eight weeks (I thought it was four; this is much better on me). It is on its way, and should be arriving sometime Friday at the postal service, so I can pop it into the refrigerator and keep it there until I need it in September. I have to go to the service on Friday anyway; I received the title pages for Double Crossing Van Dine anthology to sign (my co-editors, Donna Andrews and Art Taylor, have already signed them; I’m last to go) for the clothbound edition of the anthology. My story “The Spirit Tree,” is another Alabama story, for the record; yet another return to Corinth County! So one of the things I need to do either tonight or tomorrow morning is sign them.

Apparently I need to watch last night’s episode of South Park? Social media is completely abuzz with clips and general hilarity about this new episode, which targets Dumble-dumb. Something to stream while bonding with my precious Sparky tonight, at any rate. I also need to check my to-do list as well as make a more comprehensive one for the weekend. I have plenty of work to do at home tomorrow, of course, and lots of chores and writing and editing and cleaning to do around that, as always. I am trying to get my email inbox cleaned out, and I also need to do some studying on things. I don’t think I have to sign up for Medicare before I actually retire or stop working, according to what I have read, which is kind of a relief; I’d rather not deal with that frustrating red tape until I actually have to, you know?

Insurance shouldn’t be this crazy and complicated and irritating, frankly.

Neither should life.

I also want to get another newsletter out–either about the recent trend by gymbros to build up a beautiful butt1, or my one about the kids’ series featuring Vicki Barr, (pre-feminist) stewardess! I also owe a gazillion emails…sigh.

And on that note, it’s off to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning.

The Temple of Poseidon
  1. So much of a gym trend that Men’s Health published an article about it! ↩︎

Women

Wednesday morning blog and we’re halfway through the week. I feel decent this morning, not overly tired or fatigued or brain mushy, but awake and good. My stomach is bothering me a bit this morning, but I’m not dehydrated and this doesn’t feel like a colitis flare-up–at least not so far. I slept well, and did get some things done last night when I got home. I put away the dishes, made lunches for the rest of the week, cleaned off the counters, and did some filing. We also watched another episode of Untamed, which we are enjoying. It was a pretty mellow night, with Paul getting home later than I would prefer. I also balanced my checkbook (I have more money than I thought I did, and the more money is accurate, not my register balance–I deducted a couple of things twice), and got caught up on the news–always a depressing thing no matter how little of it I catch up on. I do love seeing MAGA being hoisted on their own petard, don’t you? The people screaming about pedophiles and grooming and Jeffrey Epstein for the last ten years are suddenly all about protecting groomers and pedophiles when their foul god turns out to be one of them…but they’ve always been all-in on hypocrisy.

There are few things I despise more than hypocrisy. I especially hate it when I’m doing it.

I dealt with the specialty pharmacy yesterday to get my injection stuff sent to me yesterday–turns out it’s only every two months that I need to use the injection device to infuse my anti-colitis medication (or whatever it is), which will be interesting. I don’t need it until September, as I have one more infusion to do first, and then a month later I start using the disposable device they’ll be sending me. (I also saw the bill they sent my insurance company –almost thirty thousand dollars! I don’t know if that is for the two infusions, or for the device they’re sending me (I suspect it is for the device, because the infusion charges would come from my GTI specialist since they are done in his office), but yikes!

Thank God that’s not coming out of my pocket…I guess uninsured people just die. I mean, it’s almost two hundred grand per year for the rest of my life, which I certainly do not have.

Sigh. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I’ve not really had to deal with health issues until I turned sixty.

I’ve also been remiss in not talking about upcoming things, haven’t I? I have about three short stories in anthologies that are all dropping in the next two months, and I am also hosting a Noir at the Bar the Thursday of Bouchercon weekend, which I should be talking about and promoting, and should be bringing more attention to the anthologies. My bad! I know I’ve mentioned the stories before–“The Rhinestone” in Crime Ink: Iconic; “The Last To See Him Alive” in Celluloid Crimes; and “The Spirit Tree” in Double Crossing Van Dine–but I should at least post a TOC and the release dates…which means actually finding out when the release dates are. I am so bad at this, oy. I promise I will get better!

I also need to start looking into Medicare and signing up for that and so on. Heavy sigh. I really hate being an adult.

Okay, on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in on you tomorrow.

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

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