Tag: books

The Art of Letting Go

Saturday morning, and a top o’ the morning to you, me pretties. Yesterday wasn’t too terrible, actually; I always make such a big deal out of things that aren’t big deals and I really need to break that really bad habit at some point before I die. I got up before the alarm, but hit snooze a couple of times before Sparky realized the alarm was mysteriously going off a fifth day in a row, which meant I’d be getting up soon which means breakfast for the kitty! And wasn’t it sweet of him to try to let me sleep in? I feel good and rested this morning; I was tired and sleepy last night when bed time rolled around, and I slept like a stone (how things that aren’t sentient are supposed to sleep has always mystified me) last night, and woke up relatively early this morning. Once again there’s supposed to be some serious thunderstorms in the late afternoon, which would be lovely and a nice time to curl up and read some more of the book I am currently reading and need to finish.

I was tired, though, when I left the office to run my errands before heading home to finish the chores. They didn’t have Creole tomatoes, which was enormously disappointing; I really wanted one of my grilled cheese sandwiches, which I need to rename because it’s not just a grilled cheese sandwich. I usually will put bacon, guacamole and Creole tomatoes on them, too; they are so amazingly good, and when you use Maldon salt and fresh ground pepper? My word. I’m going to have to go to the store again over this weekend to look for Creole tomatoes, which is the only thing I actually need to get. I was a bit brain dead when I got back home, and then worked on the laundry and other chores. I do feel like this is going to be a productive weekend, and I feel good about that. I really straightened up the books in the living room as a first step to making it look less like a FEMA zone, and also couldn’t find a copy of a book I was looking for, which means I’ll have to buy another copy. Oh well. I did also locate my copies of Dancer from the Dance and Faggots while going through the books, which was a bit of a relief. I can revisit them now, at some point. It’ll be interesting to see them again through a modern lens, remembering the first time I read both and what I thought of them then and how they hold up now. I really need to get back to my reading.

We watched an episode of Sugar and I had the end of an episode of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (not enough monsters) on while I was straightening and picking things up last night. I also baked potatoe sbecause I didn’t feel like making ravioli or…anything, really. I also kept thinking it was Thursday all afternoon, and being confused by how early it was before remembering oh yes, you put in six hours at the office. Next Friday is Staff Development Day, also mandatory, and also all day. Hurray. Not loving this, honestly. I’ll survive though–at least, I hope so and if I don’t, well, I could use the rest and not aging anymore isn’t a bad thing.

Amazing what anti-anxiety medication can do for a person, isn’t it?

Paul is going to something tonight–he told me, but I forgot; some kind of art show he’s attending with his board president–so they’re having an early dinner first, which will leave me here alone with Sparky for a few hours later on–probably around the time the thunderstorms are predicted to hit the hood. I also want to do some more deep cleaning on the place; I need to move some furniture around, but getting all the shit various cats over the years have knocked behind or underneath them out. (I told you, I have not been as thorough with the housecleaning chores this decade as I used to be, and I wasn’t joking at all!) I also would like to work on a newsletter some more this weekend, maybe even get it sent out later today or tomorrow (I kind of went overboard with them over the holiday weekend and need to space the next ones out some more), and I do want to work on the book and some short stories today, too–we’ll see how it all goes, though, won’t we?

Okay, on that note I am heading into the spice mines. I am going to take my coffee into the living room and watch some news before I get cleaned up and going on this fine day. It looks beautiful outside my windows, and it’s not that humid because the windows aren’t covered in condensation. So, out with the trash and the recycling, too!

See you tomorrow morning!

Il Duomo in Florence from the air. I love Florence.

Roll Out The Red Carpet

Macavity Nominations 2026 (for works published in 2025)

Best Mystery Novel

Crooks by Lou Berney (William Morrow)

King of Ashes by S.A. Cosby (Flatiron Books)

Clown Town by Mick Herron (Soho Crime)

River of Lies by James L’Etoile (Oceanview Publishing)

The White Crow by Michael Robotham (Scribner)

All This Could Be Yours by Hank Phillippi Ryan (Minotaur Books)

Best First Mystery 

Savvy Summers and the Sweet Potato Crimes by Sandra Jackson-Opoku (Minotaur Books)

Dead Money by Jakob Kerr (Bantam Books)

Voices of the Elysian Fields by Michael Rigg (Level Best Books)

Stillwater by Tanya Scott (Grove Atlantic)

History Lessons by Zoe B. Wallbrook (Soho Press)

Best Mystery Nonfiction

Vacations Can Be Murder: A True Crime Lover’s Travel Guide to New England by Dawn M. Barclay (Level Best Books)

Blood and the Badge: The Mafia, Two Killer Cops, and a Scandal That Shocked the Nation by Michael Cannell (Minotaur Books)

Murderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial Killers by Caroline Fraser (Penguin Press)

V Is for Venom: Agatha Christie’s Chemicals of Death by Kathryn Harkup (Bloomsbury Sigma)

Edgar Allan Poe: A Life by Richard Kopley (University of Virginia Press)

Cooler than Cool: The Life and Work of Elmore Leonard by C.M. Kushins (Mariner Books)

Best Mystery Short Story

“Six-Armed Robbery” by Ashley-Ruth M. Bernier (in Donna Andrews Presents Malice Domestic: Mystery Most Humorous, edited by John Betancourt, Carla Coupe, and Michael Bracken, Wildside Press)

“Hollywood Prometheus” by Christa Faust (in Crime Ink: Iconic: An Anthology of Crime Fiction Inspired by Queer Icons, edited by John Copenhaver and Salem West, Bywater Books)

“Finding Jimmy Baldwin” by Cheryl Head (in Crime Ink: Iconic: An Anthology of Crime Fiction Inspired by Queer Icons, edited by John Copenhaver and Salem West, Bywater Books)

“The Devil Himself” by Vaseem Khan (in Double Crossing Van Dine, edited by Donna Andrews, Greg Herren, and Art Taylor, Crippen & Landru Publishers)

“The Skies Are Red” by Richie Narvaez (in On Fire and Under Water: A Climate Change Crime Fiction Anthology, edited by Curtis Ippolito, Rock and a Hard Place Press)

“Julius Katz Draws a Straight Flush” by Dave Zeltserman (Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Sept/Oct 2025)

Sue Feder Memorial Historical Mystery

Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens (Level Best Books)

A Daughter’s Guide to Mothers and Murder by Dianne Freeman (Kensington Books)

City Lights by Claire M. Johnson (Level Best Books)

The Case of the Christie Conspiracy by Kelly Oliver (Boldwood Books)

The Case of the Missing Maid by Rob Osler (Kensington Books)

No. 10 Doyers Street by Radha Vatsal (Level Best Books)

***

Macavity: The Mystery Cat by T.S. Eliot

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw—
For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime—Macavity’s not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air—
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not there!

Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square—
But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not there!

He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s.
And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair—
Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair—
But it’s useless to investigate—Macavity’s not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
‘It must have been Macavity!’—but he’s a mile away.
You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs;
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place—MACAVITY WASN’T THERE!
And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

Macavity!!!

All Fired Up

Well, it may be Thursday morning, but this is not my last day in the office for the week. We have an in-person department meeting on Friday, so I have to get up and come in. That’s fine, really, I don’t mind putting my time in at the office tomorrow. I won’t have to stay past two, and then I can run some errands on the way home from work and hopefully, get everything I may need so I don’t have to leave again over the weekend and can just stay inside. In the cool. Out of the heat. One of the nice things about doing chores every night and in the morning before I leave for work is that all the cleaning I used to let accumulate in the sink, laundry room and on the counters no longer has to be done first thing on Saturday morning….so I can maybe do some other cleaning that I never get to–like the floors and the stairs. The laundry room shelves need organizing and straightening, too–and I should also go through all the kitchen cabinets and throw away everything that has expired without being used.

And I can also spend some more time writing and reading on the weekends, too.

I slept well last night again, but this morning I hit snooze one more time than usual (to Sparky’s chagrin), but it was more about being comfortable than wanting more sleep. I have the most comfortable bed, and of course my incredibly soft and heavy pile of blankets. It’s supposed to rain again today–it did at the office during the day, but today’s rain is forecast for this late afternoon/earaly evening, which means coming home during a torrential rain (potentially; New Orleans weather forecasts in the summer are completely unreliable), but that’s fine. I don’t even mind having to go into the office tomorrow, either.

Paul didn’t get home until it was too late to watch anything (board meeting), so I did some chores when I got home yesterday before providing a very needy Sparky with a lap/bed for him so he could feel safe and secure again. I did work on the book again yesterday, writing a thousand words and getting a very strong first draft of the first chapter done, which needs a further polish but for now I am content to let it stand as is and move on to finishing a strong draft of chapter two. I’m not writing at my old break-neck pace; I can’t remember the last time I did three thousand words or more in a single day. But that’s also okay; I’m not on any deadline outside of my personal goal of solid first draft by Labor Day, and being able to take my time instead of rushing through a draft is eminently more satisfying, too, and I do think I like this way of writing better. I have more free time than I have had in almost sixteen years, and my body seems to be, if not completely recovered from everything, at least I feel better physically than I have in years. I also like this going into the office a little later every morning thing I’ve been doing this week. I feel more awake and alive and motivated getting there at eight rather than seven thirty, and in the afternoons I don’t feel exhausted…and the days seem to pass much faster than they used to.

The Macavity Award nominations have been released, and was delighted to see three of the short story nominees I have a connection to; Cheryl Head and Christa Faust for their marvelous stories in Crime Ink: Iconic, and from Double Crossing Van Dine, Vaseem Khan’s excellent story “The Devil Himself.” This is the second time one of our contributors from that anthology has been nominated for an award; Barb Goffman earned an Agatha nomination for her story. I am always in good company when I am in an anthology, which is always thrilling for me. Rob Osler also landed a nomination for Best Historical, which is awesome! My friend group is always well represented on awards lists, you know? #ilovemylife.

It’s a good life, isn’t it? 🙂 I also got my copy of the latest in Rob’s series in the mail. Oh, so many excellent books in my TBR pile! I really need to get back to reading seriously. Maybe an hour after work every night? I can read while Sparky dozes, after all. I think maybe unconsciously my mind has closed off answering emails and reading so I can focus entirely on writing fiction? Stranger things have happened in my fevered, chemically imbalanced brain.

And on that note, y’all, I am ending this entry and heading into the spice mines. Have yourself a merry little Thursday, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be here again tomorrow morning. Till then!

Much as I love New Orleans, I love Venetian carnival costumes the most.

One Love

Tuesday and we somehow managed to survive Monday, did we not? It was weird for me, because I now have to go into the office later now that I am the only person working in the clinic (don’t ask), because I have to stay until five now; my other person would have taken the last client so I could get out earlier. I now have to rearrange my life to comply with the ability to stay later, but it’s not the end of the world and there are always worse things; there are always worse things possible.

I finally sent out my newsletter on Jordan Harper’s A Violent Masterpiece, which you can read by clicking the title there. It’s a most excellent book, written brilliantly and the story etches itself into your brain with acid as you read…it’s about terrible people doing terrible things and the people who help them get away with it. You know, like Hollywood itself and well, the rest of the world, too…which is a nice segue into the next paragraph.

I saw a news report Sunday about a missing eighteen-year-old Black community college football player named Nolan Wells. He’d gone on a boat trip with friends from Ocean Springs to Horn Island, one of the Alabama-Mississippi barrier islands along the coast. The picture that was shown of young Nolan showed him with three white kids about his age…and as soon as I saw that picture, my right eyebrow arched upward, my eyes narrowed and my head tilted. My initial reaction was to be very skeptical of the story being told by “his friends”–they couldn’t find him, thought he’d left with someone else (but didn’t take his cell phone…sure, Klan) and it wasn’t until later that his parents began worrying about him when he didn’t come home. I hoped I was wrong, that he had gotten off the island with someone else and forgot his phone, which happens, and he’d turn up.

Well, they found Nolan Wells’ body yesterday out there on Horn Island, which opens up a whole lot of questions and his so-called friends are looking mighty suspicious, if you ask me. Horn Island is, at best, a barrier island and at worst, a sandbar slightly above sea level with few trees, no houses or anything, really, besides sea oats, grass and white sand. I will be following this story–just as I still am following the Noah Presgrove case over in Oklahoma. Both stories involve mysterious deaths of athletic young men, and a group of people that weren’t their friends. Of course, there’s a racial component as well in Nolan’s case–and his “friends” have all lawyered up. I’ve not checked the story again yet this morning, but it saddens me that a bright young life has been silenced, and because it’s Ocean Springs, Mississippi, nothing will be done about his death. Apparently, one of his “friends” has a mom who is a local judge and another is connected to local law enforcement, so there’s no telling what these young sociopaths have already gotten away with.

And no, I am not giving spoiled young white boys the benefit of the doubt. They are very dangerous in groups.

And the World Cup dream has died for the USMNT, in what was an apparently horribly embarrassing loss to Belgium last night. I knew that once the Baron Harkonnen smeared himself all over it, they were going to lose; everything the Harkonnens touch dies. I do think it’s hilarious that evangelicals–who would be reading the augurs against Biden or Harris or Obama had they the same track record of destroying everything–aren’t seeing God’s hand in any of this–especially the horror that was Saturday on the national mall.

Sigh. But good for Belgium, and now I can pull for Norway and Erling Haalang completely guilt-free, at least. I love the big Viking!

We finished watching Sugar last night, highly recommend, and we’re going to start season 2 tonight. We also watched an episode of a documentary series The American Experiment, which again is about the lead up to the Revolutionary War and the war itself. I did do some work on the book yesterday, but I also worked on a newsletter to send out later this week, if I’ve not already overdone it with the newsletters over the holiday weekend. Three was probably a bit excessive…although I am writing a counterpoint to that disgusting homophobic op-ed from a self-loathing Christian queen; bitch, you don’t speak for any of us, quisling, and how very fucking dare you? I think that’s a theme I can work with in my Julia Sugarbaker mode.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Taco Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back on mid-week Wednesday morning. Till then!

The image displays the magnificent Grand Staircase of the Palais Garnier (Opéra Garnier) in Paris, France. Designed by architect Charles Garnier, this opulent 19th-century Beaux-Arts masterpiece features a sweeping marble double staircase, gilded balconies, and grand chandeliers.

Tell It To Her

Monday morning and it’s back to the office with me today. It was a lovely weekend, and I had a nice day yesterday. I wrote–working on a short story, a newsletter, and most importantly THE BOOK–and did some things around the house but mostly took it easy. I also dipped into the book I am reading and was charmed instantly, as I knew I would be. We also started watching the new season of Citadel, but I barely remember the first one. It’s very action-packed and moves very quickly, and also has a very top-notch cast. I slept well last night and am feeling good this morning, honestly. The kitchen and apartment are a bit messy, but that’s okay. I am pleased with how this holiday weekend went, and looking forward to seeing Dad this weekend. I’ve still not picked out what I want to listen to in the car, and I didn’t get a newsletter sent out over the weekend, either.

Looks like we’re done with rain, at least for now. No rain for the entire week in the forecast, and I imagine Alabama is going to be miserably hot this weekend–and I must remember to wear a hat when I am outside. (And yes, they are having dangerous heat levels in Alabama, too; we’re currently in a heat advisory and I suspect this is going to be a long and miserable summer, and not just in New Orleans.) I have to try to get things in order since I am going away for a couple of days–nothing major or long, just driving up Thursday and back Saturday–but I hate coming home to a messy, disorganized house. I’ll try to touch up on things Thursday morning before I leave (planning on getting on the road around noon), and I doubt I’ll do much, if any, writing while I am gone. I probably won’t post here until Sunday morning, so prepare for a brief holiday from yours truly’s mad typing on here. I think I am going to listen to Margot Douaihy’s Blessed Water in the car going and coming. I blurbed it and read it in galley form several years ago, but all I remember (that illness memory issue again) is that I loved it–Margot is an exceptionally skilled artist–and I want to read the next Sister Holiday, so I am going to revisit it in the car so I can write about it as a Pride selection–and books like the ones Margot writes make me very proud to be a queer crime writer. (It’s been a while since I read the first one–which blew me completely away.)

And I am writing a noir, so it might be helpful to read one of the most literary noir writers of all time. It certainly can’t hurt.

I’m not sure about what I wrote on the book yesterday, if I am going to try to be completely honest. I feel like maybe I started down a possibly wrong path yesterday; but I could be wrong. It might be something that needs to go when it’s time for brutal edits, but I also think it’s important that my character actually have a kind of “safe space”–wouldn’t it make sense for a closeted gay actor in 1950s Hollywood to create a place where he can get away from all the lies and bullshit and Hollywood nonsense? I just worry it may soften him? Or…maybe this part can make how he is in the other parts of the book even more powerful? Living a constant lie is horrible and warps people (look at Lindsey Graham, for one prominent example), not to mention the constant worry about blackmail or another queer selling you out to save themselves–the closet makes people do horrible, horrible things, and that might be the underlying theme I am playing with here: the closet warps and twists people; fear can make you do some crazy-ass things.

And I kind of like that these kinds of thoughts are coming into my head. The loss of anxiety has helped enormously with that; I think I also used to write fast partly so my imposter syndrome wouldn’t have time to kick into gear and make me doubt myself. I like that now, when I question myself about my writing, it’s about choices and character and theme, rather than you’ve got a nerve thinking you can write something like this, which is what it used to be and was quite horrible. I’ve also recognized that I can’t really force it as much as I used to; I’m not sure what that means for my mental state and my tendency to self-deprecate, which was always so goddamned self-defeating (the thought process was if I am humble and play down what I do I can’t be offended by criticism because I am harder on myself than anyone else); that was always one of the biggest problems I had with coming up with coping mechanisms to protect myself from anxiety; it’s hard to explain how freeing it is to not have that making me tense and tightly wound all of the time.

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

An “allée,” aka a road bounded by trees or bushes. Spooky looking with the ground fog.

Just Like Me

And here we are on Sunday morning. It rained yesterday and was damp and humid all day. It looks like it rained overnight, too. I slept well and got up early this morning, as I had hoped I would. Sparky somehow knows when I want to get up early–he let me sleep late the last two mornings, even if I was already awake when he decided to get me up this morning. Yesterday was actually kind of nice, to be honest. I did do some writing and organizing yesterday, which was awesome, and I hope to do more today and, since I am up so early, perhaps do some reading as well. I only have to work three days this week because I am leaving for Alabama on Thursday (be back on Saturday), and of course next week will be yet another holiday weekend. I am getting rather spoiled, methinks.

We were really lucky as far as Arthur and the other storms he spawned in his wake are concerned; I just saw how so much of the Gulf Coast and the southern parts of Mississippi got slammed with flooding, and I do have to drive through that part of the state on Thursday on my way north. I haven’t yet decided what I am going to listen to in the car, either. Since it’s still Pride, I am thinking maybe something on the queer side, rather than my usual car stalwarts (Carol Goodman, Donna Andrews, Laurie King, Lisa Unger), this time around. Something to ponder, for sure. I’ve also not been as motivated this year, for some reason, to write Pride essays for my newsletter–and I think I actually just figured it out; using Pride Month to talk about queer issues, books, culture and experience is limiting, because–just like African-American History Month in February, I worry I will only do that during Pride, and that’s wrong. Just as I read marginalized writers all year long, I should write about queer issues all year and shouldn’t just make it about Pride Month. Du-uh.

Sometimes it takes me a minute. I am kind of oblivious that way, most of the time. (I also started writing this and then got sucked into clips of World Cup tourists having a lovely time here for much longer than necessary…but I also had the whole morning, and I’ve also been fighting Sparky for my desk chair all morning, too (even now as I type this he is lying underneath my desk, waiting for me to get up again). I’ve had some toast and a piece of coffee cake, and might need to have something else before I take my pills and get cleaned up and move into the living room. And I have to go back to the office tomorrow, heavy sigh. Not a terrible thing, actually, especially since I feel good and rested and recharged this morning. I am resisting the urge to do literally nothing for the rest of the day, which wouldn’t be a good thing. But dear Lord, is it ever tempting to think about! I have moved to the easy chair from my desk; I got up for more coffee and the look Sparky gave me from my desk chair, once he’d moved into it literally the moment I got up? Yeah, you can have the chair, Mr. Man.

We finished America’s Sweethearts, and yeah, not nearly as engaging as the earlier seasons. From there, we moved on to the latest Harlan Coben show on Netflix, I Will Find You, which was thoroughly engaging, had intense and insane twists and turns, and was also very well-acted. You really can never go wrong with a Harlan Coben show, seriously, or book. Harlan’s the best, and absolutely deserves every cent of his insane success.

Maybe I should have been nicer. Nah, that would have been exhausting because that’s just not who I am.

Yes, I did write yesterday, in case you were wondering, It felt good and so I just went with it. I also gathered up all my journal notes for the book–long overdue–and I also found all the scans of book notes from all the older journals (I’d forgotten I’d already done this before–the joys of the impaired memory I’ve had most of this decade), which will make the book easier to write. It really does help to get organized. I’m still not finished organizing, either, but I know I can make some excellent progress today. I also need to do a bit of chores today, too, but I want to get some writing done again today. I also worked on a couple of short stories yesterday, which was also kind of awesome. It feels amazing to be writing again, and all this free time is also amazing, which is partly why I am feeling so lazy. I always had so much else to do all the time that writing always felt like my lowest priority, and now that all I have to do, besides my chores and every day things and my job, is write and relax, it’s wonderful. I don’t have to be so organized and busy all the time, and I don’t need to feel guilty for doing things other than writing anymore, which is lovely.

And so on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Sunday, and I will be back tomorrow morning!

Out a Touch

Tuesday morning, after a busy and overcast Monday. I had to do my bimonthly injection yesterday morning, which went without a hitch, and this time I wouldn’t have even remembered it was coming up if I hadn’t seen my specialist last week. (This is good news, because this was the first time since starting doing this last August that I couldn’t tell about two weeks ahead of time that it was coming due. Huzzah!) It’s nice to know that I can manage the chronic illness I have to live with until I die. I slept decently; very relaxing and restful, but I kept waking up every now and then. I also wasn’t terribly hungry yesterday after the injection, either, but don’t know if those two things are related. We were busy yesterday in the clinic, too, and will be again today before two light days and a slide into a long weekend, which will be lovely.

I forgot to mention that we also watched that documentary, Maternal Instinct, over the weekend and can I just say, what a horrible bunch of people on every level! Everyone involved was essentially a piece of shit. (All I could think about while watching was how conservatives always paint small town/farm country life as “real America“–as opposed to, you know, the urban dwellers who actually drive the engine of the economy? Remember Joe Sixpack and Joe the Plumber and other “real Americans” Sarah Palin and her ilk pushed on us relentlessly? Fuck off now and forever. You just know who everyone in that documentary voted for–you can smell it through the television.) The young woman was a narcissistic psychopath with an unhinged grip on reality. Everyone who enabled her cons–the greedy boyfriend who saw dollar signs, his friends, his mother–are all at least partly responsible for the murder of that poor young woman and her baby. They went along with everything, even past when they knew better, because they thought there would eventually be a pay off, even as that possibility became more and more remote. Horrible, really. (Small towns and rural areas are a lot more like Peyton Place than anyone ever wants to admit. Grace Metalious was right, and she’s still right.)

I was also enormously disappointed to see the San Francisco Giants, of all the MLB teams, welcomed homophobia into the dugout for Pride Night. Speaking of right-wing bullshit, am I right? Oooh, those poor big men who get paid a shit ton of money to play a children’s game had their little delicate masculine he-man fee-fees hurt, and anyone who believes that had anything to do with Christianity is literally too stupid to engage with. It’s pretty sad that we look up to athletes as role models in the first place when so many of them clearly aren’t (Carter Hart, anyone?), but it’s hilarious to me how many men’s masculinity is so fragile and weak that it turns toxic, like those four needle-dicks who’ve never brought a woman to orgasm and never will and moreover, wouldn’t care. We learned a lot about the Giants organization and their players on Pride Night, and as far as I am concerned I hope they never win a pennant ever again. The team condoned it, so everyone from the owners to the batboys are complicit in homophobia. Nice look for a team that represents SAN FUCKING FRANCISCO.1

Remind me why Pride isn’t necessary anymore?

I was also highly amused to see that Hollywood is doing what it always does: missing the point while trying to squeeze every last penny possible out of a trend. The enormous success of Heated Rivalry was a huge surprise to them all–and it wouldn’t have been what it was had an American network been involved…they’re so afraid of gay sexuality and sensuality they would have turned Shane into a side piece and Ilya would end up with a woman…and his relationship with women would gotten a lot more air time. So what lesson did Hollywood learn from the gay hockey show? People want more hockey romance! Hockey is the key! So, instead of more gay romances, we’re getting a shit ton of straight ones about hockey. And if the new straight hockey romances (which won’t have any of the sexual assaults and misogyny straight hockey players are known for–I’ve not forgotten the US Olympic Men’s Team’s shenanigans, have you?) fail? They’ll consider Heated Rivalry an outlier.

Juneteenth is this weekend, and it’s more than just another federal holiday. I guarantee every white racist bitching and whining about it plans to not take the day off with pay and is going to work all day, right? If you take the day off with pay you’ve surrendered your right to complain about it. See how that works? You’re free to not participate. Do some heavy labor, that’ll teach the wokesters!

Honestly, the decline and fall of the American empire is so deserved.

I did do some writing yesterday, so hurray for that, and I hope to get some done this evening as well. I need to do some chores, though, before I can chill out for the evening.

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines for me. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and here’s hoping it includes tacos! See you tomorrow!

  1. The funniest thing to me is straight white male homophobes, always so scared a gay man might actually, hit on them or something, are inevitably the ugliest unfuckable things you’ll ever see–and you know they don’t wash their ass. Dream on, bitches. ↩︎

Promises in the Dark

Monday and back to the office with me today. Friday is a holiday, which is lovely, and the next two weeks are short ones for me, too.

I think we’re going to be busy in the clinic this week and short-handed, but it’s a four day week with a lovely holiday on Friday. Yesterday was nice and relaxing. I wrote a bit, read a bit, and cleaned up a bit. I made my mash-up Swedish meatballs stroganoff, and this batch turned out well–even though I forgot to put shallots in the sauce or garnish with diced green onions. I also used the Maldon salt and beef bone broth, too, which also kicked in the flavor even more. They will make wonderful leftovers for work today, too. They always taste better the second day. Lucky me! I also slept well, and feel rested an ready for a new work week. Huzzah? My coffee is good, and on the way home from work tonight I have to get a few things at the grocery store. The car has a full tank so I don’t need to worry about gas until I leave next week. We are pretty well-stocked over all, and of course, I get paid again on Wednesday.

I published another newsletter, about The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which you can read by clicking right here. I have a few more entries to do this month, and I am thinking about writing one to close out the month that will help lead into more essays about masculinity and being a sexual suspect in these United States. According to the weather report, we are supposed to be inundated with rain this morning, and the rest of the day is going to be cloudy and overcast. I took out the trash last night, and gasped when I went outside, the air was so damned thick and damp and hot and heavy. We also binged the second season of Running Point, which is kind of Ted Lasso-like if the show primarily focused on Rebecca, and we really enjoyed it. We also watched this week’s episode of Cape Fear, which is very well-cast and very well done. I’m not really sure where this all is going–it’s not the plot I remember from the book or the movies, but my memory isn’t the best, but so far it seems like the only similarities is the wife is a lawyer who convicted Max Cady (instead of the husband) and they have a son as well as the daughter. Juliette Lewis popped in for this most recent episode, which was, honestly, a nice touch.

I’m not loving the show, though. It’s shot very well, the actors are stellar, but…it’s not gripping me the way a thriller should, but maybe it’s because it’s a slow-burn? I’ll keep watching, of course, for the cast and the production values but they need to get this train moving soon.

I also wrote some this weekend. I started two more projects–just to get them out of my mind–and made some progress on some short stories I am working on. It’s nice, so very nice, to be into creating and writing again. This is what I love–not the conventions or book signings or promotion or any of the marketing side of being a writer; but maybe that will change with the anxiety finally under control. I also think I’m doing good work; I’m trying to write in the present tense more than the past, which is my comfort zone and my default; I always have to go back and correct the tenses.

I feel good this morning, too. It’s going to be a good week, at least it already feels like a good one.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader!

Prisoner of Love

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week, which is pretty cool. Yesterday was a pretty good day, really. I woke up several times during the night, sadly, but feel pretty rested and awake for this late in the week. I guess I am finally getting used to getting up early, after all these years. Then again, the fatigue issues were always related to the ulcerative colitis, so I definitely had the wrong impression about being in my sixties. AN enormous relief there, you know. After work I came straight home and turned myself into a cat bed for Sparky (who is not the lithe kitten he once was but still thinks he is) and we watched this week’s episode of Widow’s Bay and started season two of Running Point, whose first season we enjoyed before going to bed. I didn’t do any writing or reading yesterday, but hope to get back in that proverbial saddle again today. I also have to run some errands tonight on the way home–mail, pick up a prescription–and then, I am hoping I won’t have to leave the house very much over the weekend. Next weekend is a four day one, and then I am driving up to Alabama later this month to meet Dad for their anniversary. And then it’s July, and the dog days of summer have truly begun here.

And before you know it, it’s football season again.

I do need to set some goals for this summer, and all of them have to do with writing. I need to clean out the storage attic sooner rather than later, which is a good project for the summer. I also want to get some short stories out on sub, and I want to get this draft of the book finished, so I can get going on the next Scotty–Twelfth Night Knavery–by the end of this year and maybe get that done as well. I also want to get some essays for the newsletter finished this weekend; I am behind schedule but since I have set said schedule and the only person disappointed by my failure is me–and it really doesn’t bother me all that much. But I also don’t need to sit around all weekend wasting time, either.

I recently came across yet another catastrophic hurricane to hit New Orleans; the 1893 Cheniere Caminada hurricane of 1893, which destroyed the town it’s named after in Jefferson Parish when it came ashore. So many destructive hurricanes have come through here since the French built the first hut on the banks of the river way back in the eighteenth century–there has to be a book about the hurricane history of New Orleans, doesn’t there? As much as I would love to read one, I don’t want to write one! If I knew how to do research properly, once I was retired I could write some marvelous nonfiction because there are so many archives here in the city; New Orleans has always done its best to document itself, even if the original sources may be unreliable. (I think of the time wasted reading the old books about New Orleans history, which weren’t trustworthy; men like Robert Tallant and Harnett Kane and others, wrote horribly racist histories which were all mostly lore and legend rather than actual fact. They were entertaining, sure, but oh my GOD the racism is abhorrent.)

I’m thinking about writing a new series, honestly; set in a small town down in the bayou with supernatural creatures and murders. I know, it sounds like a ripoff of Charlaine–which is why this idea, which I’ve had since the 1990s (and more of a Dark Shadows riff rather than Charlaine’s books), and last night I did figure out how to bring the main character to this spooky parish down the bayou.

I also need to get the print-on-demand for Bourbon Street Blues done at some point, and then get the ebook of Jackson Square Jazz (and the pod) up, and I also want to get a short story collection up, too.

SO much to do, occasionally feel like I want to do it all, and of course I wind up taking more down time than I should and….yeah, whatever.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, and I thank you as always for stopping by. See you tomorrow!

Maybe dreams can come true and I will see Egypt before I die! An aerial view of the Luxor temple.

Hell is for Children

Wednesday morning and somehow we’re already halfway through this week; how did that happen already? IT didn’t hurt that I left work early yesterday. The taping of Susan’s show went well1; it’s always nice when someone who has chaired the National Book Awards/Pulitzers for fiction multiple times likes your work, you know? It’s always lovely to get affirmation, which isn’t something you get a lot in this business. I suppose royalties are affirmations, but…they’re kind of cold and emotion-less, you know? It also helps that the work is going well for me now, too. My visit to the stomach doctor also went well; he was most pleased with how I am doing and how my labs turned out, which was lovely and marvelous, and now I don’t have to worry about him for another six months. The Skyrizi is working well, and my plaque psoriasis is also gone; thank you, side effect of Skyrizi. I told him in the last month I’ve been feeling much better–not tired, not fatigues, not sore or achy–and he said that was about right; about a year to recover when I was that sick. My next injection is due Monday, and were it not on my calendar I would have completely forgot; I used to be able to tell it was coming because I’d have a little distress two weeks or so ahead of time. This is the first time I couldn’t tell the shot was coming due, which is also very cool. Huzzah!

I’ve also been invited to speak at this year’s Louisiana Book Festival, which is pretty cool. It’s been a long time since I’ve done the LBF; I don’t think I have since we started going to Baton Rouge for LSU games? I really should start checking into other state book festivals in the South; Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas; does Tennessee have one? Anyway, those are much easier to get to and more affordable than the mystery conventions.

We finished The Boroughs last night, which was a nice. self-contained series but was also left open for a second season. The acting was superb, and it was so lovely to see actors of a certain age carrying a show rather than having them shoved into some sort of showy supporting role. We’re also really enjoying Widow’s Bay, which is amazing and fun and funny and incredibly well-written. We’ve never seen the last season of Stranger Things or the most recent Bridgerton, but maybe over the next few weeks we can get that watched and out of the way. We also have to finish The Comeback; maybe this weekend will do for that. There’s also new seasons and new shows dropping next week that look interesting. This weekend I want to get really reading on Lev Rosen’s Rough Pages, and I think I may revisit Celebrity–primarily to talk about Mack Crawford, his sexuality, and gay representation in a book/mini-series in the early 1980s–also the era of Stephen Carrington’s sexuality on Dynasty.

I feel pretty good this morning. The daily rains have taken some time off–rumor has it we’re in for an incredibly horribly hot few days this week–but the rain will make its return next week, while the rest of the country is enjoying a cold front. I feel rested and like I can get a lot done today. I was thinking about running errands tonight after work, but it can wait until tomorrow after work, methinks. Especially if it’s going to be miserably hot outside.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have yourself a lovely little Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I shall return on the morrow. Till then!

Happy? Angry? Nice body, in any case.
  1. I also got to talk about John D. MacDonald and his environmentalism and hurricane books, and wishing that we had that kind of writer going after Louisiana’s politicians and corporations. ↩︎