Tag: Bury Me in Shadows

Help Me Make It Thru The Night

Here it is Saturday, so this must be Alabama.

Yesterday was chill. It was raining pretty hard when I got up—it had rained through the night as well—and so I just kind of took my time getting ready and doing chores before it was time to take Sparky to the vet (I always worry he thinks he’s being abandoned again, which makes me terribly sad), ran some errands—which included picking up my copy of the new Jordan Harper, A Violent Masterpiece, which I am excited about reading—before heading out on the highway looking for adventure. It started raining again once I got on I-10 East, and this downpour continued with very low visibility, until I got past Hattiesburg on 59. It continued raining on me the entire way—sprinkling and light fog once I crossed the state line into Alabama, and the mapping app took me on a tour of rural Alabama shortly after crossing the state line. But it was snug and cozy in the car for me while the rain battered the car and I prudently put on my hazard lights to make me more visible to cars coming up behind me. It took about six hours, total, which is what it usually does, honestly, so I clearly didn’t lose any time to the rain. I felt pretty certain that it had slowed me down, but clearly it didn’t. Go figure.

I also was greatly enjoying listening to Alafair Burke’s superb The Note, which is simply brilliant in its premise and structured beautifully, as are all of Alafair’s forays into fiction. I’ve been reading her work for a very long time now—it really is startling how quickly time slipped through my fingers—and I am absolutely loving this one. I’ll finish it on the way south on Monday when we car pool down to the panhandle.

Well, now it’s evening and I’m feeling exhausted. Obviously, I didn’t finish this and post it; I got caught up in the swing of the day and there wasn‘t an opportunity until now, as I am preparing my weary body to head to bed for the night. I had an odd night’s sleep; I tossed and turned and never felt really asleep last night. I woke up at four, but went back to sleep, going into a very deep sleep for a few hours and sleeping later than I had intended. So, I got off on the wrong foot this morning, and kind of felt behind, or off-kilter, all day. We spent most of the day driving around from cemetery to cemetery, removing faded or weather worn plastic flowers from tombstones and side vases and replacing them with new ones (I kind of think of these little trips as Family Cemetery Tours, which is macabre but also a bit funny). I kind of like going to the cemeteries, to be honest. There’s so much history in a cemetery, and there’s a story behind every tombstone—oh, this man shot his wife and then himself, they had five teenaged sons; or why is the mother and son buried together, but no husband/father or wife; or—you get the idea. Some of these cemeteries are as old as the county, with Civil War veterans and a few Revolutionary War soldiers buried in them. Some headstones are so old they have been worn smooth by the weather and are unreadable. So many children, before vaccines and medications. Why did this woman never marry, in a time when that was unusual? Why are some graves—really old ones—covered with a slab of cement, or has a little triangular shaped metal tent on top of them? If this was to protect the corpses from scavenging animals, why aren’t all the graves from that time period done the same way? Naturally, standing in the cemetery on a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon in rural Alabama, my creativity started going wild.

I do feel like I do my best work when I write about Alabama, but at the same time so much of it is so steeped in the county and in the family history I am hesitant to publish any of it; partly because it feels so personal to me, and secondly, because I didn’t grow up here. I think that sense of not being where I was supposed to be, where we should have been, also played a factor in my always feeling like an outsider. I am of Alabama, but I am also not of Alabama, so even when I write about Alabama I feel like a fraud. Every step of the way writing Bury Me in Shadows I considered pulling the plug and writing something else to turn into my publisher to fulfill the contract I’d signed. There are so many Alabama stories and novel ideas in my files; I did publish another one last year, “The Spirit Tree,” and one of my personal favorites of my own short stories, “Smalltown Boy” is also one of my Alabama stories. I would love to tell all the stories I was told growing up, about the history of the county and legends of lore of my family history. So what if some (most) of it wasn’t true and were simply tales my grandmother reinvented for me? But that can work, too—I’d be writing fiction anyway, right? I used her story about the Lost Boys for Bury Me in Shadows, after all, and that worked out okay, didn’t it?

I really do need to get back to writing, don’t I?

So now I am going to go to bed. I am not entirely sure when I will be here again, but I also didn’t think I would get any entries done while I am away, so who knew? Take care till I am back again!

El Castillo at Chichen Itza. I was there over thirty years ago and loved it.

The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA

First day of vacation, and Sparky let me sleep late. He even slept in the bed with me, which he never does. And wow, did I sleep well. The weather turned yesterday; it started raining in the morning and continued to do so, off and on, all day. It was still sprinkling when I got home from the office, and we had torrential rains and thunderstorms last night. I was a bit tired when I got home last night–I spent the day at the office making sure I didn’t leave any loose ends that might need my input dangling before my vacation. I watched the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, reunion part two, and I really was…well, mostly bored. As I watched, I kept thinking I don’t like any of these women other than Rachel and Jennifer, and the rest can be gladly retired. I also don’t care about any of their conflicts, so why was I watching? I’d skipped most of the season, only checking in as the season was drawing to a close, and honestly, I don’t feel like I missed anything. I don’t really watch any of the Housewives regularly anymore (outside of Salt Lake City), and I used to watch all of them. I also have to admit that if not for SLC, I probably wouldn’t watch any of them anymore.

Today’s forecast is for rain all day, and I am a bit nervous to check the weather along my route; but I’ll be listening to my book and snug inside the car. I just have to watch out for other drivers…and of course, I’ll be driving through the countryside of Alabama in the dark yet again. It really is creepy. I have to pick up around here and pack, get cleaned up, load the car and take Sparky to the Cat Practice. I am also going to swing uptown and pick up a prescription and the mail on the way out of town. Jazz Fest was canceled yesterday; that’s how bad the weather was here. I got stuck in Jazz Fest traffic on the way home and was more than a bit annoyed; it took over a half an hour for me to get home from work, and yes, I was worn out by the time I got home. Sparky was also very loving and needy when I got home, so hence it was to my easy chair with me to get caught up on the news (bleargh). I did watch some more history and lore and legends of Alabama and Kansas, and started thinking about writing history once again. I’ve actually created this entire universe of my fictional county in Alabama (based primarily on the county we’re from) that goes back to the early statehood days–I love the idea of my cursed county, whose history was written in blood–and maybe someday I’ll start working on that some more. There are any number of short stories, novellas, and book ideas set there that I’ve either made notes on, or started writing; I’ve also never told the story of how Blackwood Hall (from Bury Me in Shadows) burned during the war. There are legends that were talked about in that book, but nobody really knew for sure what happened to the house and the family that remained there while the menfolk were off at war.

And of course, going to Alabama today probably has a lot to do with why I’ve been thinking about it so much lately. You think?

I have to admit I was highly amused by the Royal visit to Washington this week. At first, I was annoyed that Charles and Camilla were coming, and thus legitimizing this corrupt regime. I’ve never been a fan of either (I loved Diana, and will shred and block for Diana slander), and hated how they seemed to win out in the end. I also figured if any British royals had to do it, it might as well be them. But…I have to say I was highly amused. The gift of a bellend with his name on it was simply too delicious to be borne, and the fact he was excited like a toddler on Christmas morning to get it made it even more hilarious. Too stupid to know when you’re being mocked is certainly a look–and the fact that the Brits knew he’d be thrilled about being mocked to his face? Chef’s kiss.

How sad is it that a foreign royal had to give a pro-America pro-democracy speech to our Congress to remind them of their jobs, their sacred duty, and what their role is to standing ovations, which from the Reich Right was either proof they didn’t know what he was talking about, or it was just politeness from the “fuck your feelings” crowd; who knows? But they certainly have jumped on board with gerrymandering once our illegal and illegitimate Supreme Court okayed it. They are all such despicably corrupt monsters–Alito, Roberts, Barrett, Gorsuch, and the other two scumbags–but the Right has been pushing fascism since the Reagan years, if not longer, and you can miss me with your praise for that prick, too.

I’m still angry about the VRA, and white people continue to be the absolute worst. I saw a Iowa farmer (also a Trump voter would be my guess, because he never mentioned once who he voted for–because anyone who didn’t vote for this is very upfront about it because they are angry) whining about his farming subsidies being cut–guess he’s not too happy about the austerity and billionaire tax cuts he voted for. But isn’t time he stopped being a welfare queen suckling at the teats of the US taxpayers? Are you really so mediocre at your job you need to be subsidized? Why are my tax dollars going to support his lazy ass? Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! After all, you’re white and everything breaks your way and this country–yet you still need welfare. I sure hope you’re not wasting taxpayer money on luxuries like soda or candy, bitch–those are my tax dollars you’re draining from the Treasury, and I think you should only be allowed to eat what people on SNAP are allowed–and maybe a periodic drug-and-alcohol test. I mean, isn’t that what people like him think about handouts to other people?

The United States, where mediocre white people take handouts from the taxpayers while complaining about other people getting it being lazy freeloaders. Fuck you all the way to hell, rural Trump voters. How’s that price of gas looking for all that driving y’all have to do? Me, I live in one of those “horrible Democratic run blue cities”–and only need to buy a tank of gas per month because if I leave town I don’t even drive three hundred miles PER MONTH. Why aren’t you screaming LET’S GO TYRANT?

I watched this filth tear down Joe Biden for four years. Are y’all better off than you were two years ago? I thought this was all about economic anxiety, not racism? Remember those bald-faced lies? Christ on the cross. I am so fucking glad I’m old and don’t have children.

Sigh.

But this trip will be a nice break from reality. I won’t be seeing much news while I am gone, and won’t be posting here probably again until I get back on Wednesday. It’ll be nice spending time with Dad and my aunt, and there’s just something about the county–and being in Alabama–that feels comforting.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely weekend and first half of the week; I doubt I’ll be here again before I get home next week, so until then–hang in there, because always remember, this too will pass.

Sexy Richard DuBois poses for a physique magazine cover in the 1950s…but we know who the real target audience actually was.

Elizabeth Taylor

Did you miss me this morning? I had to take my car in to get it serviced (and was informed of things I’m going to need to get done soon), and then I came home to pack and run some errands. That’s all done now, and I am waiting for a podcast I am appearing on to promote Crime Ink: Iconic with Robyn Gigl, John Copenhaver and Marco Carocari on Alan Warren’s “House of Mystery” show, which should be fun and interesting. I don’t know how long that will take, but afterwards I am loading the car and driving north. I think I remembered to pack everything I need and if I forget anything, well, there are stores and things up there. I don’t have any writing to take with me on this trip, which is very weird–I am always writing something, it seems like–but I’m still decompressing from turning the book in (it needs work, I already know that) and so I am just going to let my mind wander for a while and scribble down ideas and start thinking about things I want to write and do. I am also thinking I probably won’t finish this before I leave, as I am loading the car the minute I sign out of the podcast.

Yesterday was an easy day of literally doing nothing other than picking up the mail and a prescription. I did nothing other than read The Haunting of Hill House and mostly think about how brilliant it is before going down some wormholes on Youtube–reviews of Hill House, some news, and some history documentaries about the Batman comics and their evolution over the years as well as the character changes. I did love comic books when I was a kid through being a teenager, and have occasionally dipped back into that world periodically as an adult (I really wish DC would let me write Nightwing, or revive Will Payton as Starman–or as another hero), so I find it interesting to learn about their history, and how the characters developed–as well as what outside influences impacted the characters. I’m not a comics nerd, but I do appreciate the art form and the creators, and am never averse to learning more about things I enjoy.

Well, it is now Friday afternoon and I am in Alabama, resting. Obviously I didn’t finish this entry before I departed, and am only now getting around to it; and it may not even be finished this time, either, LOL. I drove up here after recording the Housse of Mystery podcast, and that is a very helpfully placed link to the recording, which consists of Al Warren interviewing editor/contributor John Copenhaver, Robyn Gigl, and Marco Carocari. And me, of course. This was about the Crime Ink: Iconic anthology John edited and is freshly available at all your favorites places you select your reading choices. I’ve not had time to read it yet–that whole finishing-the-book thing–but am looking forward to digging into it sooner rather than later. I got here very late (for me)–nearly ten, my bedtime, and yes, I was very tired. As I drove through the dark night of rural Alabama, I kept getting a bit spooked and having deja vu and thinking, when have I ever driven through rural Alabama at night by myself before, which gradually morphed into I should memorize how it looks and feels to do this so I can write about it so I started describing the pines and the hollowed out hillsides the road cut through and when I pulled up to a four-way stop, I started laughing myself because I finally remembered; that was a passage in Bury Me in Shadows, and one of the creepier parts of the whole book!

Glad to confirm that I got that right.

Anyway, I was exhausted when I finally got here, and got up early yesterday to ride with Dad down to south Alabama–a lengthy round trip–to see family and was again exhausted last night–so exhausted I sat down here at the desk to try to check my email and I fell asleep! I woke up at two in the morning with my face down on the desk resting on my folded arms. I’m still tired today, so Dad is visiting friends while I rest here before we go to his old high school’s Homecoming Game–which is going to be strange for me, obviously. Dad and Mom used to come down for reunions fairly regularly until she started getting too sick, so he’s been back for games before. But for me, it’s a new experience. I’ve not been to a high school football game since my youngest nephew graduated high school, which I think was before Hurricane Katrina, and I’ve certainly not been to a rural high school game since I graduated high school myself. So, yes, I need to pay attention and notice things, because a project (one of many) I hope to finish over the next year or so opens at a high school football game. (I’ve also been thinking about some small town y/a horror/mystery novels lately, and thinking about writing another soon.) It doesn’t hurt that I’ve been thinking about slasher movies lately (Halloween Horror Month, remember?) and listening to Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives! in the car (which I am really enjoying) has also put me in mind of writing a slasher novel. I am not working on anything until everything is over with the new one–edits, copy-edits, and proofing–but it never hurts to spend some time in my head thinking about stories and characters and subtexts and intertwining subplots and stories.

I also read about half of Chris Grabenstein’s The Hanging Hill in the car yesterday. It’s a middle grade novel, but engaging and a bit funny, too. It’s easy to see why he’s so popular with kids.

I think I am going to go lie down for a bit. I’ll be back later, I am sure.

Well, I never came back to finish this, did I? Friday night’s Homecoming game ended well for the home team (they won 64-6), and then Saturday Dad and I watched football games. I was delighted LSU won, but wasn’t impressed by how they played. We watched the Alabama game with Missouri first, went to eat during the afternoon games with my uncle, and got back in time for the night games (we had the Auburn-Georgia game on the television while I had the LSU game on my new phone–and the picture quality was amazing). I have never seen such horrific and biased officiating in my life as I witnessed in the Auburn-Georgia game, and that team of officials and the replay idiot in Birmingham all need to be fired and horsewhipped, frankly. They blew so many calls–the so-called Auburn fumble was either a touchdown for Auburn or a touchdown for Georgia, not a touchdown for no one, for one example–that I wouldn’t trust them with a flag football game for children.

Sunday we went to Mom’s grave and put out flowers, and then I drove home…and Sparky was very happy to see me once I did.

So, this post should technically be read before this morning’s, but…so it goes!

Spirit in the Sky

I have written another Alabama story! It will be in the Crippen & Landru anthology Double Crossing Van Dine, which you can preorder right here. My story is called “The Spirit Tree,” which was a lot of fun to write, and am very excited that the anthology will release later this month/early September. I again got an editing credit (along with Donna Andrews and Art Taylor, both of whom do a lot more work than I do on these books), and I do absolutely love that cover.

Isn’t this a great cover?

Turn right on Simmons Road and in a half mile, your destination will be on the right.

Tom Forrester slowed his official State Bureau of Investigation SUV and glanced in the rearview mirror. Nothing behind him but blacktop state highway back to the S curve he’d just negotiated. He flipped on the turn signal and made the turn onto a back road. It stretched out before him, a narrow expanse of red dirt and gravel down to the bottom of a hollow and climbing back up the other side. He was getting a headache and wished again he’d asked for someone to come with him. He’d never been to Corinth County before, hadn’t even driven through it. Yes, it was in his district, but it was remote. At least an hour to the nearest interstate. Outsiders had to want to come to Corinth County to get there.

It amazed him that there were still these random remote counties all over the deep South, seemingly untouched by the outside world.

But the county seat, for all its population of about three thousand, had a Wal-Mart and a McDonalds, and almost every house or trailer he’d seen from the road had a satellite dish either in the yard or affixed to the building. Was anything truly remote anymore?

The road wasn’t wide enough for two cars, so he hoped he didn’t meet anyone coming from the other direction. A cloud of red dust followed closely behind the vehicle. At the bottom of the hollow there was a small stream flowing through corrugated iron beneath the pitiful road. And he noticed a rusty barbed wire fence running along the front of the pine forest on the left side, caught a glimpse of a rusted tin roof surrounded by overgrowth.

It looked…familiar.

Not a bad start, right?

The anthology also has an impressive table of contents:

You can find Van Dine’s commandments (there are twenty) here, if you want to look them up.

Mine was: The problem of the crime must be solved by strictly naturalistic means. Such methods for learning the truth as slate-writing, ouija-boards, mind-reading, spiritualistic séances, crystal-gazing, and the like, are taboo. A reader has a chance when matching his wits with a rationalistic detective, but if he must compete with the world of spirits and go chasing about the fourth dimension of metaphysics, he is defeated ab initio.

So, yes, like I did in the last anthology of this nature that I was in, chose supernatural/occult as my way of breaking said rule. I’ve done this before, of course, in novels; two subgenres I prefer are crime and horror–and I do love crossing/blurring the lines between the two of them.

Several years ago (it may have been last year; my grasp of time isn’t the best anymore) I read a book called Salvation on Sand Mountain, about snake-handlers in north Alabama (I’d also watched a documentary called Alabama Rattlesnake) which reminded me of a bit of country magic. When I was a little boy–a very little boy–I remember visiting someone in Alabama–and there was a small tree beside the front porch, with bottles slipped over the ends and catching the sun in colorful flashes and making tinkling sounds when the wind blew the branches together. I asked, and was told it was a ‘spirit tree,’–the sound of the bottles kept evil spirits and ghosts out of the house. I’d forgotten about it until I read it in the book, and I remembered it all very clearly.

So, I sat down and wrote an opening scene, in which a state investigator is going to a crime scene, and when he gets there, there’s a spirit tree beside the porch. I had no idea what to do with the story–how to finish it, who was murdered and why, etc.–and it went into the files. When I was asked for a story (and a by-line credit) for this anthology, I looked for the supernatural rule, claimed it, and pulled out “The Spirit Tree.”

Yes, it’s another Corinth County story, like Bury Me in Shadows and “Smalltown Boy” and “The Ditch,” not connected to the others by anything other than location, really, but it’s location is pretty much everything!

Hope you enjoy it–and the rest of the contributors are exceptional writers, so I know you’ll enjoy theirs, too! What are you waiting for? PRE ORDERS ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED!

Dancing in Berlin

Wednesday, which is both Pay-the-Bills Day and my last day in the office for the week. Woo-hoo! Long weekend where I may not have to leave the house very much! Even bigger woo-hoo!

I sound rather curmudgeonly, don’t I? I’ve always had a bit of the curmudgeon in me–how much I am not sure, but I certainly have been feeling like I am getting more curmudgeonly with every passing year. I will be sixty four in just slightly over two months (two months Friday, to be exact), and I’ve been through some things in all those revolutions around the planet. I feel like I can be a little curmudgeonly? But if I were retired and home all day every day, I’d want to run errands and get out of the house more if I never really had to leave the Lost Apartment, you know? Since I’ve weaned back on so many other things that I was doing (which really were just all distractions that kept me away from my writing and focusing on my career more), I also don’t spend hours answering emails, which is delightful. There was nothing worse than opening my inbox and just immediately feeling overwhelmed and defeated by the amount that needed to be answered quickly–and diplomatically, even when the email didn’t deserve anything but scorn and contempt. It was exhausting, and I don’t miss it in the least.

The fatigue from Monday’s infusion–which really hit Monday evening–carried over a bit into yesterday, alas. I slept great, but was still a little foggy-brained, and my legs felt tired, which is usually an indicator that I am not as rested as I should be. Ironically, I did feel rested, just not mentally firing on all cylinders. I really could have slept longer yesterday–Sparky was not pleased when I hit the snooze button twice, and I haven’t even hit it once lately. My routine has shifted so dramatically, but at the same time the illness gave me so much new and better perspective on so many things. I do things when I get home rather than just being a vegetable in my easy chair, doom-scrolling while bingeing something on the television before staying up later than I should. It’s nice to come down to a kitchen that isn’t a disaster. It’s nice to stay current with the kitchen and the dishes and the laundry. It’s nice to run errands and read–when my mind can focus enough to read; the last two nights did not cooperate. But if this is the worst side effect from the infusions, I feel very lucky and grateful. I can plan around this next month, knowing I am going to be fatigued for the day of and the day after. Yeah, that’s something I can live with.1

I also didn’t want to get up this morning and had another great night’s sleep last night. I don’t know if I am foggy-brained for the day or not, but here’s hoping I won’t be. I think we’re very busy in the clinic today, so I won’t have a lot of time to think about it very much one way or the other, but I do have to run some errands this evening, too. But tomorrow is a holiday! Huzzah! Hopefully Sparky will let me sleep in a bit. I also have an extra day to read and write and clean, which should be a good thing, depending on how motivated I am.

In other exciting news, LSU beat UCLA 9-5 yesterday, finishing off Monday night’s game from the weather delay, and thus remain unbeaten in the College World Series so far, which is kind of exciting. GEAUX TIGERS! We have to play Arkansas again tomorrow night, which is a shame; I do think Arkansas and LSU are the two best teams there and should be playing for the title instead of so early. Should make for an exciting game, provided there’s no weather delay.

I also went over the copy edits on a story I sold to an anthology, which remains untitled but will come out in September, I think. It’s another Alabama story, “The Spirit Tree,” and rereading it…it’s not bad. I don’t really remember writing it (it’s been a rough year, okay? Don’t judge me) , but I do know where the idea came from; “spirit trees’ were mentioned in the opening of a non-fiction book about Alabama I’d read (about snake handlers), and I remembered that one of my relatives–distant and I don’t remember who it was or how they were related or on which side of the family they came from–had one, and then I thought, wouldn’t it be interesting if spirit trees actually worked? And started writing the story from there. It’s another one of my “Alabama back in the holler” stories (one of the ones I am currently working on is also one of those), which always seem to wind up being my favorites, for some reason. (This is why I am not the best judge of my own work; some of it has a personal connection of some sort for me, and that does affect how I view it…for example, Bury Me in Shadows was deeply personal for me on many levels, and so it’ll always be a favorite of mine; Murder in the Rue Dauphine was my first book contract; and so on…besides, it’s really not up to me to determine what my best work is, is it?)

I do wonder what kind of writer I would be had we never left Alabama, though.

I still haven’t made a to-do list, either, which is just shameful. I do feel a little foggy this morning, despite being on my third cup of coffee, so it may not be a terribly productive day for me again. Heavy heaving sigh. But that’s just the way things roll, isn’t it? There are definitely things that need to be done today, so maybe–just maybe, I should make two lists, one for today and one for the long weekend? Hmmm.

And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, hope you enjoy your holiday tomorrow, which is most likely when I shall return to the blog.

The temple of Ramses II at Abu Simbel–another site I’d love to see in person.

Turn the Beat Around

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

Nottoway before
Nottoway after

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take Me Home to Somewhere

Sunday morning and it’s sunny outside. It rained off and on for most of the day yesterday, with marvelous thunderstorms bracketing the day. The sky is clear and blue and the sun is out, so I suspect we’re done with the storms. I slept well–and late–this morning, and I’ve already decided to let the day take its own course. I have some dishes to put away and laundry to fold, and I also need to run a couple of errands this morning. I do feel rested this morning, which is a good thing. There are only three days left in 2024, and while I would ordinarily think good riddance to 2024, I don’t have very high hopes about how 2025 is going to go for any of us. Louisiana continues to circle the drain, as our governor seems determined to destroy the state and impoverish everyone (but there won’t be any of the woke nonsense down here, you betcha!), and we all know Republicans can’t govern for shit–already proven from 2017-2021–and they are already fighting a nasty civil war between their Techbros and the MAGA base currently, which gives us a pretty good idea of how the next four years are going to go. Yay.

I really didn’t do much of anything yesterday, really. I rewatched a classic LSU football game–Paul was out with some friends–and went down a bunch of rabbit holes on Youtube doing research. Researching the 1970s is trippy for me, and being reminded of things I’d long forgotten about–products, commercials, movies, books, etc.–inevitably brings a bunch of other memories back with them; buying Hardy Boys books at the Zayre’s, riding my bike to the 7/11 to get milk and a comic book, walking to the bus stop at St. Dominic’s (and walking home from there after school), and reading in bed on the weekends with a bag of either Taco-flavored Doritos or Bar-B-Q Fritos. Research is research, after all, and opening my mind to recollections of my past–which was a very long time ago–is kind of weird, since I spent so much of my life never looking back. I may try to do some writing today–stranger things have happened, after all–but I am not placing any demands on myself this weekend. I have Wednesday off for New Year’s, which is weird, and will probably wind up having the play-offs on all day while I do other things. I still haven’t finished reading my book, either, and I really need to get back to that this week, if not today. It ain’t going to finish reading itself, you know.

And I can’t get deeper into the TBR pile without actually, you know, reading the books.

Memories are tricky things, actually, and one of the most important tricks our (writers on a grander scale, and people in general) brains play on us is how it colors the way we remember things. We not only remember how things were said and who said them, but we also remember how we felt at the time–and those feelings also color how we remember things. I am sure all people, once they’ve reached a certain age, are stunned at how differently our parents remember things from our childhood, and how little we actually did understand when we were younger. It’s also possible for those memories, colored so strongly by protective emotions, to change and become more embedded in our brains with our coloring firmly in place. One of the reasons I never bothered to re-examine disputes or disagreements with people from the part is because I know my memories may not be exact and are definitely have been rewritten in my head to make me the innocent victim, or merely confirmed that I am a terrible person. The first few decades of my life were very chaotic; one of the things I’ve tried to work very hard on as an adult the last few decades was to remove chaos–or agents of chaos–from my life. If you’ve either hurt or deeply offended me, I don’t want to waste any more of my time on you. I don’t want to argue with you, I don’t want to explain why you were hurtful because I shouldn’t have to.

If I have to explain to you how you’ve been hurtful you really aren’t worth my time.

Part of the problem with writing about the past and going from your own memories and experiences is that tendency to make one’s self into a hero even when you have not been very heroic. I’ve kind of always considered myself cowardly for not coming out sooner, for not facing up to who I am, and not getting it all worked out in my head long before I actually did. Wanting to capture that sense of having a dark secret that you so desperately want to share, wishing the world was different yet knowing that it isn’t and probably never will be, looking ahead at the rest of your life as it yawns before you as endless misery and self-denial and self-loathing isn’t exactly inspiring, and capturing all of this on the page from the perspective of a twelve-year-old about to start high school is going to be hard without making him seem self-pitying and kind of pathetic. My own self-loathing about who I was as a child is also kind of self-defeating; I need to forgive myself at some point for not being a good little straight boy because that was never who I was supposed to be. If anything, I should loathe the middle-class cookie cutter suburban existence everyone tried to force me into–a square peg into a round hole, as it were. I suppose writing The Summer of Lost Boys will force me to face those feelings and work through them by writing about a character similar to me but not really me, if that makes sense? I know writing Bury Me in Shadows helped me come to terms with my family’s history–and Southern history in a broader context; #shedeservedit helped me come to terms with my own high school experience, and so maybe, this is the last step to letting go of a lot of things over which I had no control that I’ve punished myself for most of my adult life.

Chaos is never fun, really. I’ve also always felt bad for people who chose chaos rather than cutting it out of your life. I don’t want to waste any more of my life doing emotional labor for undeserving people who are determined to hold onto being miserable rather than letting things go and living more positively–who wants all that negativity in their life? Why would anyone choose that? And yes, I am sure I am vastly over-simplifying here–many people are trapped in horrible jobs and horrible life situations over which they have very little, if any, control over their lives.

There are several books I want to write about my suburb, in all honesty–just as there are any number of Alabama and New Orleans and Kansas books I want to write…which is never going to happen as long as I continue to not write.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and go run my errands. Not sure what I am going to do for the day other than that, but I like having a day with no plans to do much of anything, frankly. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later or tomorrow before work! Thanks, as always, for stopping by this morning.

Is It Wrong (For Loving You)

Well, that was a fun, if tiring, weekend..

I got to the hotel after dark Friday and felt very tired. Dad had gone to his alma mater’s football game with two of his teammates (I started to say old in the generic sense and then realized Dad IS old and so are they so best not to, or at least write a caveat so here we are). It was a peaceful, lovely drive and I was listening to my audiobook (Paul Tremblay’s Survivor Song and I HAVE THOUGHTS), and there wasn’t much traffic, if any. It was a beautiful drive, and I never cease marveling at how beautiful Mississippi and Alabama are. I had planned on stopping to eat at the Whataburger in Tuscaloosa, but for some reason the map app did not take me that way this time; it seems like I never come up here or leave the same way twice in a row. It always takes the same amount of time, though it’s been interesting seeing parts of both states I am not familiar with. I almost stopped at a Jack’s in some small town I passed through after leaving 20/591; but I thought there would be somewhere else before getting here.

NARRATOR VOICE: There was, in fact, nowhere else.

I always forget how little there is between Meridian and Tuscaloosa, or between Birmingham and Chattanooga. It’s best to eat when you get hungry, and get gas before you get down to a quarter tank else you could be fucked. I know I’ve been ravenous sometimes when I’ve had to wait till past Chattanooga to eat, and same for going up from Mobile to Montgomery. It’s weird to feel so anchored to Alabama, isn’t it? I don’t remember living here; I was two when we moved north. We came down to visit a lot, and I know for Mom and Dad (and my grandmother who also lived in Chicago) they always referred to these trips as “going home” and so I, too, have always thought of Alabama as home in a corner of my mind. I never felt like I belonged almost everywhere I lived once I became more aware of just how different I was from everyone else. I felt displaced, like my life was supposed to have happened in Alabama but it didn’t, so in addition to feeling different I felt almost like a transient everywhere. New Orleans is home now, was always meant to be my home, and I have never felt more like I belonged than I do there. I think my life would have been very different had I grown up here, maybe even harder or more difficult; I don’t know. New Orleans and Alabama are, oddly enough, the only places where I don’t feel like a tourist.

I’ve always written about Alabama, and I do sometimes think that somehow my Alabama stories are my best work, as far as the writing is concerned. The story I’m revising right now was the first work I turned into a college writing class (after the first course I took was such a horrific, unmitigated disaster that basically pulled the rug out from under me and derailed my life for years) that not only the professor was incredibly enthusiastic about, but the entire class was as well. This was the story that made me start believing in myself a bit more after the asshole professor derailed my life2 when I was seventeen. Anyway, I digress. Driving through the countryside after getting off the interstate up there always is weird to me in many ways, because it’s so different than I remember. When I was a kid, most houses in the county were old and made of wood, and there were still tin roofs around, although mostly on barns and out buildings on the farms. Now the houses are mostly brick, there are a lot of McMansions, but there are still a lot of blighted buildings rotting and falling to pieces where they stand. There are abandoned country stores and dead gas stations, the store built from cinder blocks and the rusting pumps still out on a crumbling concrete island. It’s also funny because I wrote Bury Me in Shadows from memory, having not been up there in over twenty years, and seeing the differences now…I guess I never had to worry overmuch about basing that book in a county based on where we’re from, and the differences are so striking no one would recognize it as the same.

Saturday I went with Dad to his high school reunion lunch, which was at a nice restaurant where we always eat every time I’m up there (they have the most amazing chicken fajitas), and that was nice. We headed back to the hotel after and spent the rest of the day watching college football games. The LSU game was amazing, but they sent me into despair a lot during the night. They won the game without ever having the lead! A bitterly disappointing loss for Mississippi (how many times have their dreams died in Tiger Stadium? It’s really no wonder why they hate us so much), but a very exciting game. The Tigers are now ranked in the top ten–which is great, but a big win does not a season make, if you know what I mean–and the rest of the schedule isn’t easy, either. Two road games in a row, then Alabama before one more road game at Florida before finishing out the season with two home games in a row. There has been a lot of great football games this season already, which has made it a lot more fun to watch than it has been in years. Saturday alone, there was the LSU game; Alabama-South Carolina (Alabama eked out a two point win); Tennessee beating Florida in overtime; Penn State-USC went to overtime; Oregon beat Ohio State by one point; and Vanderbilt kept up its winning ways by beating Kentucky. I ain’t going to lie, I am rooting for Vanderbilt to have a great season.

Yesterday I drove home, finished listening to Survivor Song, and then listened to the “My Dad Wrote a Porno”. I was very tired when I got home, very tired, so I spent the day in my chair getting caught up on the news from the weekend before we started getting caught up on our shows. I went to bed early and slept well–I was tired all weekend, but had slept well both nights, but not long enough. I did sleep a little later this morning (I took the day off) than I was expecting (but I also woke up at 5:30 the first time), and feel good. There’s still some residual trip hangover today, but I don’t mind that in the least. The apartment is a mess–I left it one when I left Friday afternoon, and so that needs to be handled today and I am also going to have to run some errands and get reoriented back into normality before heading back into the office tomorrow morning bright and early. I also have some things that I need to get done today–probably will be able to get all that done this afternoon–and then probably will settle into a relaxing evening. We started watching season four of Outer Banks last night, so we’ll watch some of that I am sure.

I didn’t have time to do much reading or writing this weekend, either, but I feel like today I can get to some of that. I do want to finish Gabino’s book this week, so I can move on to another as well.

And on that note, I’m heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never knows.

  1. The two highways run together from Meridian to almost Georgia–somewhere in northeast Alabama at any rate; it really is always mostly a blur. ↩︎
  2. I also realized this weekend that horrible professor fucked up my life for a very long time, and I’ve never given him enough credit for unmooring me and setting me adrift. I’ve always hated him, but now I hate him even more, and what an abuse of power and control! He shouldn’t have been allowed near students under any circumstance. ↩︎

My Sharona

Saturday morning here in the Lost Apartment and I am feeling rather pleased with myself as I accomplished a great deal. After finishing my work-at-home duties yesterday, Constant Reader, I worked on the filing…and by that, I don’t mean “put files away”–no, I mean I went through the boxes of files in the apartment and cleaned them out. A lot of files are just titles and a quick scribbled note; I got rid of all files for stories/books that didn’t have at least a few paragraphs written; was able to combine duplicate files and pare them down; and I had files of research and ideas for multiple projects spread out over the various file boxes are now all consolidated and together. I still have the filing cabinet to work on, but I still feel like I accomplished quite a bit. Having everything together for the various projects will make working on them that much easier, and it’s exciting to know I went from four and a half boxes of files down to one and a half. GO ME! I also managed to launder all the bed linens, and also a load of dishes. I reorganized my workspace as well, so all in all, a most productive day and one with which I am very pleased. I am going to work on the kitchen cabinets today as well as the file cabinet and workspace. I also have to make a mail and grocery run, need to clean the car, and go to the gym for more arm rehab as well.

Sparky even let me sleep in until nine this morning, wasn’t that kind of the dear boy?

One thing I also noticed yesterday was that I turned on Spotify on the television in the living room while i was organizing the files and it helped me to focus–which reminded me that back in the day, I used to always listen to music while I wrote and it helped me go into the focus zone. Listening to headphones doesn’t quite work for background noise, but the reconnection with music as a tool for focus was wonderful. How could I possibly forget how necessary music was for going into the zone to write, or helped me focus while cleaning? It’s nice to know that I can start remembering methods and tricks that helped me write and zero in on things I was doing with laser-like focus. In some ways, I feel like I am learning how to write all over again, which isn’t a bad thing.

I also realized yesterday that what I have been feeling now for a few weeks is good. It’s been so long since I’ve felt good about anything and have been in a headspace of anything other than just getting through and surviving for so long that I am really not even sure how i managed to write and publish anything between 2016 and now, but oddly enough those books are some of my best work–Bury Me in Shadows, #shedeservedit, A Streetcar Named Murder, Death Drop, Royal Street Reveillon and Mississippi River Mischief, not to mention some of my best short stories. Go figure, right? I also have done some excellent essays during that time, too. Even on auto-pilot, as I dealt with a lot of personal and professional trials for nine years, I still improved as a writer.

Today I am going to work on the book around some more chores and the errands already mentioned, as well as work on the filing cabinet and finish the floors downstairs. There’s a load of dishes to be put away, and more organization in the living room; getting rid of those file boxes opened up space in the living room and I want to work on making the living room look more spacious rather than cramped–and that has a lot to do with paring down the books some more as well…and I haven’t even started on the attic. I also want to spend some time with the Tremblay novel this morning, which I am enjoying but want to get to the next read in my TBR stack–I am going to read two queer novels back to back, I think, and would love to be able to review them by the time Pride Month ends.

And so, on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a delightful Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll most likely be back later.

Sylvia’s Mother

Thursday last day in the office blog, and how are you this morning? I slept really well last night again, and am a bit groggy with my coffee thus far but things are starting to clear up, which is lovely. Yesterday was a pretty decent day. I was tired when I get off work last night–I actually had to do walk-in testing yesterday as the clinic was slow, and I’d gotten so used to my regular clinic clients that I’d forgotten what it was like to do that, and it was a bit draining. I think that was because I was out of practice with it? Anyway, I ran some errands after work (my vacuum arrived!) and I also picked up my copy of John Copenhaver’s new book, Hall of Mirrors, which is a sequel to The Savage Kind, which I really enjoyed. Paul was late getting home, and of course Sparky was a terror last night. He turned off the power cord to the wifi, and took me a while to figure out that he’d committed such an egregious sin. Sigh. I even reset the modem. Gotta love a Big Energy Kitten.

I was also delighted to see a list of “must-read” queer crime novels for Pride Month, compiled by John Copenhaver, which included me and my Bury Me in Shadows, which was a lovely and delightful surprise. You can read that here. It’s a very impressive list to be included on, and I was enormously flattered and got a bit of an ego boost from it, in all honesty, and it kind of felt good. Writers live in so much of a vacuum, for the most part, and get so many blows–and those are what we remember–that when something nice like that happens, it’s always a delightful surprise and it makes my day. God, what amazing books I have in my TBR pile, and how on earth am I ever going to decide which one to read when I finish my current? It also occurred to me last night that maybe my recent disinterest in reading has something to do with still trying to find the voice for this prologue–I can never read when I am still in the weeds with something I’m writing, because I don’t want to try to mimic the voice I am reading with what I am writing, if that makes sense? I’m getting closer to the right voice, and hopefully this weekend I can get that all finalized and cleaned up once and for all. Paul is going to be at Pride all day Saturday, manning a table for Saints and Sinners, so I’ll be home all day by myself, which will give me lots of time to get things done. After I finish working tomorrow, I’ll run errands so I won’t have to over the weekend, and so if I get everything done on Saturday that I need to, I can enjoy Sunday with Paul streaming things all day. I’m very excited for this new Star Wars show on Disney….but then I am always excited about anything new and Star Wars.

I do feel a bit tired today–physically, not mentally–so I think after work tonight I am just going to come home and finish the chores. I started laundry last night, and I have dishes to put away. I still need to try to repair the garbage disposal, which I should try to do tomorrow night/afternoon after work. I also need to try to clear out my email inbox again–I have fallen behind on a discussion that I will need to catch up on–but I also think I am going to assemble the new vacuum cleaner when I get home and finish the other chores, and will then do a trial run on the kitchen rugs. My word, the exciting life I lead, right?

And on that exciting note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. I may be back later; you never know. Have a happy Thursday, Constant Reader!

Look at this shot–tell me wrestling isn’t soft core gay porn!