Tag: fiction

Let’s Go

I like the nightlife baby!

Sorry, had a The Cars moment. Their music, by the way, still holds up.

So it’s Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment, LSU is playing Auburn at eleven, and most likely will have some things delivered. I’ll probably do chores while the games play; after that I’ll do stuff while switching between Texas A&M-Alabama and Tennessee-South Carolina. This evening, I’ll hate Mississippi even more for making me root for Texas again this season. (Don’t worry, friends who are UT fans, with all the SEC weirdness going on these days I will definitely be rooting for the Longhorns again, more than once, before the season ends. Realignment has changed things for sure; more on that at another time–I know most of y’all couldn’t give less of a fuck about college football, and I appreciate your not minding and bearing with me on it.) I feel good and rested this morning, and once this is posted, I’ll move to my easy chair where I’ll read before the games. I also want to get some of my newsletters worked on, another one sent out, and I definitely want to finish Mazywood, which is superb. I also need to do some research, work on a short story or two, and edit the book so I can move on to writing the next chapter. Bouchercon is going on right now, but I have no FOMO–I’m getting used to not attending things, and I really don’t miss it. Don’t get me wrong, most of my conference experiences in the crime fiction world have been pleasant, at least for the last twelve years or so, at any rate.

Yesterday was a good, if weird, day. I was a bit off yesterday for some reason I can’t quite understand; I took the wrong exit off the interstate for Costco, for one, and construction on the way back meant a detour to the Earhart which…actually wasn’t a bad way to come home from Costco. We spent over four hundred dollars, but didn’t seem to get all that much, either. I forgot to turn the dishwasher on before bed. I forgot about finishing the bed linens , so wasn’t able to go to bed until that was all done–can’t go to bed without sheets on it, can I? We finished The Diplomat last night, which is excellent, and then AHS:13, which is a hot mess but kind of fun; I actually enjoyed last night’s episode–about Madison’s falling in love with Satan’s son–but none of it makes any real sense; it’s like they threw in everything including the kitchen sink. We also watched this week’s Traitors (spoiler: they murdered one of the hot boys, so no more shower shots of him lathering his glistening wet muscles), which was very fun. I did run my errands yesterday morning, so I don’t have any to do today–I have to order things to be delivered, but that’s not a big deal–and I’ll probably run one tomorrow morning, which is fine.

I am loving this chillier weather; it was nice not getting drenched with sweat and overheating yesterday on the Costco trip, which is probably why I was finding it so exhausting to go. I love that I am feeling better and better with every passing day; sixty-five isn’t that bad. I thought how bad i felt was going to be the new normal (“you’re just getting older”–fuck you, quack doctor, if it were up to you I’d be dead now, you miserable homophobic prick), but now that I am healthier and recovering more all the time, this sixties thing isn’t so terrible. I like the lack of fucks I have now, and I am very glad that treating my anxiety has released me from the horrors of everyone has to like me I can’t have anyone dislike me and now? I couldn’t care less if people like me or not. I have very dear friends that I cherish, and I know a lot of people whose company I enjoy being in–but my default is always going to be solitude (Paul doesn’t count) and while I do marvel at how different my life could have been had I gotten it treated before, I don’t want any do-overs or anything. It is amazing how much my anxiety drove me to bad behavior on occasion, but at least now I understand it. Doesn’t excuse me behaving in a manner of which I am not proud, but it’s nice to know why. That dichotomy of not caring whether I am “popular” while having deep-rooted anxiety about not being liked created some intense cognitive dissonance–and I am hoping that isn’t going to be an issue anymore.

And on that note, I am going to get some cereal and another cup of coffee and head into ye olde Mines d’Spice. Have a happy Saturday, and above all else, GEAUX TIGERS!

Candy-O

And work-at-home Friday has rolled around again, somehow. I slept later this morning, and do feel a bit wrung-out, but not bad; I suspect my morning shower will take care of that completely. I slept very well–I am loving this cooler weather; I even wore long sleeves last night to dinner at Le Petite Grocery (which was superb on every level; the food and the conversation with my friend, whom I adore). I am in a pretty good mood this morning, and I also don’t have any meetings this morning, either.I have some paperwork to work on, and we’re going to Costco later. I also have some errands to run, which I may do this morning to get out of the way. LSU plays at eleven tomorrow, so I won’t have a lot of time to do much tomorrow morning…I’ll figure it all out later; right now I just want to swill coffee and finish this.

The apartment is also a mess, and I have to do the bed linens and the dishes (again), and it would be nice to get my inbox emptied today. But we’ll see how the day goes. I also have to finish watching this week’s Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, which I had started after work yesterday but had to turn off to go have dinner. The coffee is starting to clear my cobwebs, which is always a most excellent thing. I need to write, and I need to make a to-do list for this weekend so I don’t get off track and/or get easily distracted by a Youtube wormhole or something…which is ridiculously easy to do. Thanks, ADHD!

Apparently three escorts have come public with allegations that Lindsay Graham was a client, and I am not exactly sure why this is news? It would have been news had it broken while he was alive and actively doing damage not only to the queer community but to the country overall as well. He’s dead now, and being gay isn’t a crime…I am also unsure if it’s a crime to pay for sex. I know it’s a crime to get paid for sex, which is horribly wrong; the sex worker wouldn’t be doing sex work if not for the people willing to pay them. (I also don’t believe sex work, regardless of who’s the client and who’s the worker, should be a crime; more of that Puritan ethos in our society, and it’s about the patriarchy, as so many things are. The presumption is that only men will pay for sex and only from women; so of course the man is the victim and the woman the criminal.) Graham was dogged by these rumors his entire life, and I am not a proponent of bullying someone for being gay because some people think he might be gay. He clearly hated himself, and I cannot imagine how hellish his life must have been. If he hadn’t worked so hard against us, I might even be capable of some empathy for his fucked-up psyche. But money and power and acceptance by his peers was more important, and I am glad I chose not to live miserably. If anything, Graham is just another victim of homophobia in the end, even if it was entirely self-inflicted.

And seriously, who the fuck cares at this point? I also remain grateful that I didn’t end up like him, which was always a possibility until I turned thirty.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Enjoy your Friday, Constant Reader and I’ll be back in the morning before the game. Till then!

Shoo Be Doo

Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Tonight I am having dinner with a friend at Le Petit Grocery uptown, which is a marvelous place to eat, and how much do I love having a lovely meal with a good friend? I love it a lot, thank you for asking. I’m not completely agoraphobic, but I do prefer being home to being most places. Dad admitted when I was in Kentucky that he doesn’t have groceries delivered because it gets him out of the house…and I had to admit that not leaving the house ever sounds pretty amazing to me, which is probably not a good thing. I am solitary by nature (my lifelong dream has always been to live alone–Paul is probably the only person I could live with, and I do miss him when he’s gone, so that’s something, right?), and really, I never minded not being popular and I didn’t really miss it, either, other than having a sense that I was supposed to want those things. I would have been fine had I not been bullied, you know? That was what made school miserable for me–so why would I ever want to be around people in general? You can never go wrong never completely trusting straight people, harsh as that sounds, because they’ll almost always disappoint you1–and I’m not that trusting of gay white males, either. I have also found that standing with, and listening to (most) Black women will never steer you wrong2.

I also sent out a newsletter yesterday, about Riley Sager’s delightful The Only One Left, and you can click on the title there to read it, if you so desire. It’s really not horror–it’s a thriller, first and foremost–but as a Gothic, I feel like it can be considered “light horror,” at least. There are so many novels that straddle the line between crime and horror, and Gothic suspense definitely can go either way; Victoria Holt’s ghost monk in Kirkland Revels was absolutely terrifying and scary. I love that Gothic mood of tightly wound tension kept in check but keeps building until it explodes.

I don’t feel tired this morning, and I got out of bed at six promptly, having been already awake since five thirty. I was awake when Sparky jumped into the bed this morning, curling up at my feet to wait for the alarm. My joints don’t ache and my legs don’t feel tired, which is a big win, as it not being mentally tired. I clearly needed the time off, didn’t I? Tomorrow I have work at home chores to do, and some errands to run, but it should be a good day. I found another anthology I want to write a story for, and when talking about it with a friend3, he gave me an absolutely brilliant concept for the story, which I am kind of excited about writing, and now I have to come up with a working title, at the very least. I may even make it a Scotty Bradley story, if I can make it work that way. My first ever Scotty short story! I wrote a Chanse short story for the collection I did a few (probably more; I have no concept of times past) years ago, but no Scotty, ever. Maybe now that’s he’s older and not a bar slut anymore? I do want to get a lot of writing done this weekend, wish me luck. I started working on another short story for another anthology–well, finishing one that’s been moldering in the files for years, but fits a call I saw.

The Tiger Bowl (LSU-Auburn) is this weekend, and it’s always a mixed bag for me. I hate for either team to lose, so inevitably I just hope for a good game. Conference realignment killed the rivalry, since they now no longer play every year, which makes football season a little easier for me, but Auburn has rotated onto LSU’s schedule, and this year the game is at 11 in the morning and is at Jordan-Hare. I suspect when the time for the game to air was decided, no one dreamed both teams would be ranked and have the same record–or that Auburn would pull off the big upset at Georgia last weekend. I do like it–although it feels weird–when LSU is finished playing by three, because the rest of the games don’t really require watching; I usually watch games until the LSU game is over, and whatever is on after that isn’t as important to me to watch. I usually do–for example, was really glad to have watched BYU-Notre Dame last week4. I probably should check the TV schedule; I know Mississippi is at Texas (and damn them for making me root for Texas again), and I think both Missouri and Kentucky have a tough row to hoe. (Correction: Kentucky plays Vanderbilt, and Missouri has a bye.) I’ll probably have the Alabama-A&M game on while I do other things.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Thursday, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning on Work-at-Home Friday. See you then!

This is the ad for Peachy Clean, a gummy that helps you clean out before being penetrated. I am simply amazed at how small his waist is.
  1. I cherish my straight friends. I cherish all of my actual friends, to be honest. I always make it sound like I don’t have any, which isn’t true. But it’s also true that I am not very social, and getting less so all the time. ↩︎
  2. Then there’s the Candace Owens types. We don’t talk about them. ↩︎
  3. See? I do have friends. ↩︎
  4. My family can’t be the only ones who watch Notre Dame games hoping to see them lose, can we? ↩︎

Double Life

Here we are and Pay-the-Bills Wednesday has somehow rolled back around again. How is that even possible? Madness, am I right? I’m getting more tired the deeper into the week we get, but I’m sleeping well and deeply, so hopefully I can make it to work-at-home Friday safely and easily. I’m also enjoying this colder (for us) weather. Fall and spring are my favorite, albeit the briefest, seasons in New Orleans. I really don’t mind the winter that much, either, here. I just don’t like snow, ice and frigid wind that cuts right to the bone. But it’s nice not sweating to death in the car before the a/c starts blowing cold, or from just walking a bag of garbage to the bins through hot soupy air.

Yesterday wasn’t bad. I got things done at the office, then came home to do some chores and write something due tonight at the latest, and there are definitely some emails I need to get to today. I am going to head uptown to get the mail after work and make some groceries–nothing major, but we need a few things–and I did get caught up on my Real Housewives shows once I was home from the office last night. I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home, and Sparky needed his bonding time once I walked in the door. When Paul got home, we watched another episode of The Diplomat, which may be my favorite current show–it’s very smart and the cast is exceptional, and Keri Russell, Alison Janney, and Jodie Whittaker are killing it.

This entire Jalen Hurts situation is so insane to me; how was that medical advice possibly considered legitimate and not insane by anyone with a brain? Has everyone forgotten that the same thing almost killed Serena Williams twice? I don’t really follow the NFL, but I remember Jalen Hurts from his years in college football. Sure, I hated it when LSU had to play him, but that was because he was so good, and he seemed like someone not driven by ego, evidenced by his not leaving Alabama after being benched until his final year of eligibility, when he transferred to Oklahoma–and Alabama’s fans were cool with it, which is unheard of for that fan base. So, clearly a good guy. He’s also ridiculously good looking, and I love that his entire team is Black women. I suspect the lawsuit from this horrific medical incompetence could potentially bankrupt the Eagles–and it should. New Orleans would have never in a million years pulled this kind of shit on Drew Brees back in the day.

But then again, Drew is a white man, just saying.

I do feel pretty good this morning, honestly. I should be able to get my next newsletter out either today or tomorrow, and should have no problem getting another out over the weekend. Doing my Halloween Horror Month and writing newsletters about horror media that I am visiting (or revisiting) makes them much easier to produce, but don’t worry–we’ll be back to Greg’s Observations again soon enough. I also know I can’t be the only one who is ready for this election cycle to be fucking over. The recent GOP smear ads have been particularly disgusting–the one about Amy Acton in Ohio is completely disqualifying for Vivek Ramaswamy, whom calling a bottom-feeder is a compliment. The ones in Texas–which we sometimes get to see, hurray–are especially egregious and evil. How people can view this horrific lies and vote for the people putting them out is beyond me–but then, the last ten years have been an eye-opening experience, and sorry not sorry; that genie isn’t going back into the bottle. Y’all showed the world who you really are, and no amount of tears and FAFO is ever going to make me change my mind about what pieces of shit you are.

The “people going no contact with MAGA” has definitely become a broader, bigger issue, and it’s getting coverage…but always from the perspective of the people being cut off, and the fact they are mystified that this happened to them tells me everything I need to know about what kind of people they are. I read one piece yesterday from a mother whose son disinvited her and her husband from his wedding, and doesn’t really speak to them anymore because…well, she just doesn’t know why, and how could her son do this to her? The entire piece was the greatest example of why her son wants nothing to do with her anymore that I could possibly think up; and did she really think writing and publishing an article about how cruel her son is being to her for no reason? Just her publishing the piece would ensure she would never see me or my children again, which shows she’s probably done and said some pretty horrific things because she’s his mother, damn it, and he is SUPPOSED to love her no matter what.

The fact that she isn’t leading with “I wish he would tell me what led to this so I could make it right”? I am #teamson all the way. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Maybe some self-reflection, ma’am?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, and I shall return in the morning!

This would make a terrific book cover image! I love how spooky the bayous in the wetlands can look. Robert Miller does excellent nature photography of Louisiana. Support his work at https://www.rmpgallery.com/

Every One’s a Winner

Congratulations one and all!!!

The Macavity Awards 2026
(for works published in 2025)
The Macavity Awards are nominated and voted on by members of Mystery Readers International, subscribers to Mystery Readers Journal, and friends of MRI. Congratulations to all.

Want to be a member/subscriber, go here. Mystery Readers Journal themes for 2026: Fairs, Fetes, and Festivals; Mysteries set in France; Cross-Genre Mysteries; and Mysteries set in India.

Macavity Winners 2026 (for works published in 2025)

Best Mystery Novel

*Crooks by Lou Berney (William Morrow)

Also nominated:

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

*History Lessons by Zoe B. Wallbrook (Soho Press)

Also nominated:

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)

Best Mystery Nonfiction

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

Also nominated:

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)

Also nominated:

“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)

Also nominated:

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)

Moving in Stereo

Sunday night and I am in my hotel in Alabama, having arrived less than half an hour ago and getting checked in, bringing things in for the night, and settling into my sweats and house slippers. My room is very cold–so hopefully I’ll sleep well tonight. Tomorrow is the cemetery for Mom’s birthday (would have been 84), and after that we’ll head up to Kentucky, which is about seven hours or so from here (when I drive from New Orleans up there directly, halfway is about a little past Birmingham). The big driving day will be Friday, when I drive back to New Orleans (and will get caught in Chattanooga, huzzah!). But I’m glad I am doing this trip, the drive up was most pleasant, and I stopped at Jack’s in Ellisville, Mississippi, which is now my sweet spot. I also waited to get gas until Tuscaloosa, so I have an almost completely full tank for tomorrow. I am really enjoying listening to Shadowland, but am confused by a few things so I need to check the book itself. (Moments later.) Okay, I was right, and I also know why I was confused. No worries! My mind does wander sometimes in the car when I’m listening–something in the narrative may strike my imagination and send it winging off for a few moments, and I miss things. I also shouldn’t start listening until I am on 59 N and through New Orleans and over the lake and through Slidell and the area where 10, 12 and 59 all come together–one of the many messy highway convergences in southeastern Louisiana (there are some horrific ones in Baton Rouge, too), because there’s too much traffic and so I need to pay more attention to that than listening.

Okay, it’s Saturday morning and obviously, I didn’t post while I was away–nor did I finish the post I’d started the night I arrived in Alabama. Monday we visited Mom, and then I drove up to Kentucky behind Dad’s truck. The drive up was pleasant, the visit was lovely–made even lovelier by me unplugging completely from everything–and I drove home yesterday. I finished reading Shadowland (loved it) and am loving Mazywood. I-75S was a parking lot between Chattanooga and Knoxville, which added about another hour or so to the drive. I listened to Riley Sager’s The Only One Left on the drive home, and it was about sixty degrees when I finally got home and unloaded the car and unpacked. I slept well during the trip, but oh, did my own bed feel fantastic when I finally went to bed last night. (I also missed Sparky a lot, and he’s been glued to me since I walked in the door.) It’s in the 50’s this morning, and I have a couple of errands to run this morning before LSU’s 11 am start time this morning for the Mississippi State game. In Kentucky, I watched Beat the Devil and Gaslight–the Gothic tradition was very strong in that movie (more on that later)–which was kind of fun, and I am behind on everything I am watching–reality shows in particular, which should be fun to get caught up on as the weekend progresses.

Gaslight is an excellent movie, and where the term “gaslighting” comes from; if you’re unfamiliar with the film, it’s not a spoiler (plus, movie is from 1944) to say the story is about a young woman whose husband is toying with her mind, making her believe she is losing her mind. It’s brilliantly conceived, and if to modern eyes it might seem a bit old-fashioned (why doesn’t she stand up for herself?) but women had so little power or control of their lives once they were married…I’ve always felt that Gothic suspense is, for want of a more accurate term, is “women’s noir”–domestic suspense also falls sometimes under that umbrella–because, while they may not be about amoral women trying to get what they want through criminal activity, they are about women’s fears, and I am sure someone has made the connection between the popularity of that style of film/book in the mid to late 20th century because women were so powerless, and its decline after the rise of feminism. I’ve always loved Gothics–which is why I have such affinity for both crime and horror’s Gothic sub-genres–and Gaslight encapsulates those fears so perfectly–and Ingrid Bergman deserved the Oscar she won for it; she also was at the peak of her beauty at the same time, and is just so stunning on screen that you can’t take your eyes off of her–and she had such beautiful skin!

Sigh. So much to get done! So, I should probably head into the spice mines this morning. If I owe you an email, apologies–I’ll hopefully get to them over the next few days–and cleaning and errands and…sighs again. Anyway, enjoy your day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again tomorrow morning. Till then!

This is Orleans Parish Criminal Court, on Tulane Avenue. The square white building behind on the right is Orleans Parish Prison (OPP).

My Best Friend’s Girl

Saturday morning and I should be waking up in a motel in Alabama instead of sitting at my desk in the Lost Apartment, yet here we are, you know? It’s gray out there this morning, but the sun is behind a few clouds. I just thought it more prudent not to drive up there until this is all over, and I don’t have to worry about flash flooding along 59N. I cannot imagine much worse than being stranded by weather in rural Mississippi, you know? Last night was the best night of sleep I had all week for some reason that I am not questioning but really am embracing. I do have some errands to do this morning, and I need to do some cleaning and get started on packing, too. There are games all day today on television, but looking at the schedule–I thought Georgia-Alabama was a night game, but according to the schedule I just consulted it’s the afternoon game. The morning game is A&M at Missouri, so…I can run errands this morning and have some things delivered. I was lethargic yesterday; I had the day off after my benefits meeting so I could drive north after, but the weather was too iffy and I really didn’t like that flash flood watch on 59N. I did manage to get the laundry done, though, and I did work on some other chores, but the kitchen and living room are still a mess, but that will give me something to occupy my time during games and half-time and so forth.

Oh, and GEAUX TIGERS! LSU plays at Kentucky tonight, and it should be a good game. Oh, the Texas-Oklahoma game is this afternoon, too. Like I said, lots of good games today.

We finished Neagley last night, which we both loved and hope there’s going to be another season on to infinity, it’s really that good. We got caught up on AHS:13, which has lost the plot but, you know, Jessica Lange and Angela Bassett, both of whom elevate their material. We also watched this week’s Traitors, which was fun and ended on an amazing cliff-hanger (as they always do; we won’t know who was murdered until next week), and finished Lanterns, which was also superb and probably the best DC television series–probably ever. Kyle Chandler and the entire cast is fantastic, but Aaron Pierre embodies John Stewart as well as Alan Ritchson does Reacher. Green Lantern was never one of my favorites (though I loved his team-up comic with Green Arrow, aptly titled Green Arrow/Green Lantern), but I did appreciate him–and I missed the time in the comics when Hal Jordan handed off to John Stewart and Guy Gardner, so was never sure how that played out or how we wound up with two of them–but I know John Stewart was around pre-Crisis, so yes, I missed that story.

If you’re also wondering how strong this Isaias storm is, they’ve closed Waffle Houses all over the panhandle and around Mobile, so yes, terrifying. And yes, the cost of gas is about to go up again, if it hasn’t already; storm in the gulf means jump in gas prices. Always.

Heavy sigh.

I do feel good this morning, and better about things in general. Yesterday, I was subjected to the ever-popular “shut up faggot and vote blue no matter who if you know what’s good for you” because I had the temerity to call out Democratic candidates who throw the queer community under the bus to pander to homophobic voters….who will never vote for your ass in the first place…and then not five minutes after the latest Democratic betrayal to have the nerve to send me an email asking for money “because we need to flip” Congress. Silly me, my thought was “you released a homophobic ad and you’re asking ME for money now? Go fuck yourself with a razor blade studded dildo, bitch; ask your TERF voters for money.” Oh, but queer people have to just suck it up and donate and vote blue no matter who but all you fucks who couldn’t bring yourselves for the Black woman because reasons but think we just have to eat a shit sandwich and hope she’s not one of them once elected? Bitch fucking please. How many times already have we seen this play out? Sinema, Fetterman, etc. Well, I don’t live in her state, just as I don’t live in the states where other so-called “progressive Democrats” have already walked back unflinching support; so, not a national candidate. Ask the homophobic voters you’re courting for money, because you’re not getting any of mine. Funny how candidates that are allies always have some other thing that doesn’t pass the “purity tests,” but homophobia is just fucking fine with these same people. Fuck them, fuck you, and if you can get elected, great–but don’t come fucking crying to me when your savior (remember Graham Platner? His homophobia wasn’t enough to derail with progressives, and they fought for him to the death despite all of his baggage…which inevitably blew up his campaign) turns out to be a narcissistic corrupt piece of shit.

And political influencers? They’re in this for clicks, likes, and subscriptions. I don’t trust any of them, and don’t much care for most.

Homophobes, or people who pander to them, are never progressives. You cannot be a progressive if you’re homophobic, racist, or misogynist or some combination of those. And if you think those are progressive values, enjoy Hell when you get there, because you’re a piece of utter shit.

Oh, don’t worry–ultimately, I am not going to be stupid and not vote, or vote Republican. Jamie Davis has a shot at breaking the MAGA stranglehold on Louisiana, and I am not sitting that out by any means. Do I know how Davis feels about queer equality and our community? No, I don’t–but I know I am voting for him anyway, just as I hope people will vote blue no matter who in other states. But I am already preparing myself for the inevitable settling of these progressive candidates into corporate moderates, like they always do, getting money under the table to sell out their constituents and supporters. But I realized that, yet again, I am voting for harm reduction.

Just one more time I’d like to vote for someone I can believe in, you know? I’m sick of voting for the lesser of two evils…and it’s not like the DNC gives two shits about us in Louisiana–where’s the money from the DNC for Jamie Davis and Angie Nixon? Schumer and Jeffries–both of whom need to be removed from leadership–are going to hobble anything if they have a majority these next two years, which is just long enough for them to write strongly worded emails and social media posts and nothing else so the country turns on them again just in time to vote MAGA back into power again in 2028. I haven’t given money to the DNC in years, because the milquetoast approach they’ve taken over the last twenty years has been an utter failure; I just give directly to candidates now.

I also think there’s way too much money in elections now. It’s become an industry. How is that good for we, the people? It’s not, actually.

And on that note, I am off to the spice mines for today. I need to figure out a plan for today, but first I’m going to check in on the news, see what’s happening with the storm, and have some breakfast. I will see you tomorrow morning before I drive north, Constant Reader. Have a great day!

Got a Lot On My Head

Wednesday morning Pay the Bills Day has somehow moved back up onto my calendar and somehow is today again. Seriously? When did this happen? My word, the way time flies. Anyway, yesterday was a pretty good day at work, overall. I got a lot done–with more to do before I leave Friday–and felt pretty good about the day. I was tired after work and was able to go straight home (errands tonight), and was too tired to do much of anything except sit in my chair with Sparky and watch the season finale of Real Housewives: Ultimate Girls’ Trip, and then two more episodes of Neagley before I went up to bed. I woke up several times during the night, but I feel rested–at least for now, at any rate–and tonight I need to start getting ready for the drive on Friday, which I am looking forward to. Peter Straub’s Shadowlands will make an excellent travel companion, methinks.

Well the system that sprang up in the Bay of Campeche started moving north, but the cone of uncertainty this morning has shifted more east, so landfall is moving away from New Orleans, which is a good thing. There will be rain and high winds and flooding from Isaias (named as a storm overnight) and it’s not going to be ashore until around one a.m. in the morning Saturday. I’ll beat the storm driving north, but it will impact us in Alabama and the cone extends all the way to Kentucky, but hopefully all will well and past when we head north on Monday. I was also a little concerned about leaving Paul and Sparky with a storm coming, but with the eastward shift I feel a little more relief.

I’ve seen a lot of chatter on-line since Monday night about how the “Saints let the city down.” First of all, fuck you, and second of all, winning this game wasn’t nearly as important as it was in 2006. It was twenty years ago. The average age of Saints players is 26, so they would have been pretty damned young when that game was played and a year younger when Katrina hit. Unless they experienced Katrina themselves, they probably have very little memory of it, or how important the 2006 Dome-coming game was to everyone in New Orleans; a city still mostly in ruins, and how wonderful it felt to have the Saints playing at home, and then winning in an incredibly exciting game? I remember Paul and I watching at home, screaming and yelling and jumping up and down–I’ll never, ever, forget Steve Gleason’s blocked punt–and how it gave us something besides misery and rebuilding to think about, and how proud and happy everyone was before, during and after. I wondered about it before hand; would the expectations be too heavy on the players? And the day did not have the same feel to it as it did twenty years ago. I noticed it at the start of the game, and owrried that maybe it was drilled into their heads how much this mattered, and they freaked out because of that combined lack of understanding and the pressure to not let us down.

So, yes, it was disappointing–and it’s always disappointing to lose to the dirty birds–but it wasn’t the end of the world and guess what? We’re all still here, aren’t we?

As for the MAGA trash in Nebraska? The next time I see any fucking farmer whining about getting exactly what the fuck they voted for, I am going to post that clip in response with the caption “This isn’t as funny to me as you losing your generational farms, assholes.” I say let it go back to prairie; the buffalo can repopulate it. And don’t come for me about blue dots in a red state–I am a blue dot in a red state. And if that was a Louisiana crowd, we’d deserve every bit of hate we’d get as a state.

And for the record, we are watching in real time as billionaires develop Skynet, because they think somehow it won’t affect them…you know, like farmers in fucking Nebraska. Miss me forever with that bullshit “real America” shit. Maybe real losers’ America, but never real America.

For the record, you inbred imbeciles, San Diego is the primary base for the Pacific Fleet, and there’s also a Marine training camp there. WAY TO SUPPORT THE TROOPS, you piece of shit traitors. Now do the two ports.

It’s the fucking death cult Sarah Palin told us about in 2010, but she said it was the Affordable Care Act that would set up death panels, the lying skank. Why doesn’t she ever get asked about that? Her party is the anti-science, anti-abortion, anti-intelligence, anti-health insurance, anti-vax party, not the Democrats (the corporate ones can lick my asshole clean the next time I have Taco Bell)–I have spent my entire life listening to the stupidest lies told from the right; they love nothing more than to bear false witness against thine neighbors…while warning us that we’re going to hell. “See you there!” is the proper response to that garbage.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back bright and early tomorrow morning.

Sexy Robert Kelker-Kelly, who I crushed on during his days as Sam on Another World. You can see why. Sadly, he passed away this past weekend.

I’m In Touch With Your World

Tuesday morning and here I am, about to head into the spice mines again. Whew! Yesterday was a day. We were busier in the clinic than we have been (I saw ten people in just under four hours), and so was very drained and tired by the time my shift ended. I also ran errands on the way home, and finally dragged myself into the apartment tired, and just wanting to collapse into my chair, Sparky was a love bug, which was just what I needed, and I slept deeply and well, too. It was a very weird energy day; cloudy and gray and humid, we were supposed to get thunderstorms but it felt like one was ready to go at any moment, the air was so thick and heavy. We started watching the Saints game, but switched over to Neagley–the game wasn’t worth watching–and got two more episodes in. It is excellent, I have to say; I may even like it more than Reacher, and that’s saying a lot. Neagley is such a bad ass!

I have to be more focused today because I have a lot to get done before I leave on Friday. I didn’t make as much progress on moving forward as I would have liked, but any progress is progress. I also just looked at the calendar and realized there are two full weeks left in October when I get home from Kentucky next weekend, so that’s somewhat better. I’d also like to get a newsletter out before I head up on Friday afternoon, but we’ll see how that works out, won’t we? Behind on everything; losing the weekend to a lack of energy and brain fog from the vaccines didn’t help much; I also think part of the reason I’ve had stronger reactions to these shots these last few years has everything to do with me having an auto-immune disorder. Duh, right? I need to remember to start seeing my health through that lens, don’t you think? That would make the most sense, would it not?

The hilarity with which I am experiencing this “Medicaid ad” Sarah Slanders had run promoting her “you have to work to get Medicaid” rules and the blowback from her supporters for using a young white dude (pushing the whole “gamer in his mother’s basement” trope) instead of someone Black just has me in stitches. Your ad needed to be racist is a stance I didn’t have on my 2026 MAGA Filth Bingo card, but here we are. I suppose these things shouldn’t surprise me any longer, but…I am nothing if not inwardly optimistic, despite my bitter cynicism. Likewise, I am deeply distrustful of all this “blue wave” reporting. Polls aren’t votes, and it never ceases to amaze me how it never occurs to any news broadcaster that people have any number of reasons to answer questions honestly. Some people don’t want to admit to anyone who they’re voting for; etc. etc. etc….and whenever I get a call from a right wing pollster (or they send me a survey in the mail; the RNC has gotten some amazing survey responses from me, heh heh heh) I lie to them….unless I am in a mood to let them have it with both barrels. And now they are back to shoving Nate Silver, a noted piece of shit, as an “expert” down our throats again because they need and want big ratings from the midterms. (24/7 news is not, nor has it ever been, a boon to the American public.) They also prefer election narratives rather than actually reporting what is going on in the world and the country.

Dennis Hastert died recently, and the only sad thing is that it didn’t happen sooner, the pedophilic traitor. Hope they slathered your corpse with butter for basting your pasty ass in hell, Hastert! You are the reason people need to believe in hell, you know.

Maybe I can talk about the Saints game later this week.

And on that sad note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Taco Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning.

The night the kudzu gets your fields, you sleep like the dead–“Kudzu” by James Dickey

Impressive Instant

Friday morning and in a bit I am off to the office for a meeting before I run errands on my way home. It has been a pretty decent week, in all honesty. I didn’t sleep as well as I would have preferred, but that happens, and I think I was drinking coffee after twelve noon the last couple of days, which could be the cause. Caffeine and I walk a very thin line together; too much makes me sick, and if I drink any after noon I won’t sleep as well. So it goes in the life of a senior citizen. But I did sleep through the night, and feel pretty rested and good this morning (I think my body doesn’t know I am going to the office in a moment, or maybe the extra hour this morning made a huge difference).

It did rain a bit yesterday (and more so while I slept, given how wet everything outside appears to be), and now that I work in a testing room with a window (it faces Elysian Fields1) the temptation to just sit there and watch the rain is very powerful. I am a sucker for rain, always have been, which is yet another reason I love living in New Orleans. I lived in California for eight years and I can’t even remember it raining there, which was awful. The rains of Houston, where I moved next, were awesome though. Unfortunately, that meant the humidity returned after it stopped and the sun came back out. Wednesday it was in the 80s most of the day, but when I left the office it was pleasant out–meaning no humidity–and it wasn’t hot inside the car, either. I managed to get home and into the house without breaking a sweat, and it’s been months since that last happened.

Well, the always problematic Joyce Carol Oates showed her entire flat, unwashed ass by claiming the only genre where AI would be useful would be romance–which she claimed was formulaic and thus of no value, apparently–which is such a disgusting thing for any woman to say, especially one as famous and respected and praised as Joyce Carol Oates. Way to shit on an entire genre, which is predominantly for women and dominated by women. Surely, Ms. Oates doesn’t mean to imply that she hasn’t written anything formulaic, does she? Because I cannot believe every single thing that has come out of her typewriter has been so completely original and never done or tried before and had has advanced modern literature by breaking new and important literary territory? Or is she just another one of those women who dislike other women? I know some of her buddies are misogynist pigs, and despite all evidence that her buddies are garbage, she proudly stands by them. Probably thinks she’s also a feminist while playing pick-me to be one of the guys. I don’t write romance, but I know a snobby bitch when I see one. I don’t need to boycott her because seeing her clearly as a tool of the patriarchy, I stopped reading her.

And I don’t kiss anyone’s ass, no matter how “powerful” they appear to be. It’s easy to shit on a genre when you’ve never written in it–and frankly, because a HEA is de rigeur, romance writers also excel at character, dialogue and place; no one’s going to read a romance that doesn’t affect their emotions because then it wouldn’t be a romance. I would like to challenge every elitist writer who thinks romance is a joke genre to write one. Let’s see exactly how easy it is, shall we? I remember a few years ago when that South American literary writer wrote a thriller “as a joke” but then published it; shitting all over our genre because, you know, she’s so above it. Turned out mystery fans weren’t going to support a snotty, arrogant elitist bitch anymore than a romance fan would.

I may not write romance, and I don’t read a lot of it. But I have edited a lot of romance novels, I appreciate the skills and talents of romance authors, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for them. I may write one someday, not to see if I can make “easy money” (there’s no such thing in this business), but to see if I can actually do it well. I like challenging myself when I write, and I think writing a romance would be a great challenge for me. Someday. I need to finish the current book and write another Scotty before I start the horror novel I’m itching to start writing.

You come for the romance genre through me, bitch.

I didn’t do much around here last night when I got home because I was tired. I came straight home and crashed out immediately into my chair with Sparky in my lap, and I just kind of zoned out with the news–both national and football. Today is my last full day in the office for the week–we have an in-person meeting tomorrow morning–but the good news is the house isn’t in bad shape, and so won’t take me long this weekend to set to rights. I am dragging a bit this morning, which is to be expected on a Thursday morning, right? I slept pretty well the last two nights and have no trouble getting up in the mornings, but I remain a bit tired throughout the day, and maybe not as alert as I would like by the time I get home every night? Thursday nights usually are nights when I don’t do much of anything; but I do have to get up early tomorrow for the meeting. I need to get back to work on writing fiction–the book and some other short stories, but it’s the newsletter essays I’ve been enjoying writing the most lately, which is odd–but I also think writing those is helping me improve on my skills.

Yesterday was also October 1st and the official start of Halloween Horror Month, when most of my reading and streaming will (and should be) horror. I definitely want to watch Halloween and A Nightmare on Elm Street again, and maybe pick up on some new ones. I really wish Friday the 13th-the Series was available to stream somewhere, because I’d love to watch it all again; I don’t think I ever saw the entire show. But the antique store of cursed objects–and having to track the objects down before they start killing people–was a most excellent concept, and while the show was done on the cheap–it was syndicated back before money was put into syndicated shows–the few episodes I’ve been able to track down on Youtube are a bit hokey, but there’s still a lot of fun to watch. I love dedicating the entire month to horror; even my juvenile rereads this month will have to do with hauntings, methinks. I think AHS:13 airs its entire season by the end of October, which is nice. It’s also weird to think next Friday I’ll be heading up to Alabama for Mom and Dad’s birthdays, and then up to Kentucky for the rest of that following week. This month is going to fly by, isn’t it? And then it’s November and then Christmas and then Mardi Gras and it’s March before I know it.

And ugh, I agreed to moderate a panel at the Louisiana Book Festival, so I have to do two things up there this year. Given the cost of gas, more bang for my buck is probably a good thing. I’ll probably end up going up on Friday and spending the night; there’s an opening party that night I usually skip, but I’d rather do that then get up early Saturday and drive up there…which means booking a room. Add that to my lengthy to-do list.

The local New Orleans gay community is up in arms over something I cannot really speak to without making the following disclaimer: I do not speak for my day job, I am not authorized to speak on behalf of my day job, and I am speaking here solely as myself–Greg Herren, the local gay author who has lived here for over thirty years, moving here before there was life-saving treatment for HIV. If you want to see what’s going on, feel free to go on Facebook and look at either the Queer New Orleans page or certain Quarter bars. I can’t speak on the situation and again do not speak for the agency where I work, but I would like to thank the local gay community for your support and the pushback against the businesses attacking us. I forget sometimes how important we are to the community here, how much good we’ve done (and continue to do), and how much the community actually appreciates us. I thank you, and the supportive commentary I’ve seen was touching–and you know how cold and dead inside I am.

And you know, even if I didn’t work where I do, I would also be grateful to my agency. As a sixty-five year old gay man who lived through the worst of the plague days, I have nothing but respect and appreciation for any organization that does HIV work. Anyone who doesn’t? Absolute trash–and if they ever seroconverted, you can bet your ass they’d be beating down our doors2 for our help.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning while I wait for the thunderstorms.

  1. The street, not the land of the heroic dead. ↩︎
  2. And this, for the record, is why you never fucking hire straight people to run gay businesses. Period. ↩︎