Doubts Even Here

Thursday and working from home.

I thought I would be tired yesterday afternoon, as it was my third straight get-up-at-six morning and I usually am, but I not only made it through the day fine, I had the energy to work on the book and do my chores last night when I got home, which was simply marvelous.

Tuesday when I got home from work the tree guys were at work on the neighbor’s property again, cutting back branches and leaving skeletal trees in their wake. There are no longer any leaves on any of the crepe myrtles running alongside the fence separating our properties, and the loss of even more foliage in another backyard has exposed my windows to even more direct morning sunlight this morning. Usually by now the sun’s glare is blocked; instead I am wearing a baseball cap quite low on my forehead to block out the blinding light. I am definitely going to have to get curtains or blinds of some sort; I can only imagine how miserable my work space is going to be when it starts getting hot again and the sun is shining through and being amplified by my windows. Heavy heaving sigh. I was hoping to not have to get blinds or curtains–I really love this natural light, but at least I don’t have to worry about missing the view of the branches and greenery in the neighbors’ yards anymore–the denuded tree trunks with the branches slashed off are actually kind of sad looking, and every time I look at them it just makes me sad. I am sure they was a practical reason for doing this–I think the last hurricane may have caused some property damage entirely related to the trees not being cut back–but it’s also a little annoying because my landlady has been asking them to trim back the ones along the fence for years to no avail, when they were possibly causing damage to our property. The fact the property owner next door (I think she or a company that is basically her owns the next three properties on the river side of our place) couldn’t care less about any damage or inconvenience her trees were causing all these years but the moment her property sustained some damage she sprang into action with her checkbook open is kind of telling of the American mentality these days–which essentially boils down to the callous “not my problem.”

I also transcribed what I’d written in my journal for “The Sound of Snow Falling,” and it wasn’t much–I always forget how big and loopy my longhand can be–an so it’s maybe about a little shy of a thousand words? It worked out to one page single-spaced when printed–so it may be even shorter of a thousand words than I am remembering this morning But it’s an interesting story, one that I will likely finish, even though there’s no anthology or magazine asking for it…this is why I don’t usually mind writing short stories on spec; it’s always a crapshoot when you write one, unless specifically invited and/or asked to do so, because there’s never a guarantee your story will be selected, anointed, published, etc. I love short stories because they are challenging for me to write, always a struggle, and I am never sure if I have gotten it correct when I am finished with it. Very rare is the story that was rejected by the market I originally wrote it for that I have turned around and sold without any revisions to it–“The Email Always Pings Twice” is one of those, actually–and the story I recently submitted for the MWA anthology is one I am hoping to get another shot at revising, whether its for the MWA editor or for submission elsewhere. I’m not entirely sure I pulled the story together as tightly as it should–needs–to be; it comes from working on it on and around the completion of one novel and diving into the revision of another, so my creative batteries were a bit depleted going into it. But I think this one has the potential to be a good one, a potential sale at some point, which is absolutely lovely. I also want to get back to “The Rosary of Broken Promises” and “To Sacrifice a Pawn”, two stories I began in December but needed a very quick turnaround to get submitted to an anthology Gabino Iglesias was pulling together; I was in the weeds with the novel and while I was able to get both stories started and formed slightly in my head, I just didn’t have the bandwidth to get them finished, but I do want to get back to work on them in the rest period between finishing this book and starting Chlorine…

Okay the sun glare has become worse, so I have thumbtacked a towel up over the window as a temporary measure until such time as I can get some blinds or come up with a more permanent, not silly looking, solution. It also has the added benefit of hiding the sad-looking tree skeletons from view. Heavy sigh. I do have some errands that must be run today, and after finishing my work-at-home day I shall have to repair to the gym for today’s workout, but overall there’s really nothing about today that’s going to be too difficult to deal with, methinks. After the gym I will most likely come home and do some more revising on the book–I am now up to Chapter Seven (of 20 total; so I should easily hit the halfway mark this weekend) and tonight I will probably start copy-editing the chapters I’ve already finished. I also kind of need to chart out what all needs to be added to this manuscript, so I am not flying blind and can tie up all of the loose ends in a very neat package and get it turned in, which will be most lovely.

I am also quite pleased by how I’ve kept up with the chores so far this week–there really isn’t much clean up left to be done over the course of the coming weekend, which is so fucking lovely you have no idea–there’s a load of dishes in the dishwasher to be put away and some scattered things on the counters to put away, but I don’t have a sink full of things to wash nor baskets of laundry to do, so I can focus on the floors during the cleaning, and possibly some in-depth spot cleaning. Maybe even more some things to clean behind them? Ooooh, stop the insanity!

Or…I could be my usual lazy self. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And on that note, Constant Reader, I must get to work. Have a lovely Thor’s Day, and I will see you tomorrow on Frey’s Day.

Primitive Notion

Another good night’s sleep, only to wake up to a frigid forty degree morning here in the Lost Apartment. I have my cappuccino prepared, the space heater is blowing warm air in my general direction, and the ceiling fans are most definitely turned off. The kitchen is clean this morning, which is lovely–there’s a load of dishes in the dishwasher needing to be put away, but that can wait till after work–but it was marvelous to come down to a cleaned up and organized kitchen this morning.

Paul was working last evening, so I did the same. I got another two chapters of the book polished and revised; and hopefully will keep that momentum going this evening. I also started reading Jess Lourey’s Edgar finalist Unspeakable Things, and that voice! It’s quite good thus far, and I am really looking forward to getting further into it this evening after going to the gym. Yes, I have to go workout this evening; my shoulder is finally no longer sore from last week’s inoculation (hallelujah) and it has been nearly a week since I last went to the gym. My muscles and joints will no doubt protest and creak a bit as I put them through their rusty paces this evening, but I really have to get back into the swing of the regular workouts…and I also have been missing them. This is a good thing, and I am very pleased that my natural inclination of blowing off the gym has become, at least currently, a thing of the past; a former behavior, if you will.

I’ve also concluded that there are so many wonderful notes in my journals that when I am not actually writing on the book, I should start going through the journals yet again and pull ideas out of there, actually creating electronic files and folders to track the stories. I have written at least six or seven hundred words in my journal on “The Sound of Snow Falling,” and I need to convert that into a Word document as soon as I can so I can really start writing the story. I also can’t believe I allowed myself to go so long without keeping a journal; I believe it was 2017 when I started keeping them again, and it’s really been rather nice. While I no longer write for the most part by long hand–primarily to spare myself the ordeal of transcribing–I do find that brainstorming while scribbling has a restorative, creative effect; the journals were enormously helpful when writing both Royal Street Reveillon and Bury Me in Shadows–and there are an awful lot of helpful notes and brainstorming in them about the Kansas book, which are certainly coming in handy as I write the book. It has evolved so much over the decades since I started writing it all those years ago, and so much that I wrote in it originally has come in helpful over the years, being pirated and plundered for other books and stories. I am very deeply ensconced inside this manuscript now–to the point where I haven’t been thought about Chlorine since I started this deep dive into this final edit. This is unusual; earlier in my career I would become immersed in a manuscript the way I am now; but over the years it inevitably got to the point where I would always be thinking about–and wanting to work on–the next one while rushing to get through the current. I also think having this razor sharp focus is making the book better than it might have been.

I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?

I also was thinking about “The Rosary of Broken Promises” yesterday for some reason, as well as “To Sacrifice a Pawn”–two other stories I think I started writing in December; yes, December, because the idea was to write something for a last minute Christmas anthology Gabino Iglesias was pulling together (it’s always interesting to me how I will write a story for a submission call of some sort, but the story rarely ever gets published by the market I wrote it for; take “The Snow Globe” for instance. That started out being written for a Halloween anthology HWA was doing; I never finished it and the deadline passed. I turned it into a Christmas story for another anthology call; it was rejected, but now I have sold it somewhere else entirely), but of course I was in the weeds with Bury Me in Shadows and never finished it; I think the most likely thing that’s going to happen is I will spend March planning out Chlorine while finishing some of these other stories and getting them out for submission. I think I still have two or three stories in anthologies that will be coming out this year at some point; I am really looking forward to seeing the finished books. And at some point soon, I will have enough stories for another single-author collection of my own, which is very exciting.

But the sun is rising over the West Bank with pinks and reds and pale blues staining the sky; and I must start putting together today’s lunch, packing my backpack, and getting into the shower to face down yet another day of clients and work at the office. I’m also going to need to start pulling together my tax information (yay); which I’m also kind of dreading…but I can do that after I finish the book, really. No rush there at all–which is a good thing; there are few things I hate more than prepping my taxes for the accountant.

And so I shall go ahead and bid you adieu for yet another morning, Constant Reader, and hope your Tuesday is as marvelous as you deserve.

Closer to Heaven

Yesterday was Friday, and I was tired.

Really, really tired.

I slept for ten hours last night and woke up still exhausted this morning–bleary-eyed and bone-tired. It makes me a bit nervous, as the last time I was able to sleep so much, or do deeply, only to still be tired, was when I was sick this last time, and whatever that was, I sure as hell don’t want to see it return again. I just feel what we used to say down south–“bone tired”. (Hmm, that’s not a bad title.) So, while I have things to do today–we need to swing by the Cat Practice to get Scooter another bag of food, for one, and I definitely need to do some writing and cleaning and organizing around here, if I have the energy–and in a worst case scenario, I can always simply curl up with some books or short stories. I did manage to do some reorganizing/rearranging of the books last night–out Netflix app on the Apple TV is all fucked up; I’m probably going to have to delete and download it again, which is an enormous pain in the ass. Our wireless was also running ridiculously  slow the last few days, so I rebooted the cable box and the wireless router yesterday, which signed me out of everything fucking thing and I just was too tired to deal with that shit last night. We wound up watching an incredibly bad gay movie on Amazon Prime–I won’t name it out of respect for the effort, time and money that went into it, plus I don’t like dumping on gay creators–during which both Paul and I dozed off here and there, before it was over and I finally retired to bed. I was also too tired last night to focus on doing any reading–which was definitely a lost opportunity, and one that I deeply regret. I’d like to finish reading Scott Heim’s Mysterious Skin this weekend; it’s really quite wonderful, and I’d like to move on to his We Disappear once I finish it. I’ve also got a lot of short stories to read–not the least of which is W. Somerset Maugham’s “The Letter,” and I simply love that it’s the source material for one of my favorite Bette Davis movies, of the same name–and there’s another one, by Mark Twain, about an incident that happened at the court of Charles VI in France (I stumbled on this story somehow; the true story it’s based on is detailed in Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror, which is starting to seem like a really great inspiration for me, almost Biblical in its inspiration). Plus I have, as I noticed last night as I reorganized the books, The Collected Stories of Flannery O’Connor and the latest Lawrence Block anthology–Mr. Block does some seriously excellent anthologies, for the record–and so there’s all kinds of good reading on hand should I have the mental acuity to focus on some reading today.

It’s also not a bad idea to read the stories I am currently readying for submission by the end of the month. Perhaps I should spend the day in my easy chair with print outs of stories and perhaps spend some time with some of my favorite short story writers. It’s also not a bad idea to revisit Bury Me in Shadows, which I have decided to completely overhaul–the problem is the main character’s age, but because I envisioned it originally as being about a teenager, I was stubbornly clinging to that idea, and it actually works better if I advance his age to having just graduated Pre-Law from college and readying to attend law school in the fall; this having a free place to live in the summer and a paying job that is relatively easy makes more sense for the character to agree to what he’s doing; plus it eliminates the entire what is his mother thinking in letting him do this? It will also require me to do some other tweaking (not that kind of tweaking, those days are long in my past, thank you very much), but I also think it’ll be stronger and a better story for it.

Which is always a plus.

I would like to do some work this weekend on other stories that are currently hanging in stasis right now, not the least of which is my pandemic story, “The Flagellants.” I’m not certain why that story is nagging at me; I don’t know what it’s going to be or how its going to end; so I guess it’s one of those stories that will reveal itself to me as I write it, which is madness, really.

Recently someone–I think Gabino Iglesias? I could be wrong–tweeted asking writers to stop talking about how much they hate writing, and his tweets really resonated with me. I don’t hate writing, but it would be easy to assume that I do from reading what I post, tweet and blog about writing. I do love writing; I love everything about it, even the frustrations and irritations–which I usually have to express to get out of my system. Publishing is an entire different subject than writing; I reserve the right to always be able to bitch about the publishing industry and its quirks and utter seeming ridiculousness whenever I please, along with the right to complain about being frustrated with the writing process at any time. But I want to make it very clear that I love writing and that’s why I do it. I love writing what I write, even though I am well aware (and if I wasn’t, have been told enough times by my heterosexual colleagues) that there’s not really any money in writing gay crime stories. But I like writing gay crime stories; I like writing gay characters, and I also feel like the full potential for gay crime stories has yet to be tapped. But I’ve dabbled with heterosexual narratives in my short stories, and if I am ever going to write a novel about straight people–or centering the straight point of view–the short stories are an excellent way to practice.

And…every new story I finish writing puts me that much closer to a second collection of stories, which is very exciting to me. I was originally calling the second collection Once a Tiger and Other Stories, but I am thinking about changing it to This Town and Other Stories, primarily because “This Town” is a better story than “Once a Tiger” and secondly, I like the symbolism of “this town” referring to New Orleans–even though that’s not what the Go-Go’s were referring to in their song of the same title, which was the inspiration for my story. (My original collection began as Annunciation Shotgun and Other Stories before metamorphosing into Survivor’s Guilt and Other Stories.)

I also started writing a blog entry about my love of The Three Investigators, which will probably go up at some point over this weekend; depends, I suppose, on when I finish it. And there’s a shit ton of emails that need my attention in my inbox as well; but I just can’t face that yet today. Maybe later on, after I get some things done, I can spend some time answering emails (as drafts to send on Monday) as well as writing some that I need to send.

But I just heard the dryer stop, which means I need to go fold some clothes and add another load to the dryer, and my coffee cup is also empty and in dire need of refilling; my stomach is growling as well, so it’s probably time for me to push away from the desk, get more coffee, fold some clothes and then have some Honey-nut Cheerios–which has been my pandemic breakfast of choice these days.

It also looks like a beautiful day outside. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader!

IMG_0473