Tag: Last Call

Here You Come Again

Monday! Back to the office for the weekly routine! It took me awhile to fall asleep last night, but eventually Morpheus opened his arms and welcomed me into the Dreaming, although I don’t remember anything I dreamt last night. Yesterday was, over all, not bad. I’d slept fairly decently Saturday night, but had some trouble with motivation yesterday. I did write a little bit, but for the most part felt burned out and mostly tired for most of the day. The end of the month is nigh, of course, which is a bit of a trip–can it really be August already–and the year is slipping past. I have a busy rest of the year ahead of me, too–after Bouchercon I am having oral surgery, and I am trying to schedule a consultation so I can get my arm surgery scheduled before the end of the year. I’d prefer to do neither, but I am tired of mouth pain and am not sure how much longer I could last dealing with the pain from my teeth. I am just ready to be done permanently with mouth pain.

It was raining when I went to bed last night, so I imagine the sound of rain helped me fall into a deep sleep; if only we could have a thunderstorm every night when it’s time for bed. Paul is leaving Wednesday, so when I get home from work that night he won’t be here. I am kind of in denial about it, to be completely honest. I’m going to be excessively bored, undoubtedly, but the key is to make sure I utilize the time effectively rather than allowing myself to be bored, you know? I can always read something, there’s a lot of shows for me to catch up on that Paul’s not interested in–Superman and Lois, and I should finish Titans, and My Adventures with Superman–and there are other classic films I’d like to watch as well. I can also watch the television in the bedroom and read in bed every night if I so desire.

We did finish watching Last Call last night, which was terribly sad because of how the killer was able to get away with it–twice!–before they finally linked him to the gruesome murders, and the difficulties prosecutors had in determining jurisdiction. We had a serial killer in the aughts who was preying on gay men down in the bayou parishes of Terrebonne and Lafourche back in those pre-Katrina times; no one’s ever written about him as far as I know, and most of his victims were homeless and/or hustlers, so no one cared much about the victims (similar to what happened with the Jeff Davis Eight in the same time period–women with records for prostitution and drugs murdered and no one ever caught or prosecuted) but at least they did finally catch the Bayou Killer (that’s not what his name was; I’m not even sure they gave him one since no one cared about the victims), but what the primary underlying theme to both true crime stories is that the police, for the most part, didn’t care about the victims so they didn’t try terribly hard to find them justice.

Yet another example of the fraught relationship between my community and the cops.

We also watched the first three episodes of Gotham Knights, which was better than I was expecting. DC’s continuity is something I no longer understand, as there are any number of Batman children and Robins and so forth having accumulated over the years, so I am not really sure about how the cast of this show came together–Batman’s adopted son, who isn’t a Robin, is accused of hiring the Joker’s daughter and some sidekicks to murder Bruce Wayne/Batman for the inheritance. Now they–with the help of a young Black female Robin–have to clear their names and catch the real killers, which involves the Court of Owls. I have no idea what’s going on these days in the comics with the Batman family–but I will always think of them as the originals I grew up with: Batman, Robin, Batgirl, and Nightwing (my favorite).

I also spent some time reading Kelly J. Ford’s The Hunt, which I am enjoying a lot. Kelly really gets the Southern working class voice and setting perfectly, and of course, she’s very literate in the way she writes. The book is layered and textured, and captures that small Southern community feeling more perfectly than most writers I’ve encountered. The queers are doing some really great work in crime fiction these days, which is pretty amazing–with amazing new voices coming along, it seems, fairly regularly over the last few years. Kelly, John Copenhaver, Margot Douaihy, Marco Carocari, Rob Osler and PJ Vernon are all doing amazing work and getting mainstream recognition, which is even cooler. Rob’s Devil’s Chew Toy continues to wrack up award nominations for debut novel; he’s currently up for both the Anthony and Macavity, and was one of the finalists for the first ever Lillian Jackson Braun award. Well done, Rob!

I, of course, didn’t complete my ambitious plans for the weekend, and that was in no small part due to that little voice reminding me in my head repeatedly what are you going to do while Paul’s gone–and of course, it never takes much persuasion for me to procrastinate or to be lazy, so I would give in and go do something besides sit at the computer and write, which is of course terrible. But I also didn’t want to not spend time with Paul while he was awake, either, since he’s leaving on Wednesday. Sigh. It truly never ends.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have as lovely a Monday as possible, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again later.

Calfskin Smack

Tuesday and we made it through Monday. I didn’t sleep great for some reason on Sunday night–restless and kept waking up–so I was dragging yesterday, as could be expected. I wasn’t mentally tired, but physically? Yeah, not great. I was also hungry all morning despite having had cereal, a banana, and peanut butter toast. Go figure. Then again, I also ate earlier than usual on Sunday, so that could have had a lot to do with the hunger issue. I am glad that I have finally identified that feeling as hunger, though. It’s very rare when I experience it, so am very glad to know what it actually is for those moments when I do have that dull empty stomach ache. The irony that I didn’t think it was hunger because hunger pains usually went away after a moment or two, so I thought it was something else. I guess my body has changed yet again.

I did start revising the first four chapters of the next book I am going to write. It was a bit slow going, primarily because I don’t think I’ve got the voice completely down again–I decided that it was silly not to reread the chapters again before working on the rewrite; that could be why it was slow going and hard for me to slip back into my character’s voice again. There’s a cynical, world-weariness to him that you’d think would be super easy for me to slip into again, but the difficulty with the revision stuff made me realize I don’t really know much about my character and his history/back story either, so I need to work on that a bit more before I can really dig into the story the way I really want to, so that’s something, right? But I took a break from it, folded clothes and washed dishes, and then came back to it and slid right into his head and his voice, knowing exactly where I was and who I was writing about and what was going on. It felt good, and while I only did about 800 words or so today in total gain (there was also subtraction going on), it felt really good and it also put me into a good mood. I do love writing–at least this part of it, before I’ve cursed myself out for not seeing this plot hole or for forgetting this subplot and never resolving it, when I am stuck in the middle and it feels like everything I am writing is just filler; you know, the emotional rollercoaster of a journey I undertake with every new book I write.

Yeah, this is the part I like.

We also watched the new episode of Last Call, which is a book I still need to read. It’s such an eerie and creepy story–one which American Horror Story: NYC essentially “ripped from the headlines” for a significant portion of its plot–but I mused about how I hadn’t heard anything about this case, despite being gay and out at the time. I was living in Tampa, and reading the local queer paper and I also used to subscribe to both Out and The Advocate because once I was out I was all about being gay in every aspect of my life, and what better way to learn about being gay than reading, which is what I always did? But I never read anything about these murders that I recall. I am definitely going to have to read this book, and there are a few other gay books I want to read this summer–but there are sooooo many great new crime novels dropping by amazing authors too! Bouchercon is also looming on the horizon. I am getting invited to meals and meetings, and of course there are my panels. I don’t know who all is going because it always seemed so far away that there was plenty of time to check in with everyone, but it’s like getting closer and closer by the day.

The lackadaisical almost malaise I’ve been staggering under for quite some time now seems to have lifted, or at least for a temporary lull, at any rate. This year hasn’t been an easy one, and neither was the last. Everyone seems to be struggling with more things than usual these days, so I am not really comfortable complaining or whining or even just commenting on what a shitty period the last few years have been. I’m glad Mom is no longer suffering or struggling, but I hate that the side effect of that is Dad’s unhappiness. I’m glad Scooter left us pretty quickly and painlessly with a minimum of suffering–when I got home from the office yesterday Paul had picked up his cremated remains, so had a moment of deep sadness and misery when I got home from work yesterday. It was nice to share the sadness, though, with Paul; I try not to be sad in front of him because I think it makes him feel worse–also because it’s even harder for me to see him sad, but we should share our griefs and burdens more because it does help not to do it alone. As I mentioned, it felt good to start digging into the new book last night, even if it was just revising and strengthening what was already there. I haven’t started reading the new Kelly Ford, but will probably do that today. I actually was sitting in my easy chair feeling sad last night and missing Scooter, when I snapped myself out of it and got up off my ass and did some things. I made myself write, and when I got stuck, instead of giving up I did some chores to shake things loose in my head and wrote some more. I slept better last night than I did the night before–still woke up a few times, but still was a much less restless night than Sunday night was–and am feeling pretty rested, if not completely awake, this morning, which is also nice. I am hoping to make it through the week without getting run down and/or exhausted. I got two books yesterday–the new Eryk Pruitt, Something Bad Wrong, and a reprint of a Scholastic Book Club mystery I really enjoyed as a kid, The Mystery of the Pirate’s Ghost by Elizabeth Honess, which should be fun revisiting. I am still considering writing middle grade mysteries, and so I am trying to reread some of my favorites as well as some of the more modern offerings.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

Pur

Wednesday Pay-the-Bill day, and I have the day off because I have a doctor’s appointment smack dab in the middle of the day, so…no choice but to take the day off. I don’t mind, despite the disruption of routine it causes. I have errands I can get done, and I can also take Megan Abbott with me to the appointment to read while I (inevitably) wait.

Coming home from work wasn’t as rough yesterday as it was Monday. I did pause once I shut the front door to wait and see if Scooter would come downstairs before remembering, which made a bit sad. It really doesn’t feel like home without a cat in it. And of course, our next cat may not be anything like Scooter. Scooter was a completely different cat from Skittle, after all–Skittle wasn’t nearly as affectionate, but he was but only when he wanted to be and for as long as he felt like it, while Scooter was constant. I’m torn between a kitten and one that’s already full grown; primarily because everyone wants kittens and it’s harder to adopt out full grown cats. Kittens are awfully cute; Skittle was a kitten when we got him. But our stairs are pretty steep for a kitten to navigate, and it also means we’d have to be a lot more careful with the front door. Scooter had no interest in going outside whatsoever; the front door could be wide open and he was having none of it. He was so disinterested in the outside he wouldn’t even stare out the windows–unless he heard Paul talking outside on his phone. That always intrigued him, and was the only time I ever worried about him going outside–if Paul was out there, Scooter would want to join him. But as a general rule, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about outside. (I’m with you, Scooter, I’d never go outside again if I could get away with it!)

I wasn’t tired yesterday either. I slept really well on Monday night–I’ve slept well ever since I finally adapted back to my life and reality after my vacation and the 4th holiday fucked with me–and we had a relatively easy day at the office. Between clients I did some more deep diving into Alabama history; I don’t know why it never occurred to me until this week that if I was going to write a short story built around an urban legend, why try Louisiana when I have all that history and lore and legends about my home state? I found a particularly gory and grotesque Civil War revenge story–based in fact–which might do the trick. One of the things that has been interesting me lately is the concept of the interior civil war inside the state of Alabama in the north hill country; Union sympathizers who didn’t believe in secession and refused to fight for the Confederacy, and some even served in the Union army. The Alabama Home Guard was particularly brutal; they were the ones who committed the atrocities that triggered the vengeance story, and that something I think I can work with. I know there’s a legend that one of my aunt-by-marriage’s ancestors served in the Union Army and when he snuck home for a visit, the Home Guard caught him and skinned him alive. Gruesome and horrible, but the back country in the South’s entire history is gruesome and horrible. There are a lot more stories to be told about the part of the country from whence I came…

I slept well again last night, too. I was able to sleep in a bit later because I took the day off for doctor appointments–I need to talk to my doctor about my arm and my toe again, heavy sigh–but since the appointment was in the middle of the day, I didn’t see any point in either going in before and returning after so took the entire day off. It’s a nice break to the week, really. We watched this week’s episode of Last Call, and then went back to The Crowded Room–mostly because we didn’t have anything else to watch last night. The first five or so episodes of the show moved really slow and you couldn’t really be sure what was going on. I figured out it was dissociative identity disorder that was plaguing the poor sad character being played (brilliantly) by Tom Holland; but the episodes we watched last night moved the story along, tied it all together, and were riveting. Paul and I agreed it was an odd storytelling choice; risking losing the interest of the viewers who might not continue because it was moving so slow and made so little sense. We wouldn’t have gone back had there been anything else for us to watch–but the performance by Tom Holland! My word, he’s quite the talent. I knew he could act–I’ve seen him give incredibly strong performances in two films, Cherry and the other one, The Devil All The Time, which was, in my opinion, terribly underrated as a film. I suspect Holland will win an Oscar at some point–if people can stop seeing him as Spider-Man.

I was thinking it might be fun–since our anniversary is tomorrow–to surprise Paul with a cat when he gets home from work tonight. But the more I think about it, the more I think that as fun as that would be, I think he’d want to be involved in the selection process. So, probably the best thing to do is talk to him about it tonight when he gets home from work, and maybe going out to the SPCA on the West Bank to see what kitties they have on hand for rescuing. I’ve looked at several websites for adoptable cats in the area, and of course want them all (Wendy Corsi Staub recently wrote a piece for CrimeSpree to promote her new book, Windfall, about winning the lottery; she asked a bunch of us what we would do should we win the huge lottery…and I should have said “buy a ranch so I could adopt all the cats in the world and give them a loving home,” because I would really love to do that), so probably its best to involve Paul in the process. Paul picked out Skittle, even though I found Scooter. I’m still missing Scooter–expecting him to come down the stairs at any moment, listening for him, and sitting in my easy chair after I get home from work just isn’t the same thing; I cannot justify sitting there doing nothing without the “cat sleeping in my lap” excuse.

I’ve got laundry going, and I need to finish the load of dishes in the sink so I can put them in the dishwasher and run it. I am going to try to get some things done around the house around the appointment, but we shall see how that goes. We’re in another heat advisory today–seriously–but this morning I am going to swill coffee, do some stuff around the kitchen, and maybe spend some time with Megan Abbott this morning. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in again later.

Summerhead

I’ve lost track of how many days in a row New Orleans has been under a heat advisory, but I’m beginning to think we’ve never not been in one. It’s always hot here in the summer time, and I can remember walking to Walgreens years ago and being completely drenched in sweat by the time I got home. When I taught aerobics in the summer time I showered three or four times a day (any wonder I developed psoriasis? Although it makes for an amusing question, I don’t believe that any more than I believe the moon landing was faked; I should probably find out what causes psoriasis at some point), and the city always swelters in the summer time. The summer heat here is unlike anywhere I’ve ever lived before; Tampa and Houston had a very similar type climate to New Orleans, but both of those cities somehow seemed to not ever get as brutally hot as it does here.

I’ve started looking at adoptable cats in the area, and as usual, I want them all. If I had a house as big as my parents’, I’d probably have at least four or five cats. I do love cats (even if I came to it late in life), and I really do want to write Daughters of Bast someday. I don’t know if that’s a story I can actually write and tell–since in order for it to work, the main character would need to be a descendant from a High Priestess of Bast, which means she wouldn’t be (at least not entirely) white. I know the “#ownvoices” movement has seemed to have lost some traction (concerns about who writes what is now taking–rightfully–a backseat to concerns about book bannings), but even if publishing has stopped being concerned that non-marginalized voices are writing about marginalized characters, the lesson was learned at least by me. And while Daughters of Bast is a great concept and idea (in my opinion), I’m not sure I have the right to write that story, but I do not see how I can without venturing into problematic territory. I will write something based in or around Egypt at some point though; Egypt has fascinated for far too long a period of my life (as long as I can remember I’ve been fascinated by ancient Egypt, the pharaohs, the pyramids, and their culture) for me to never write about it….but then again, I’ve not written anything historical, have I? A short story here and there?

Yesterday was actually kind of lovely. I’d cry here and there, of course, when I’d have a reminder–sitting in my chair alone watching Youtube, I started to call for him to come sleep in my lap before remembering was one of those moments–and of course, it feels weird going to bed without him curling up inside my arm. I keep picking up things–toys he’d played with a couple of times before abandoning, water dish, plastic container of cat food–which make me sad, but it’s gradually grew into more of a resigned sadness by the end of the day rather than the emotional kick in the gut. We got caught up on Hijack, with Idris Elba on Apple Plus, which is really quite good; started watching Last Call on HBO, based on the Edgar Award winning true crime about a serial killer praying on gay men in New York; and then moved on to Fake Profile on Netflix, which is, as all Spanish language crime melodramas are, fricking fantastic. We’ll probably finish Fake Profile today, but am not sure what else. We also finished season one of Platonic yesterday, which was also terrific.

I did spend some time reading Megan Abbott’s Beware the Woman; I only read the first chapter but its hallmark Abbott; the voice, especially, is just as haunting as always and I always marvel at how lyrically she puts sentences together. Her writing style is so evocative; it’s amazing to me how she can create an entire image in your head with a clever turn of phrase. It’s a kind of writerly witchcraft not many authors have, and while I am sure it has a lot to do with her education (she’s incredibly intelligent) and her own influences, she is just kind of a genius, really. I plan to spend some more time with it this morning, once I get some things cleaned up around here–the kitchen is a mess, and as always, dishes dishes dishes and filing filing filing. But I did do some clean-up around here yesterday and I also successfully pruned the books down. I got rid of some of the empty boxes that have piled up around here, and so progress was made on the messy, slovenly hovel I call the Lost Apartment. I slept pretty well last night, too. I also spent some time brainstorming loosely in my journal for the next book I’m going to write. (I also just realized I’ve been listening for Scooter to come downstairs and demand his breakfast; I suppose that’s going to be a lengthy wait this morning…)

I’m not really sure what I am going to do today other than some clean-up and some reading and maybe some more brainstorming. I need to write Dad, among other important tasks, and there’s still some loose ends hanging around I need to get tied up at some point. There’s always something…but at least I am starting to feel creative again, which is always a plus. I was really feeling depleted there for a while, you know? I am also making Swedish meatballs for dinner. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve cooked–I’ve really fallen down on the job as far as that is concerned–and I also have doctors’ appointments on Wednesday so my week is going to be broken up into two parts around that.

And on that note, I think I will repair to my easy chair with Beware the Woman. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.

Caroline

Friday and a work-at-home day that is going to be taking up mostly by meetings, alas. I actually have to go into the office for the first one, but the rest I can do remotely from home, which is nice. I slept really well last night–odd how going to bed and getting up one hour later makes such a difference in feeling rested. I have a lot to work on this weekend–so much to work on this weekend–but that’s okay. The Saints played last night apparently–I watched for a while but got too tense so turned it off; getting stressed and tense before bed is never a good idea, really–but then we watched the first two episodes of American Horror Story: NYC, which so far is one of the best and most interesting they’ve done in a long time.

It’s also the gayest season I’ve ever seen–with elements of Cruising and hints of the coming HIV/AIDS crisis as a serial killer is apparently stalking the gay community of New York. I wasn’t out at that time and had never been to New York before 1991, so I can’t say if the show is accurately capturing the time and feel of what it was like to be gay in those times in the big city; I’ve certainly read enough books to feel like the show is capturing the same vibe as the books I’ve read either written or set in that time period. I also like the idea of the serial killer stalking the gay community in a time when not only would no one give a shit, especially the cops; there’s a closeted at work gay cop character played by Russell Tovey who, at least so far, has done an excellent job of capturing that duality, that horror of living/leading two completely separate lives and having to really, split in two. I know that’s been explored exhaustively in fiction; but it’s something I’d like to explore a little bit more deeply in something. (I am now thinking about crime fiction about doubles, like Mary Stewart’s The Ivy Tree and Daphne du Maurier’s The Scapegoat; and somehow factoring in that kind of duality into such a story) The show has been a pleasant surprise so far–and the cast is actually quite good (Murphy’s primary strength lies in casting): Russell Tovey, Charlie Carver, Zachary Quinto, among others, and the best is Patti LuPone as the bath house singer. bedecked like a proud drag queen in flowing gowns and tiaras singing for the towel-clad gay men between their hook-ups. (Note: I’ve been told this may be based on the same case Elon Green wrote about in Last Call, which won the true crime Edgar Award earlier this year–so now I really want to read my copy of that soon!)

See what I mean? Here it is late afternoon and I am done for the day at last, worn out and a bit tired, but glad to have made it through another day. I am meeting a friend for drinks later this evening, which will be lovely–it’s nice to get out of the house periodically for something besides work or errands–but yes, I am tired. I want to work on the book a bit before I have to leave this evening; I am trying so hard not to freak out or get stressed out about everything I have to get done, but I am hopeful that I’ll be able to get somewhere with everything this evening, and make even more progress this weekend. Paul is also going away to visit his mom for over a week, leaving a week from today–and there’s not an LSU game that weekend, either so I have no excuse for not getting a lot of shit done next weekend, do I?

Heavy sigh.

But there’s naught to do but put my head down and head into the to-do list and the spice mines, is there? I find that while it is often easy to get discouraged and depressed and overwhelmed when thinking of everything I have to do and get done and how behind I am on it all (I am often singing that same old song, am I not?), the best way to deal with it is the ever popular, almost always works magical to-do list. That organizes everything into one neat and tidy place, and even when it is lengthy there’s something about having everything numbered, sub-categorized, and written down in one place to fool my mind into thinking oh, sure I can get all of this done in no time at all. Email, of course, being the worst chore and the one that has the most variables involved so it can never ever be finished or completed–which is one reason why I stopped putting “empty inbox”on my to-do list. I am looking forward to the day when my email becomes manageable again…

I also weighed myself the other day and was delighted to discover that I actually only weigh 214, so give or take a pound here and there, I still weigh the same as I have since I put weight back on after getting down to 202 for that all-too-brief period of time when I thought 190 was a possibility again…I’d like to get back down to 200 and then decide if I want to try for 190 again…I’m not even sure that it’s possible anymore, given the energy limits I now operate under and how tired I am most of the time these days; although maybe recalibrating and resetting the way I eat again might help–I usually eat the same when I am working out than when I am not; i don’t change up that much other than adding protein shakes to the mix after workouts. But ugh, going back to eating ground turkey instead of hamburger and subsisting on salads and greens and chicken and brown rice….just makes me think you’re too old to be that vain and if you drop dead tomorrow…defeatist thinking, I know, but welcome to my brain.

It’s been a week, for sure, and I am really glad–despite the loss of time to get everything done–that this one is in the books now. I am going to work on the book now for a while and clean the kitchen and do some other things that I can do when I need to get up from the computer, and will check in with you again tomorrow, Constant Reader. Have a lovely Friday.