Tag: Lavender House

(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away

A cold Saturday morning in the Lost Apartment. My doctor’s appointment went well–all my vitals were at appropriate levels, my lungs are clear, and all medications appear to be working properly, which is lovely. I came home from that appointment to do chores and make the house orderly before we headed out to Metairie for Paul’s appointment, after which we went to Costco. You know, for the first Friday of parade season, it wasn’t that terrible. It was crowded, yes, and there were times I had to wait for inconsiderate assholes who were blocking aisles thoughtlessly (a regular occurrence at the grocery store, a rarity for Costco) and the check out lines ferociously long, but it didn’t take us long to spend a shit load of money (Paul also ordered a new pair of glasses and our membership was also due for renewal). I was a bit concerned about parking when we got back, as it was closer to parade rolling time that I was comfortable with. I had noticed there were a lot of cars parking in the neighborhood–unusual–when I left for my appointment, and there was also a lot more traffic on the roads I usually traverse. Understandably, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to park within a mile of the house, but once we departed for Metairie/Costco I realized why everything was the way it was–they’ve turned the side of St. Charles people can drive down1 while parades are rolling into an obstacle course2. This is, I imagine, for crowd safety precautions after New Year’s, but damn…it’s going to make negotiating St. Charles and the neighborhood about ten times harder than it is usually is.

Thanks, asshole terrorist. I hope you’re roasting in hell like you deserve.

I also spent some time with Lev AC Rosen’s marvelous The Bell in the Fog, the second book in his Andy Mills detective series set in early 1950’s San Francisco. It’s an interesting period to read about: after the war but before Stonewall, when sodomy was still an enforceable crime and the hatred of queer people was so intense they were targeted mercilessly and no one fucking cared.3 Lev is a terrific writer–I loved Lavender House–and this one starts out really well. It’s very reminiscent of the old masters of crime/noir/hardboiled–Hammett, Chandler, Cain–which is why he gets nominated for awards so regularly.

I also have apparently sold another short story. I had sent something to an anthology at some point last year and completely forgot about it, to be honest; yesterday I got an apologetic email from (I guess? It has been a while) the editor saying they want it if it’s still available. That was a lovely bit of news, to go along with the terrific feedback from the other anthology that asked me for one. I am going to finish writing another one this weekend (if it kills me) so I can focus on finishing my book. I’d forgotten–as it has been a hot minute–how nice it is to get positive feedback from peers. And rather than questioning or explaining it away in my head (just being nice, etc etc), I decided to accept it and feel good about it, which is a lovely new approach to my career. In the moments when I allow myself to go down the natural path of current events (my publisher will get shut down, my books removed from the bookseller websites–it galls me that they’re on Target’s website, although they probably make very little me off me–and my career shut down completely in the de-queering of the country), I find it ironic that my stress, anxiety and depression didn’t allow me to ever enjoy my career very often, and that now I am finally beginning to enjoy myself and the nicer side of publishing/writing, it could all be stripped away from me. (For the record, straight people, losing our writing careers because of our sexual identity is something we have to think about all the time. Do you? So, fuck off with your I’m-an-ally-as-long-as-it’s-just-words-online bullshit. DO SOMETHING.)

But yes, I am feeling like I definitely need to get back to producing work, and that feels good for a change, you know?

Sparky also let me sleep late this morning, the little darling, and even curled up in the bed with me rather than trying to get me up. I think he waits for my alarm like Pavlov’s dog; I’ve trained him to react to the sound as well as his stomach. We watched LSU Gymnastics win at Kentucky last night, but they didn’t have a great meet–a bit of a letdown after defeating Oklahoma last week in Baton Rouge and a packed house–but it was fine; they hadn’t won in Lexington since 2016, and this year they did despite a bad meet. We then watched the premiere episode of Season Three of Reacher, which is based on one of my favorite Reacher novels, and am loving it. (I also like that his portrayer, Alan Ritchson–whom I’ve liked since I first noticed him on Smallville–is a devout Christian and not a cosplay one; he calls out the evangelicals and their false prophet regularly. He recently gave an interview to GQ in which he talked about Matt Gaetz, whom he went to high school with, and just ripped him to fucking shreds. You see? I don’t object to Christianity when people actually are real Christians.) We also watched some Arrested Development, too, before going to bed much later than we should have.

Overall, Friday was a pretty good day. I am going to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today–I need to unload the dishwasher and refill it at some point; and there’s always organizing and cleaning to get done. I also need to answer emails–I no longer have to stick to my old rule of “no emails on the weekend”–and I need to get some more newsletters written and finished to send. I’m trying hard to not deluge people with my newsletter; I am very prolific, as has been pointed out in the past repeatedly, and who wants to read my thoughts, views, and opinions on a daily basis? Even though I didn’t publish anything–not even a short story last year–I still produce a prodigious amount of writing all the time.

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines–more accurately, I am going to repair to my easy chair with my book for a while before I actually start getting things done around here–and I may be back later. I am trying not to do more than one post here per day…but anyway, have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be right back here tomorrow.

Screenshot
  1. I’ve always marveled that one side of the neutral ground is for the parades and the other side is open to traffic heading uptown. St. Charles is a major artery of the city, and they usually have to keep that side open because everything inside the parade is blocked off–and people do need to get uptown. Not really sure how this obstacle course drivers need to negotiate will work, or if they are going to take them down every night and put them back up again before the parades start–which means shutting St. Charles down for however long it takes to set up. Sigh. ↩︎
  2. I’ll try to get a picture of it at some point. ↩︎
  3. Straight people have always been awful, and the white ones the worst of all. ↩︎

I Was Made for Lovin’ You

Super Bowl Sunday, for those who celebrate (we will not be) and for those who do not, Happy Sunday otherwise. I slept in this morning, and am not entirely sure why. Yesterday was a decent and easy day around here (I was terribly lazy, despite all my pronouncements to the contrary in yesterday’s morning’s post), but I didn’t get my errands ran because…Super Bowl. Traffic in Uptown was horrendous–turns out I was trying to run my errands during the Super Bowl faux-Carnival parade–and so after successfully completing one errands, I called off the rest and came back home. I did finish reading She Who Was No More (more on that later) and we started watching Arrested Development finally, and we are absolutely loving it–and it should keep us entertained for a while. I’m glad we never got to it before, because these times need comedies, and more of them, frankly.

I am not leaving the house today because of the Super Bowl, and I hope to make it down my to-do list this morning so I can, you know, get some of that shit done. It’s going to be a hectic week; I am only working a half-day on Thursday so I can drive up to Alabama for Valentine’s to meet Dad (a short trip; up Thursday afternoon and back Saturday morning), which of course means I won’t get much done next weekend–although I reckon I could take my grocery list with me and stop to make groceries on the way back into town Saturday. At least there are no parades this coming weekend to negotiate on my way home. Sigh. It’s about that time of year, too, and complicated even further with my goddamned jury duty the last week of the month. Hurray!

Ah, well, no sense in getting overwhelmed and off-track. That is not going to help me get everything done that I need to get done today, now is it? I’ve picked Lev AC Rosen’s The Bell in the Fog as my next read, and when I get this finished and some other tasks here in the kitchen this morning, I am going to go read it for a while. I really enjoyed Lavender House, the first book in this series, and I love that he and John Copenhaver are exploring what it was like to be queer in the 1950s. Since one of my future projects is also set in that time period, reading their work is not only intimidating but also a bit inspired; they’re so good it will push me to really make mine the best I possibly can–and it will still not hold up against theirs. (You never can write enough books to get over Imposter Syndrome; I think it even affects the bigger names from time to time. I guess I won’t know since I’ll never have that kind of career–which is fine. Yes, huge financial success would be lovely, but it’s not necessary. I am satisfied with my career and the work I’ve done so far…which really has all come about because I’ve just refused to stop doing it. Smarter people would have quit by now, I am sure.)

But I also need to stop being so hard on myself. My job changed, too, during the time of the surgery and the aftermath, and it’s actually become more intensive, too. Dealing with clients is draining, and so it’s not really surprising that my batteries are so often depleted after I get off work, and there’s always an errand or something to run on my way home, too. Plus, it’s not my natural body clock to get up at six in the morning every day I have to go to work, either. (I really miss the days of not going in until eleven.) I’m older, have been through some things physically these last five or so years, and so it’s not surprising that some nights I just don’t have the energy to do anything other than cuddle with Sparky and sit in my chair watching the latest in our mad dash to the end times. I really miss the days when the news wasn’t always a dumpster fire…but on the other hand, I can’t actually remember a time when it wasn’t. I just didn’t pay attention because I was a child.

And I think there’s my hint to jump over to the spice mines, so have a lovely Sunday, best of luck to those of you watching the Super Bowl (I will not be), and I’ll be back later on, I would imagine.

Love Potion Number Nine

Saturday and it’s cold in New Orleans. We were supposed to have a cold spell on Thanksgiving, which didn’t happen, but the mercury dropped suddenly overnight Thursday and it was very cold here yesterday–and even colder this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, other than the bed linens and my review of Lavender House, which I did finish reading yesterday morning (it is superb; I cannot encourage you enough to read it if you haven’t already) and then spend some time trying to decide what to read next. I picked out some books that look like fun reads–there’s one in particular I am leaning towards–and then spent the evening reading The Rival Queens, which I finally fished out from between the washer and the dryer; there’s slightly less than an inch between the two machines, and Sparky1 loves nothing more than knocking stuff from on top of the dryer down into that crevasse. The Rival Queens has been down there for a few months, and yes, it took me that long to fish it–and the other things–out of there. (My nasal spray for allergies/sinus issues–something new–was also down there, hence the need for me to spend more than a few moments trying before giving up in frustration.)

I’d also forgotten that there are big games this weekend; today is Ohio State-Michigan (won’t watch), and the Iron Bowl are on today before the LSU game tonight against Oklahoma in Baton Rouge (first regular season meeting between the two; the last time they played was that insane 63-28 win over them in the play-offs for 2019 where the score was 49-14 at half-time), so I probably am not going to get a lot done today other than some reading and some errands and some cleaning. I do need to make groceries today, and pick up the mail. I was thinking about trying to drop off books to the library sale, but they may not be open–which isn’t a big deal; I can either leave the box in the car for a week or bring it back inside (not likely). The refrigerator and all these cabinets/drawers in the kitchen all need work, too. There are also any number of chores that still need to be done around here. I did spend some time making notes on short stories yesterday, and so I’m hoping to get some writing done today and tomorrow. We shall see, shall we not?

I just can’t get angry at myself for using this long weekend to rest and relax and recharge, you know? And it is very cold in here this morning. It’s going to be mostly in the sixties during the day and forties at night until they average between high sixties during the day and low sixties after dark later next week–normal for this time of year down here. I’ll probably do some more business stuff this morning that I need to take care of–paying the bills and making a grocery list–and then I’ll probably go to my chair with my new book and get under the blankets for the day once I get home from doing all of that. I am going to try to write in my chair with the laptop–if I could just normalize using it while I am in my chair instead of the iPad, which is really getting very slow and probably needs to be replaced, which isn’t going to happen. A new iPad is not in the cards for me for a very long time, thank you very much. Since Apple products are made in China…imagine how much more they are going to cost with a tariff! Especially since Apple will take advantage of said price increases to up the price even more, as all corporations do, as we learned during the “supply chain issues” from the pandemic. Price gouging is a disgusting thing, but it’s something we all have to get used to once again.

I was better off in 2024 than I was in 2020, but hey–why not vote for racist sexist homophobic authoritarianism when you can blame it on the price of eggs and pull the old “it’s the economy” fake out when it’s really the racism and sexism and homophobia you’re really embracing. Maybe a significant portion of the population honestly believes that somehow things are better under Republican governance; all I know is they are incredibly bad at it, have proven this time and again (Reagan, both Bushes, the Tea Party, MAGA) by tanking the economy repeatedly–but all those bigotries are really more important than anything else to almost fifty percent of American voters, which means that once again the bad Americans are slightly outnumbering the decent ones2. Pundits are now apparently bending the knee, and MSNBC is desperately trying to center itself as the resistance for ratings again–which is exactly what they were hoping for this past summer as they repeatedly shivved Biden and Harris and threw yet another election to MAGA. #FAFO, MSNBC and CNN. Your audience let you pull this bait-and-switch in 2016 and fell for your manipulation, which failed in 2020 and you went all-in on again on the same bait-and-switch on your audience. Sorry not sorry, progressives eventually learn. The legacy media overplayed its hand by putting its thumb on the scale for money and power–and are finding themselves abandoned, high and dry, as they should; they have betrayed their mission of journalism and so betrayed the country. They are soulless corporations, and let’s face it–any pretense at populism led by a corporation is corrupted by the corporation from the start.

Sigh.

If only we could learn to live up to and respect, rather than paying lip-service, to the ideals this country was founded upon.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and who knows? I may be back later. Stranger things have happened before.

  1. Unlike Scooter, Sparky is like Skittle when it comes to knocking things off counter tops or any flat surface. Scooter wasn’t a normal cat, he was just a big lump of orange lap cat. ↩︎
  2. Just like before the Civil War! No one really cared about slavery in the north until the South fired on the flag, period–if anything, emancipation was more of a religious movement, about morality–and once they were free, everyone abandoned them to the mercies of the former enslaving aristocracies and the resultant monstrosities of Jim Crow. SO, how much did Northern whites care about Blacks? Not very much, and probably far less than they do today, which isn’t much, either. ↩︎

Both Sides Now

Queer people have been very effectively erased from history–and in the cases where it wasn’t entirely possible to erase completely the evidence, it was camouflaged (Hephaestion and Alexander loved each other like brothers!1)or queer kings had “favorites” rather than “lovers” (Edward II, Henri III, Louis XIV’s brother Philippe); so it’s there if you know what to look for. I’ve always loved history, and have always wanted to write historical queer fiction (the fun I could have with Henri III’s mignons!), but have always worried about doing the research, as it’s not easy to uncover information hidden or deliberately removed from the record. Queers–as the afore-mentioned historical figures’ existence proves–have alway been around, sometimes hidden in very plain sight. I don’t have the patience to do in-depth research, partly because I don’t really know how, or even where to start. I know, for example, there were gay bars in New Orleans long before Stonewall; our existence had to be known for it to be made against the law, didn’t it? I’ve done some queer historical short stories, always terrified I was getting things wrong (“The Weight of a Feather” and “The Affair of the Purloined Rent Boy”); and since writing and publishing those stories I’ve since found out things that would have been pertinent to the story. (This is also a big fear of mine about Chlorine, too, if I am being completely honest.)

I’ve read some gay historicals, some of which seemed a bit on the far-fetched side to me, but some authors–like John Copenhaver–do such a great job of it that it seems seamless and fresh and brand new. I love historicals, and always have; so there not being a vast plethora of them out there is kind of disappointing.

And then there’s Lev AC Rosen’s Lavender House.

I thought I’d have the place all to myself, this early. Like church on a Tuesday–no one but you and God–or in my case, the bartender. But there’s a guy and girl, high school kids or maybe just twenty, sitting at one of the booths in the back. They’re trying to keep their voices low, but he’s failing, getting angry. Something about weiner dogs. It’s weird the things people fight over.

He pounds the table and she whimpers a little. I sigh, feel my body shifting to get up. I don’t have to do this anymore. Hell, no one even wants me to. That’s why I was fired. But some habits you can’t break. So I put down what’s left of my martini, motion the bartender to pour another, and stand up and go to the back of the wrist, tight. Her arm is stretching like a shoelace as she tries to stand up. but he won’t let go. On her other wrist, she’s wearing a charm bracelet. Just a few charms: An eagles, that’s a mascot for one of the local schools, with “1950” under it, so she graduated two years ago. A book, so she’s a reader. And an apple. Teacher’s favorite, or she just really likes apples, maybe. Not enough life lived for many charms. Not enough to cover the bruise, either.

And this is the opening to Lev AC Rosen’s first Evander “Andy” Mills novel, Lavender House. The book dropped onto my radar when it was released; someone asked me if I had read it or not, which made me aware of it. I was also a little confused, because I already had a copy of Jack of Hearts, a well-reviewed (and often challenged) young adult novel…but the author names were just very similar (L. C. Rosen is on the spine of the latter, and yes, they are the same author, doing something like I do, switching up the real name slightly for a pseudonym. It was nominated for a lot of awards, and so I got a copy but never got around to it in the massive book dunes of my TBR pile. I got the follow-ups as they came out, always intending to get around to them at some point. I also have also had some really lovely email exchanges with him, and he seems like a lovely person on top of being a remarkably gifted writer.

Maybe it’s the 1952 setting, but this book made me think of Hammett and Chandler; kind of noir, kind of hard-boiled, but stronger influences (to me, at any rate) thn the Macdonalds and that first generation of writers influenced by the masters. The language and voice and tone are absolutely perfect for Andy.

This opening scene has Andy in a bar in the middle of the afternoon. He was just fired from his job with the SFPD when he was busted in a gay bar raid. His life is ruined, and he feels he has no future–and is also convinced as a “pervert” in 1952 (in San Francisco!) that he doesn’t deserve one. This opening chapter, when we see how much Andy hates himself, threw himself into his job, and kept living his secretive double life, it’s a horrible reminder of what happened to men outed by the cops in the horrible before times; Andy is planning on getting drunk and throwing himself into the bay to drown. Shortly after playing knight-errant for the young woman in the bar, another woman comes in–specifically looking for him. She has a job for him; investigate a strange death at Lavender House, a private compound for her family outside of the city. With nothing to lose and nothing else to do, Andy says “sure” and goes with her.

Lavender House is where a makeshift “found” family of queers live, covering for each other and having a place where they can be themselves, safe from prying eyes and blackmailers. This isn’t easy, because they are a family that owns a prominent soap company, Lamontaine Soaps. The dead woman, Irene, was the matriarch and the head of the company. She died in a fall from a small balcony in her working office, but her widow, Pearl, isn’t convinced it was a tragic accident. As Andy settles into Lavender House, the book switched into a hard-boiled more classic styled mystery, like Knives Out or Ellery Queen; a harder queerer Agatha Christie, if you will. There are lots of suspects, someone is tailing the family whenever they leave the grounds; everyone, it seems, has a reason to want Irene dead, despite their gratitude for her “rescue” of them from the horrifically homophobic outside world. This is a great mystery novel, with lots of clues and twists and turns, so you’re never entirely sure which direction it’s going, and the writing is so exquisite you want to reread the sentences, savoring the poetic music of the words and the rhythm of the language. Just marvelous.

But it’s also more than that–it’s also a window in our not-so-distant past, as a reminder of what gains we’ve made since then, and how dangerous it was to be queer not that long ago. It’s also about Andy letting go of his painful past, embracing who he is at last and being freed from the bonds of the puritanical society he lives in; better to be freely yourself than to hide from everyone. It’s always so much better and easier once you accept yourself and stop trying to fit in as something you aren’t. This is just the start for Andy, and over the course of the case as he becomes more and more comfortable in his own gay skin, the world becomes full of color for him.

I’m really looking forward to follow his journey. High recommended.

  1. Brothers who liked to fuck each other, that is. ↩︎

Nowhere to Run

Friday morning after the holiday, and were you able to get through it safely without killing a MAGA relative, Constant Reader? I have to admit it was kind of nice spending the day by myself. Sparky and I had a very nice time hanging out, and he spent a lot of time in a kitty puddle in my lap, with only the occasional change into Apex Predator Pounce and Attack mode. I wound up watching some research videos on Youtube, going down wormholes and putting me in mind of yet another project in the files, heaving heaving sigh. I also spent more time with Lavender House, which continues to be marvelous–another one I am reading so I can savor everything about it. It was actually kind of lovely, to tell you the truth; Sparky certainly was enjoying himself. The cold spell we were warned about for Thanksgiving arrived over night, actually; it’s only 49 degrees outside right now and I could tell when I get downstairs this morning. Brrr. It also explains how well I slept last night, and why I am up so early this morning, too. Not even seven, and I am already here slurping coffee and typing away. I feel very rested, too, and good, even. I want to get things done today, and I am going to make A List. I am going to spend some time this morning reading more of the book, and I have some other reading/editing to do, and maybe, if I am lucky I can even get some writing done, too. There’s some more cleaning that needs to be done, and the bed linens need to be laundered as it is Friday. I survived the holiday alone, and it was actually kind of nice. It was always Mom’s holiday, the one I would usually go to Kentucky for, and that’s part of the reason last year I had my surgery two days before the holiday–I figured being drugged up and recovering from a major surgery was the best way to get through missing her last year, and this year, I did get sad a couple of times but overall, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

I think I managed to cope with Thanksgiving very well these last two years.

There are some football games on today, but no one I really care too much about. I may put on the Egg Bowl this afternoon (Mississippi-Mississippi State) because it’s usually a wild game, but who knows? It depends on where I am at with everything I want to do today. I’ll probably not get everything done that I want to get done–that is the Way–but at least I get to be at home on this cold November morning. In fact, curling up with my book and my blanket in my easy chair sounds 100% like the best option for this morning.

I did manage to think through the revisions of another couple of stories last night, which was rather cool. My productive mind is still working, I am just not turning that work into actual writing production, which has always been an issue (I’ve never been able to keep up with my mental creativity) for me, but I am enjoying writing in my journal and thinking about my writing. I do love writing, and I hope I’ll be able to get back on the horse completely. I can’t remember the last time I did three thousand words in a day–but then I barely remember yesterday, so it could be as recent as a few weeks ago. I’ve also been avoiding the news a lot these last couple of days, which has also been lovely. I have become very cynical and jaded about a lot of things since the election, to be honest. I’m still a bit concerned about what exactly is going to happen now that Incompetent Evil has taken over the country, and what that means for my future–but I only have space to worry about mine and Paul’s. The rest of my life means my emotional work will focus entirely on Paul and I; and my writing is about to become a lot more important and get a lot more of my focus and energy going forward. It’s astonishing to me that I always let other people put their needs and wants and desires ahead of my own career. How stupid was that? I always say I don’t want to have regrets, but I do resent and regret that.

I did manage to get caught up on my two Housewives shows–Beverly Hills and Salt Lake City–which was incredibly fun. I try to figure out the appeal of these shows, and why I find them so compelling, almost constantly. I don’t consider them guilty pleasures–as my friend Laura says, “you shouldn’t feel guilty about anything that gives you pleasure”, which is pretty fucking true–so much as I wonder why I get so addicted to them, in much the same way as I would get addicted to daytime and prime time soaps when I was younger. There’s a parallel there somewhere, but I just haven’t managed to get my brain to figure that out so I can write about it. I might watch something tonight–movie or television series–but haven’t really decided yet.

And on that note, I am going to my chair with my book to get under a blanket and read for a while. Have a lovely Black Friday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. No one is ever really for sure about anything, are they?

Thanksgiving Prayer

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Or, if you prefer (I do), Happy Native Genocide Eve!

I am spending this one alone, here in the Lost Apartment by myself, and that’s fine. Yesterday was nice. I didn’t feel as bad when I woke, after a good night’s sleep, and by early afternoon my stomach stopped aching even a little bit. It embarrasses me to admit this, but I think I was actually malnourished! I’ve not eaten dinner once this week, and I didn’t really eat much on Sunday, either–so I went into calorie deficit, and whatever I ate wasn’t enough calories to keep my body functioning properly.1My blood sugar drops, I get all post-nasal drippy, the drip makes me feverish and cough, and I feel, overall, like crap. I caught up on my eating yesterday morning and lunch finally made the ache go away. Seriously, not very smart. But it’s fine this morning and I feel like myself again, thank the Lord. So, with my unexpected extra day off, I wound up having a very nice and relaxing day around the house by myself. I’m rarely ever home alone for an entire day, let alone a week, so the novelty is still kind of nice and fun and oh, yes, I can do whatever I want whenever I want, can’t I? I did listen to Orville Peck yesterday while I did some cleaning. The downstairs is pretty much done; I just need to do the floors and move some furniture. I also worked on an essay2 and did some reading yesterday, which was nice. I am taking today off from anything and everything–it is a holiday, after all–and the days when I used to feel guilty for doing nothing all day are in the past. I’d also completely forgotten it was Rivalry Weekend in college football, when anything can happen in a football season that has already been wild and wacky and full of crazy upsets. LSU plays Oklahoma for the first time in the regular season this Saturday night in Baton Rouge, so that should be interesting; Oklahoma just trounced Alabama, who trounced LSU a few weeks ago. Obviously, you can’t tell anything by common opponents (LSU beat Vanderbilt, who beat Alabama. Go figure).

So, Thanksgiving. I’ll have a fancy turkey sandwich later–probably open-faced, with turkey gravy poured over it–and when I finish this, I’ll probably go read some more of Lavender House, which is phenomenal and I am loving. I’m seeing the influence of the masters–Chandler and Hammett–in this, and it is absolutely amazing. I am not going to pressure myself to do anything today or feel guilty about not doing things. Besides, I am not capable of doing nothing all day–I’ll do something, at any rate; whether it’s cleaning or pruning the books or organizing a cabinet; I’m like Mom that way. I still have to edit a manuscript this weekend, and I’d also like to reread what I have done on Scotty, maybe even get back into writing that manuscript. I puzzled out how to finish and revise a novella and another one of my short stories–both need to be harder, colder, more hard-boiled and sly and mean-spirited, frankly. I’ve enjoyed this novella because it’s about a dysfunctional relationship that has a truly sad ending. The problem with both, I realized, is that they are from the point of view of someone who ends up committing a crime, and it’s really about how everything leads up to that moment, so I had the voice completely wrong in both, which is the missing piece I’ve been looking for now for quite some time. So, while I am not actually writing anything fictional at the moment, I am doing some brain work on my fiction, and sorry not sorry, THAT COUNTS.

But the whole point of this day–the “wholesome” America rah-rah-rah version, at any rate–is to remember and be thankful for your blessings in this life, and not focus on the hardships you’ve faced. There’s definitely a bit of Christianity and white supremacy baked into that particular American mythology, which is why some (me) half-jokingly call it Native Genocide Eve, because it was the last time European colonizers were grateful for indigenous help, and before they started slaughtering them–whether it was through out-and-out gunfire or disease. The truth left out of the US creation myth is that it was all about conquest and colonizing. I don’t think learning about that is nearly as disillusioning as being taught one thing as a child and then learning as you get older that it’s all justification and lies. Europeans had no right to the Americas, and they took the two continents with violence, prejudice, and genocide. The foundation of our country was built upon white Christian supremacy.

Why is that so hard for people to accept or admit? The truth is, we have been dealing with “alternative facts” most of our lives. Talk about miseducation!

But back to my thankfulness. Obviously, first and foremost, is that I am grateful every day for Paul. What a remarkable person he is, and how lucky was I, with all the people in the world, that somehow I wound up finding the perfect person for me, like I’d ordered from a menu? I miss him when he’s not here–I’ve kind of been thinking about Dad, living alone after losing Mom, up there in the house they shared together for the last twenty-five years of their lives together, and can really understand and relate. I usually can handle the first few days whenever he goes on a trip anywhere, luxuriating in the novelty of living alone (which I’ve never done). Usually by the third day alone (technically tomorrow) I start feeling the loneliness and realize ah, this is what it’ll be like if he goes first 3, which is “I can do this when I’ll have to (again, no choice).”

I am very thankful to be living in New Orleans, the only place in this country that has ever felt like home to me. I love this city even when I complain about it. It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think it has something to do with having the same mentality about life and death that I’ve always had: enjoy today because you could be gone tomorrow. One thing that always bugs me on a molecular level is putting off joy till later. Um, there are more than enough things in life to make you forget about joy, so why inflict it upon yourself? Katrina emphasized that even further–you could lose everything you have in a day and have to start completely over. I’ve moved around the country enough, starting over, that having to start over again at my current age isn’t desirable, but I’ve done it enough times over the course of sixty-three years that I know if I have to, I can. I am also very thankful for that hard core of resiliency baked into who I am.

I am very thankful for my writing career. It’s what I always wanted to do, for as long as I can remember, and even when I get frustrated with it, or wish I had done something differently…well, there are any number of people who wish they had my career, and despite the fact that my writing career happened because so many things that needed to happen for it to happen, happened. I think part of the reason I never took my career as seriously as I should have from the very beginning is because luck and good fortune made it happen, which also makes me very aware of how it can happen. But…that doesn’t, and shouldn’t undermine, the story of my career trajectory. I’ve been nominated for awards almost thirty times, and have even won on occasion. Some writers never get nominated for anything. Some writers never progress past the dream stage. I’ve gotten incredible reviews, and I have some absolutely devoted readers that I am thankful for every damned day. I also think part of the depressive state of the last year or so has everything to do with me not writing much during that time–I am always happier when I am writing fiction, no matter how much stress and anxiety is involved with the writing of said fiction. I’ve pretty much been able to write whatever I want to write most of my life, too.

I’ve also been blessed to be able to know some amazing people, and to call them friends. They are an amazing support system, and they believe in me as a person, as a friend, and as a writer. It’s kind of sad that I didn’t learn what it was like to be or have a good friend until I met Paul. I always have this deep down feeling that no one actually does like me–the PTSD of growing up in a very homophobic society–but I am getting so much better about that.

I am thankful that I have the life I never knew I truly wanted, or could have imagined, during the rough times.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your holiday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later, one never can be sure, can one?

One can never go wrong with a shirtless photo of Nyle DeMarco, can one?
  1. Believe it or not, it’s a thing for me; it has a lot to do with fear of gaining weight and the nagging sense that I always need to lose at least ten pounds. I’ll write about that at some point. ↩︎
  2. On the “bury your gays” trope, for the record. ↩︎
  3. Not really the first time; there have been any number of times over our almost thirty years (!!!) together (next summer) where I’ve had to face the possibility of losing him and spending the rest of my life alone (I don’t need a companion, and no one will ever be like Paul to me, just like no one could ever replace Mom for Dad) multiple times already. ↩︎

Strange Things Happen

Remember that stomach thing I had going on yesterday morning? And it had resulted in my not sleeping well? Yeah, well, I was very miserable and tired all day at work, and my stomach just felt worse and worse and worse. I finally left work early, came home, and just chilled out. I also took today off as a cautionary measure. So far so good, and here’s hoping I am rested and can do something with this extra free day that so unexpectedly dropped into my week. I think it means some time with Lavender House, and I do need to clean this messy kitchen up, beginning with the laundry room. Maybe I can put on some Orville Peck while cleaning. I’m really enjoying his music.

Last night I watched the first half of the Ken Burns documentary Leonardo da Vinci, and I quite enjoyed the fact they didn’t try to shy away from his sexuality or try to straight-wash him, like Da Vinci’s Demons did (still enjoyed the hell out of the show, anyway) and so many other shows and movies have, but actually talked about his male relationships quite openly. That was rather refreshing. I’ve always been interested in the Renaissance, and with Leonardo and the great Michelangelo as well. I was thinking about this while watching last night, ferreting out of my brain’s fading memory banks where my interest in Italy came from, and I was able to peg it properly: when I was ten I spent five weeks in the South, including about three at my paternal grandmother’s on a bay in the panhandle. Her second husband loved nothing more than a good flea market, so we often went to them, and I got to buy books for pretty cheap. I remember one time I got two books: one, a lovely but crumbling old edition of a biography of Francois I, King of France; and the other a book called Italy in the Golden Centuries. I think maybe I also got a turn of the twentieth century translation of a history of France; it may have been on that same flea market visit or another, but it was the same summer. I was in my Tudor/Stuart phase at that time, but that July I started learning about France and Italy…both of which were way more interesting than English history. There was a hammock strung between two massive live oak trees in her backyard, dripping with Spanish moss, and I would lay there in the shade with the cool salty breeze from the bay and the steady lapping of water, and just read. It was wonderful. I could have spent the rest of my life in that hammock, reading. The connection between Italy and the French kings, the great artists…since we went to Florence I’ve had this idea for a book I want to write about a lost piece of Michelangelo’s art, going back and forth through the movements of the piece through time and the present day thriller of trying to find it in the present day while others (BAD GUYS) are trying to beat them to it. (I love that kind of shit.) I may even take a stab at this sooner rather than later. I mean, it sounds fun–but my word, the research! And of course I would need to return to Italy for research purposes, wouldn’t I?

I also have been doing the weirdest research for a future book project you can imagine: I’m watching Youtube compilations of television ads from the late 1960’s through the early 1980’s, and it is fascinating how many of them I remember–and can sing the jingle along with. I may have hated the ads–still do–so I guess they were effective? I don’t know if they ever shaped my buying choices and decisions (price is always the most important factor, and store brands are no different from name brands; Costco’s brand is better than most competitors), but I sure do remember them. That’s kind of the grounding in the period that I need to write about it, to trigger memories of what I watched and what was going on and what kinds of bikes did kids ride and music did they listen to and games did they play. Going down this memory hole has been interesting, because I am also having to revisit those periods of my life from the perspective of a much older and very much more tired gay man who really hasn’t developed a whole lot of wisdom about either myself or life in general, but I can see things I couldn’t then. Perspective? A little amusement about how things that didn’t “exist” then that we know about now and I could have been medicated for all those years? Yeah, I can’t be bitter or mourn something that never could have been. And despite how much I grouse and bitch and moan and complain like the old man I am now, I am very pleased with my life and where I am with it. My mom always said (some of her stuff was wise, some of it was kind of horrible, but it was always absolutely real) you can’t have regrets if you’re happy, and I think that is very true. And examining my own history is kind of not painful anymore in that context, if that makes sense? I always never wanted to look back because it seemed like I always got angry when I did–but I wasn’t really being angry; because I am not angry about it anymore. I do remember the anger, the pain, and all the emotional rollercoaster ride that came with it. When I tell the stories, whether face to face or write them on here, I do channel that emotion again into the telling to make it clear just how horrible it all was and how horrific it felt. I guess I can write passionately, and I do not think that’s a bad thing at all.

I am having fun writing the essays, too. I am having fun writing again. That is very pleasing in my eyes. And I am hoping all this free time (five days off in a row) will get my butt in this chair and writing. Sparky hasn’t quite figured out Paul hasn’t come home yet, so he’s not super needy yet–but I am pretty sure that moment is nigh. I slept so good last night, y’all, and it’s nice to wake up feeling so good this morning. This kitchen/office is an utter and complete disaster area, and I definitely must do something about it sooner rather than later. I think I’m going to finish this, start straightening up, and then repairing to my chair to spend some time with Lavender House (it really is quite superb), and I think I’ll finish watching the Leonardo documentary today, too. Heavy sigh. I may even try to write later on too. #madness

And maybe I’ll even finish assembling my desk chair. It’s been about a month since I bought it and started putting it together only to get frustrated and walk away from it before I took a sledgehammer to it. I may even put that on the top of my to-do list.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving Eve, and I may be back later. One never can be sure, and I have a lot of free time to myself over the next five days–except, of course, for my darling Sparky.

Baby Don’t Go

Paul is sleeping and won’t be up before I go to work, so I won’t get to see him before he leaves. I’ll be coming home to a quiet apartment tonight with a needy cat, who will only get needier as the night goes along and his other daddy doesn’t come home. I imagine tonight will be one of those nights where I don’t really do much of anything other than cater to the cat and miss Paul. Heavy heaving sigh. I didn’t sleep well either; I got a stomach ache yesterday afternoon that finally went away around three this morning, thank the Lord, but I was waking up every hour it seemed, and not really going back into a deep sleep. I am definitely going to hit a wall this afternoon. That’s okay, I can come home to a needy cat tonight and read Lavender House in bed while watching news clips upstairs. I think I am going to move my laptop upstairs too; doesn’t it make more sense to write in bed than in my recliner, if I don’t feel like sitting at my desk? Tonight I am going to also watch some of season three of Heartstopper, whose first season I was all-in on, but whose second season, while enjoyable still, began to lose me a bit. I always say that Heartstopper wasn’t written or filmed for me; I am not their target audience, and with young people in mind, it’s quite marvelous. I don’t know, though. I have some critical thoughts about the whole thing–books and show–that probably aren’t going to be popular with other queers, but…when I have ever been popular with other queers that didn’t want to fuck me?1 Yeah, yeah, an overstatement; but I am kind of concerned about the kind of representation we get in popular forms of media (books, movies, TV shows, documentaries), and there’s nothing wrong with having an opinion on anything, right? I will certainly not claim to be speaking for everyone in my community.

And of course, the accompanying corollary to having a relatively fit body was that serious queer writers didn’t take me seriously, since I was a genre writer (the horror!) and in decent shape–ergo, not literary or educated or smart enough to be allowed to fit into those snooty cocktail parties. Of course, before I published my first book, New Orleans literary society pretty much assumed I was just Paul’s boy toy–flattering on one level but insulting on all the others, which was always funny to me because without question I am almost always the person in the room who has read the most books across genres and styles.

Oh, yes, I have many chips on my shoulder. Care to pick one?

Ugh, this stomach thing is really icky. I am going to have to take something OTC for it, methinks, because while it’s much more bearable now than it was, it’s still incredibly uncomfortable. Just wait till I’m tired later on today! I did make an executive decision to take tomorrow off–in case this doesn’t get better later on–for a five day weekend. Tomorrow might be the day that I rest and read and not worry about anything other than resting. At least Paul won’t be home if it’s something catching, but I think it’s a combination of something I must have ate Sunday or Monday–it feels like an aching muscle, but it can’t be that, can it? Sigh. I’ll try some Tums and see if that does anything, but I doubt they will.

Ugh. Hope I can make it through this day.

Catch you tomorrow, Constant Reader, and I hope that you’ll forgive me this briefness. I hope to feel better tomorrow.

  1. Yes, I know how arrogant that sounds, but the truth is when I was in my thirties and forties I could get laid any time I wanted to, and since I am not being dishonest or self-deprecating about anything any more, I’m embracing it. I may not have thought I was anything special myself back then, but when I see pictures I’m like wow, you had some serious body dysmorphia. How could you have lost any more weight? ↩︎

It Ain’t Me Babe

Ah, it’s Monday and I am up early, swilling coffee and getting ready to face down a very short, and most likely slow, week in the office. Paul is leaving tomorrow for a week, so tomorrow I’ll come home to a quiet, empty house. It’ll be weird, of course,1 but I am going to try to keep busy. I do have a lot of homework2 to get done this week, and hopefully Sparky won’t be near as needy as he always is when it’s just the two of us. Sparky has, at long last, starting sleeping in the bed with us, always in a kitty donut down by my feet, which is very relaxing. He’s been there the last several mornings when I wake up, which is nice. He’s also started cuddling and sleeping with Paul on the couch–like Scooter, Sparky takes turns with our laps when we’re watching television; unlike Scooter, Sparky starts with Paul for a while before curling up in mine for the rest of the evening. It only took just over a year, but we finally have the cuddle bug we wanted. He still only purrs when he’s riding my shoulders, draped around my neck–but he’s getting cuddlier, and there’s more head-butting by the day.

I had a very relaxing day yesterday, but didn’t get nearly as much done as I wanted to–like always. Still reeling from the power of The Reformatory3, I started reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen. I am absolutely loving it. I love the voice, I love the main character, I love the writing, and so I know I am going to really love this book–and once I get going, it will be unputdownable. Yay! And there’s two more in this series, too, which is very exciting–not to mention all his other works, in y/a and romance. Paul spent most of the day working upstairs, and leaving me on my own with Sparky for most of the day. I finished my entry on The Reformatory, and worked on some writing, mostly thinking and taking notes. I’m glad this is a short work week, and am looking forward to some lovely down time here by myself. I made progress on the apartment this past weekend, and will probably get some more progress made over this coming long weekend4.

I need to make a to-do list, and to get better organized, but I made progress. I have a manuscript to edit, some short stories to read and judge for Saints and Sinners, and my own writing to work on around here. Sparky will be needy the whole time, and I am going to watch the new season of Heartstopper, before diving into Sex and the City. I’ve also found some movies to watch over the weekend, too–or in the evenings when I get home from work tomorrow and Wednesday. I’ve also got my Housewives shows, and there’s always some cleaning to be done somewhere–not to mention more pruning of the books and the storage attic.

While I was driving around doing my errands Saturday I started listening to Orville Peck’s music on Spotify, and I love it! I have yet to hear a song of his that isn’t a bop, so I saved several of his albums to my library and am going to start listening to him more regularly in the car. I’ve always liked all kinds of genres of music; there just really hasn’t been any country outside of Dolly in a while that I’ve been interested in. I also kind of hate how country music has been taken over by the Right and MAGA–I’ve never forgiven country music for what it did to the Chicks, and they were RIGHT–so I try not to listen to much of the newer stuff. Country music used to be about outlaws and fighting the man holding down the working class, instead of being a bunch of appeasers and collaborators.

They’d shun and cancel Johnny Cash today for being woke. How fucking sad is that?

They must really hate Orville Peck for being openly gay–even though they really embraced Li’l Nas X when he was doing country music back in the day…until he came out and switched genres.

I don’t know what to think about what’s coming, but it’s pretty sad that the only thing standing between us and authoritarianism are the courts, Senate Republicans, and the administration’s utter incompetence. Paul and I have made up our minds to enjoy ourselves as much as possible between now and the transfer of power; who knows what’s coming after that? These are dark times indeed, and a lot of damage can be done by utter incompetence and a program of complete and utter unfettered cruelty. I think the biggest shock for me of the election is that self-absorption and unbridled hatred of anything not straight, white and cishet was actually embraced by the country.

Then again, this is a country that wasn’t able to legislate or vote slavery out of existence, and it took a war. The appeasement of slave-owning Americans from 1787 through 1865 will always be a stain on this nation’s history, and by not dealing with any of it, or systemic racial oppression, by not facing the truth in all its brutal ugliness, we’ve never been able to progress as a racially diverse nation or move on from it. (I always love when Americans take the moral high road when talking to or about other countries; like we have any room to talk about oppressing citizens and human rights violations? Bitch, please.)

Sigh. And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows!

  1. I’ll never understand how someone can take up so much space, and how much bigger and emptier it seems when he isn’t there. ↩︎
  2. Writing and reading and editing, oh my! ↩︎
  3. Which might be one of my favorite novels of all time, period, regardless of genre. ↩︎
  4. I am planning on simply cleaning the bathrooms on Thursday morning, and having a very lazy day doing little to nothing other than reading and binge-watching television series; I’ll push myself the other three days. I can also do things at night this week once Paul departs tomorrow morning. ↩︎

Shake

Well, yesterday was a good day for one Gregalicious. I didn’t get as much done around the house as I would have preferred, but c’est la vie. I did have football games on all day, mostly as a break from monotonous silence, but I did get to see the Florida upset of Mississippi, and surprisingly enough, LSU beat Vanderbilt last night to stop their three game losing streak…but have to play Oklahoma next, who managed to not only upset Alabama last night but beat them pretty soundly. After the LSU game I caught the end of Auburn-Texas A&M, which Auburn finally won in quadruple overtime. What a crazy year this has been in the SEC, has it not? Now the winner of Texas-Texas A&M will play Georgia for the SEC title. #madness.

But one thing I remembered finally is that I usually read during games I don’t necessarily care about, and so I finished The Reformatory by Tananarive Due at last yesterday, and what a read it was. I’d say it’s one of the best books I’ve read in a very long time, and I read a lot of really good books, so that is really saying something. I’ve added Due to my list of “must-read” writers, and she has a substantial backlist I am looking forward to exploring. It took me a very long time to get through this book, because it was so powerful and the horror in it was so completely real, but more on that later. I am going to go out on a limb and call it a masterpiece for now, and encourage you to read it if you have not. Today I am going to start reading Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen, whom I’ve met and found delightful, and whose career I’ve been following avidly. I’ve yet to read one of his books, but I am very excited to read one of the most acclaimed queer mysteries of the last few years. I’m also kind of thrilled to be reading fiction again. Today I am also going to read a couple of short stories a friend sent me to read, and probably will do some writing, either short story, essay, or the book, today as well. I went to get the mail and made a grocery run yesterday, so I don’t have to do anything errand-like today, but I should probably make it to the gym later this morning. The weather has been wonderful, and one thing I am determined to do this year is drive around the city taking pictures of Christmas decorations. I definitely want to write a nice essay about Christmas this year, and the essay I worked on briefly yesterday, “Recovering Christian,” is one I started working on about twenty years ago. The lovely thing about Substack is I now have a place to post those essays, and share them with the world. I do have to make more of an effort to post content there at least once a week.

I do wonder if all the readers I picked up there during my ranting about homophobia post are expecting that kind of content all the time? I don’t know, but in some ways I am thinking that the Substack (also a place to publish short stories, too, if I so choose) is kind of a good place to write about my life, and explore issues of being a queer American writer, and my thoughts and opinions about systemic bigotry, and all the things I was miseducated about as a child. (American Mythology, hello?) That way it will live up to the name it shares with this blog, “Queer and Loathing in America.” I also want to write essays about my gay life, and the lessons I learned the hard way, as well as writing. I’ve been unpacking my past ever since Mom died–the first time I’ve ever allowed myself to look back–and while I am not sorry I never did this before, I am also learning a lot more about myself and why I do things and why I react the way I do and how much of my life was controlled/driven by anxiety. I was fine at the party the other night, but too many people in spaces still makes me uncomfortable and uneasy, but that’s okay. The claustrophobia might be anxiety related, or it may be entirely it’s own thing, but the primary difference was that there was no adrenaline spike or spiraling. I was able to relax, and kind of enjoy myself more.

And that is what I meant when I said I was pulling back from the crime community and centering myself. I want to focus on myself, on Paul, and our needs and what we need to do and handle and take care of, and I don’t want to do emotional labor for anyone else anymore. I’ve been watching a lot of Youtube and TikTok videos about cutting MAGA voters out of your life, or at the very least setting boundaries, and I saw one that really made a lot of sense to me: we don’t feel safe around them, but we don’t have to cut them out entirely, we just have to stop giving them emotional labor. Go get sympathy from another MAGA voter, since you’re all so empathetic and sympathetic to the concerns, fears and rights of other people. It’s why BlueSky has been flooded by Twitter trolls, now that the genius has killed that platform (but hey, let’s put him in charge of government!). They don’t enjoy talking to each other, so they have to “pwn the libs.” But they just get blocked, so they’re the ones who wind up in a echo chamber. Hell, I block people who annoy me. It’s my space, my experience, and if I don’t want the aggravation of annoying people or giving them time or energy, well…no one can make me engage with people who steal my peace.

I also don’t think people understand how casual homophobia, so easy for straight people to slip into with their excessive privilege, makes us feel when we hear it or hear about it or (in some cases) read about it in screen shots. Not only do we no longer feel safe around you, we can’t count on you to stand up for us when the chips are literally down. There’s been some slightly viral conversation about some Jewish lesbian who voted for Trump and has been cut off from her friends and kicked off a team. “I wouldn’t do this to someone who voted for Harris,” she cries her crocodile tears, as she sits down with right-wing podcasters and plays victim and martyr. She voted for Trump because of pro-Palestine lefties…or so she claims. So she aligned herself with someone who actually had dinner with a Nazi, and has been embraced by American Nazis. Who ally themselves with the Proud Boys and other ant-Semites (who precisely are the voters who chant “Jew will not replace us” again?), and now wants everyone to feel sorry for her and pretends ignorance. Sorry not sorry, bitch–your new buddies and the Karens posting on your instagram talking about how horrible it is that queers actually can see this quisling bitch for who she is? Those bitches will be the first ones to turn you into the SS, moron. It’s especially egregious because my education in feminism and social justice was at the hands of lesbians; I’ve always thought lesbians, of all people, would know better than this bullshit. And this bitch is talking about “how we all need to have these tough conversations”–no, we don’t, honey. The time for tough conversations was before the election, and trust me, there’s not a single tough conversation I could possibly have where I’d be willing to come to an agreement or compromise with people who cheered the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the 80s and 90s. You don’t compromise with the Klan. You don’t compromise with Nazis. You don’t compromise with people who’s starting position is “you don’t deserve any rights, and you really shouldn’t exist.”

Feel free to pound your head into that wall until it’s pulp, Benedictine Arnold. Enjoy the lonely life of celibacy you’ve set up for yourself.

The funniest thing about her is she is a butch lesbian–short hair, masculine clothes, the whole ball of wax–and you know she is going to get challenged going into the ladies’ bathroom or changing room.

Good. Enjoy what you voted for. I have no patience with queer remoras attaching themselves to the sharks circling the rest of us. I certainly have no forgiveness in my heart for the future informers and camp guards. She showed us who she is, and we believe her.

And on that note, I am going to head over to my chair to read for a bit before I get to work around here. I slept really well again last night, and feel pretty good this morning. I also want to work on my review of The Reformatory, and get some other things done. Have a great Sunday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later on.