Tag: Pride Month

I’m Gonna Follow You

Monday morning and back to the office with me in a little bit. Haven’t had enough coffee yet, frankly.

I think it was a good weekend for me. I feel rested and good, which is always the point of weekends, isn’t it? Thank you, labor unions. It was a very good weekend for me, creatively, as well. I noticed on Saturday that I was almost finished with my journal (I actually finished it yesterday morning) and I smacked myself metaphorically upside my head for not writing the date I started writing in it on the flyleaf…but then yesterday I realized the notes on the very first page were written down either while I was in Florida last month, or after I got home. (The note was about a sign I saw on the way down to Panama City Beach at a corner where we turned: Betty’s Fireworks–Best Bang in Town! It made me laugh, I took a picture of it, and thought it would make a great story title.) But this note enabled me to write MAY 2026 on the flyleaf and I realized damn, I filled that journal in about a month or less which also means I’ve been writing a lot more than I had realized; I am just now doing it in long hand cursive rather than on a computer (although I did do some of that this weekend, too). I just now need to get back into the habit of writing on a keyboard again. The journal has been scratching my creative itch lately, is all.

Kind of a relief there, you know. The medication helps with the anxiety, but it’s not removed ALL the roadblocks in my head yet. That’s going to require a much longer unpacking than I’ve managed so far. But I am getting there.

I finished my reread of George Baxt’s A Queer Kind of Death, and also decided that I wasn’t going to write an essay about it–mainly because today the book is kind of problematic, despite being groundbreaking when originally published and it deserves (along with its two follow-ups) to be remembered for their importance, no matter how they hold up presently. It was a very big deal for a book where every male character is gay to be published in 1966 by Simon & Schuster, so it wasn’t only important for queer crime but for queer publishing in general. At the time. most queer fiction was published by pulp presses and not carried in most bookstores outside of the chains. The cop in this is not only a gay man but Black, too–which was incredibly subversive in a period where race riots were in the news weekly. But again, as entertaining as the book is, I think a white man writing a Black character wouldn’t fly today, and there’s also some problems with the gay characters. It also paints a picture of what life was like if you were openly gay in 1966, and that also makes the book important. But I couldn’t go in depth about it without critiquing the aspects now problematic, and I don’t want to do that, especially during Pride Month.

Same with my current read; it’s disappointing to me and I am not enjoying it, so I am putting it aside for now and moving on to another–probably the new Lev Rosen, as he is one of my favorites.

Now, I need to pick out my next queer reread. Hmmm. Maybe something not crime? Oooooh, Faggots by Larry Kramer! I’ve been meaning to get back to it again now for years1. There’s also Serenade by James M. Cain, which I’ve been wanting to reread. Oops, sorry, spoiler–but yes, Serenade is Cain’s queer novel.

I have been doing a lot of writing this weekend. I even wrote a synopsis/rough draft of the second chapter of the novel, which is taking shape nicely in my head. I did more short story work, too. I love that I am writing again and I love that I am being creative again. It’s so nice to finally break through that scar tissue in my brain (or whatever that was) to get back to finding joy and pleasure in writing again. It makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else really does, and I am so lucky that I love doing this work, and that I’m able to do it again. I think maybe that’s part of why I am feeling so much better–I’m writing again and enjoying it, which is always a joy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have yourself a merry little Monday, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. See you then!

Today’s crop of pro wrestlers have much better bodies than they did when I was growing up. I’d do this dude in a heartbeat.
  1. I used to love talking to Larry on the phone when I worked at Lambda. He was usually angry about something but would always preface with “Greg, it’s not you but I’m mad.” ↩︎

Treat Me Right

So here we are on Tuesday, the second day of Pride. I didn’t see many of the haters yesterday anywhere on-line, but I suspect that was algorithms working in my favor for a change, and who am I to question a mostly positive experience on social media for the first day of Pride Month? I even got all caught up on the complete meltdown over the so-called “state fair” and enjoyed a few cruel laughs at the oh-so-deserved (but not nearly enough) humiliation.

Not even close to enough.

There may not be enough possible.

It was a nice day easing back into the work week after a recuperative weekend. Paul’s physical therapy went well and they are very pleased with his progress, which I knew they would be. I was able to leave work early, and ran some errands (mail, groceries) on the way home. It was muggy as hell yesterday morning when I left the house (I finally left my work hoodie at the office yesterday) but we had some rain during the day so it was cooler and nicer out as I went about my business leaving the office. I am now scheduled to tape Susan Larson’s “My Reading Life” show for local NPR; I have my labs scheduled for Friday; and I think I got entirely caught up on my emails yesterday. I was a bit sluggish yesterday, too, but I think that was to be expected. All in all, it was a nice day, and Paul and I settled in once the groceries were put away for an evening of television–the news, the finale of Euphoria (I didn’t much care for this season, honestly, as I did previous ones, although Zendaya was fantastic as always) and started The Four Seasons’ second season, which was…off to a slow but not terrible start.

I also cleaned off my desk, which is a pretty big deal around here lately. It still needs some work, of course–the workspace is not really functional for much other than typing at this point–and I have some newsletters to work on, too. I sent one out yesterday, which you can click here to read. It’s my first pride post of the month, and there will be some more, undoubtedly. Half Man is still resonating in my mind, but fortunately it addresses masculinity and sexuality so I can write about that this month. I also want to write my essay about A Violent Masterpiece, but I may just schedule that to drop on July 1. (I am so delighted I learned how to schedule newsletters, Constant Reader, you have no idea!) Now that the stress and release from Paul’s surgery has passed, I need to recenter and refocus. Maybe today between clients I can go through the to-do notebook and figure things out.

Our weather forecast–rarely, if ever, correct–shows thunderstorms for later this afternoon, probably during the time I’ll be driving home from work. There are worse things, but that will make me just want to curl up in my chair with Sparky. I also need to get back to reading. Friday I have to get some more lab work done and I have to go into the office for an in-person meeting. Blech. But that’s okay; it’ll get me up and out and about, and once I do the labs, I can come home to the peace and quiet of the Lost Apartment and chill….which, let’s face it, is my favorite thing to do.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning.

I do think bibs can be sexy, and they’re so comfortable! Probably my years in Kansas and summers in Alabama.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Monday and back to the office with me this morning. I feel rested this morning, which is a good thing, but i am not going to predict how the day is going to go–yesterday was another day of rest and recovery for me, as it turned out. Paul is doing great–he doesn’t need the walker at all–and the pain is manageable for him, which is also a relief. He has physical therapy today for the first time; it’s also the first time he’ll be home all alone all day, too. But…he’s doing great and he’s getting rest, too. I had hoped this would be how it goes–he recovered very quickly with his hip replacements–but you never know; you always wonder if this is the time that will be different, and it’s delightful to know he’ll not be in any pain soon enough.

I did manage to get some things done yesterday. I managed to get things delivered, and cleaned out the sink and ran the dishwasher. I definitely have some catching up to do this morning–checkbook, emails, etc.–but it’s also lovely to avoid the Internet for the weekend, too. We finished Half Man yesterday, and I am still processing that this morning. We also watched last week’s Euphoria, and I honestly don’t remember what we watched after that, so it clearly didn’t register very much in my tired brain. It could be that my brain hasn’t awakened yet entirely? But, long story short, we spent most of yesterday hanging out together in the living room for the third straight day, which was lovely. We used to do that every weekend, until Paul gets so busy with work that he has to work on the weekends. It’s really nice, actually. Sparky was a love bug all weekend, too. Oh, yes, we were watching the second season of Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, which is always visually stunning even if the plot is kind of insane. It’s funny, when I was a kid monster movies like Godzilla and King Kong always gave me nightmares (likewise, I couldn’t watch Nate’s death on Euphoria–buried alive in a coffin, only for a rattlesnake to join him? All three of my biggest phobias, combined in one scene? I left the room.), but this show and the recent Godzilla movies don’t bother me in the least.

And yes, Half Man was also a bit triggering.

Half Man was an interesting show to kick off Pride Month, at any rate. It was probably the best depiction of a trauma bond that I’ve ever seen. Richard Gadd is an exceptional talent, and I was right–he gained a hundred pounds of muscle for this show. He and Jamie Bell were an excellent acting team–I’ve loved Bell since Billy Elliott–and it will take me a moment to get it processed enough through my brain so I can write about it. And yes, it is Pride Month; cue all the tiresome bigots whining about how “the military and veterans don’t get a month” (which shows how little they actually do care about the military and the veterans) and on and on: “we should have Straight Pride!” (I always want to reply, “yes, by all means, celebrate your mediocrity and the damage you inflict.”) I want to switch my newsletter to focus primarily on queer stuff–books and so forth, tales from my gay life–for the month, but I also want to get my thoughts on A Violent Masterpiece sent out as well; so who knows?

I am also not sure how busy we are in the clinic this week, nor do I know if I am working by myself. One can never be sure, and since I didn’t bring my laptop home (because I was off on Friday), I won’t be able to find out until I get to the office. It’s kind of weird going in with no idea what I am looking at till I get there–I usually do have the laptop at home on the weekends, but since I took Friday off, why lug the damned thing around? That, in the olden days, would have made me anxious, so we’re really getting somewhere, aren’t we? Anyway, I am hoping to be able to leave the office tomorrow and head over to UNO to tape Susan Larson’s NPR radio show, “My Reading Life,” which is always lovely.

And on that note, I am bringing this to a close and heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning.

The Quarter is so beautiful a night.

We Live for Love

Tuesday and it’s back to the office with me today. It was a marvelously relaxing holiday weekend, and I was pleased to read some more, and have ideas and work on writing, even if it was mostly scribbling in my journal. I don’t have a problem with any of it, and yes, I know I should be a little bit more concerned that I didn’t apply fingers to keyboard more than I did this weekend, but fuck it. I get to have free time and get to have down time, don’t I? And if i don’t, that’s not a life I want to live, thank you very much. It rained all day again yesterday, along with a lovely early afternoon thunderstorm. I put on season three of The Traitors for background noise and started reading and thinking and writing again, like I had done on Sunday afternoon. At some point I’ll need to funnel that energy and thought into writing on the keyboard. I also spent some time in the morning diving into the morass that is the news, which was cheery on the Ukraine front but not so much anywhere else. Ah, well.

And so it goes, I guess. The reality is the country has been on the decline for decades, but MAGA certainly accelerated the rush to the inevitable collapse. Who knows what will rise from the ashes? Will it be better or worse? I probably won’t be here to see it, and yes, I am very concerned about the midterms. I won’t alarm anyone with my usual pessimistic forecasts, because sadly I am proven right more often than not. It’s also no fun being Cassandra and not being listened to, either. I always thought she was the most tragic character in the entire story of the Trojan War, and have always wanted to write from her perspective. It would be an interesting exercise—a woman who can see the future but isn’t believed which drives her deeper and deeper into madness which makes each prophecy harder to believe? That is a particular kind of hell, isn’t it?

I wish Madeline Miller would make that her next novel.

It also dawned on me over the course of the weekend that May is almost finished, which means it will be JUNE soon…which is PRIDE MONTH. Should I be that old queen and be gauche, cliché and stereotypical and turn my newsletter into queer stuff all month? Of course, you already know the answer to that, don’t you? And yes, the answer is always yes. I think it’s important, and if queer content bothers the subscribers they wouldn’t be there in the first place. No one is making anyone read it, either. So, bearing Pride rolling up so quickly, I took that into consideration for my next reads, tabling what I had already had on deck, and switching it up a bit. My new-to-me read will be All of Us Murderers, which ticks off several boxes for me in addition to its being a queer read: it’s also a historical Gothic romance; it’s written by a cisgender-identified woman; and it’s also a crime novel. These are all things I want to talk about more in my newsletter, so I can touch on them during the newsletter about this book. I’ve also set aside The Ivy Tree as my next reread for A Queer Kind of Death by George Baxt, which I read decades ago and have an eye to see how it holds up. It’s also historic and was originally published in the 1960s, with a Black gay main character written by a gay white man…which should also prove interesting to revisit and talk about.

I feel good this morning, rested and relaxed and in a decent mood. I did do some writing–by hand–yesterday–in my journal, in which I reworked and rewrote the opening to an in-progress short story. Of course it isn’t one that fits any submissions call I have found recently, which is par for the course, but now that I am in such a period of low productivity I’ve pretty much decided that whatever pops into my head is what I should work on, rather than trying to force something that doesn’t want to be forced, which makes the most sense to me at the moment. My Achilles tendons don’t feel tight anymore, either, which is the biggest win to me of the weekend.

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Till then!

The famous bust of Queen Nefertiti, whose name meant “the beautiful one has come.” And yes, it’s in a Berlin museum, and yes, the Germans need to return it because it’s loot.

Noticeable One

Saturday morning, although all day yesterday I kept thinking it was Saturday. I much prefer Monday holidays, for that very reason, over Friday ones. We didn’t go see the movie yesterday, because my sinuses (sinii?) refused to cooperate and were kind of a pain in my ass all day; making me tired and a little grumpy and giving me the occasional headache. This was highly annoying, needless to say, and so I spent the day (other than doing chores) reading and watching television. I am almost finished with Summerhouse–there was a delightful twist two-thirds of the way through that I didn’t see coming, and it’s changed almost everything about the book–and should finish the remaining thirty or so pages this morning. We might go see the movie today–I’m not sure what Paul’s doing; he may be seeing his trainer. I may order some groceries for delivery (again, depends on what Paul is doing) and I was thinking about washing and cleaning out the car today if it’s not super miserable outside.

We watched a gay show through Prime last night, Single Out, which was adorable and cute. There are two more seasons, but alas, we need to either rent them or subscribe to Here–which might not be a bad thing for a little while; get some good gay content to watch–and then we watched Sinners, which is now streaming on MAX. I really enjoyed it, and thought it was excellent. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s a horror film, I’d say it would get a lot of Oscar nominations, but the voting members of the Academy generally don’t take horror very seriously as art, and there’s also some racism there, too. I may be pleasantly surprised, but the production values–set design, costume design, cinematography, screenplay–were all exceptional, and of course, the acting was stellar as well. I highly recommend Sinners, and I may watch it again to catch things I may have missed the first time around.

I feel better this morning than I did yesterday morning, which is nice. I was kind of worn down by the week, and of course the sinus revolt wasn’t much help in that regard, either. But I did make progress on the house, which is always a good thing, even if I didn’t get everything done. I should be able to get everything under control today. My coffee is hitting perfectly, I’m enjoying my breakfast, and his Majesty Sparky Lord of the Apartment isn’t demanding my desk chair for his morning nap, so…that’s a pretty good thing. In fact, when I finish and post this, I may go finish Summerhouse, and read some more of my other two current reads before getting cleaned up and back to work on the house. The dishwasher needs unloading, and there are some other dishes from last night that need to be cleaned–but at least all the laundry is done. Huzzah!

Okay, I was looking at Here’s website, and maybe a few months of paying for a subscription might be worth it (they have Dante’s Cove, which I would love to write about), so maybe we can finish Single Out (the best way to describe it is Heartstopper only with sex and teenagers being horny all the time, yet incredibly sweet and charming at the same time) and watch some classic queer movies, and try out some of their original queer series. Could be fun.

I was also looking through the drafts for my newsletter and sheesh, there’s a LOT I’ve started and not finished, as well as any number of finished entries I didn’t want to publish because it was Pride Month. As for the newsletter’s “identity crisis” I was experiencing last week, well, I think I am going to keep it as is; primarily focusing on queer rights (or the queer American experience), while also doing longer reviews of art (books, movies, TV shows) and perhaps, just perhaps, about writing and publishing. I have a shit ton of columns about writing (and fitness, for that matter) that I could republish in the newsletter (actually, now that I am thinking about it, that was the intent behind this blog in the first place; giving me a place to write about things no one would pay me to write about), and that could also be helpful.

It also occurred to me yesterday that I often shy away from writing more in depth about art because I feel like I am not educated enough to delve more deeply into them–and I also worry that anything I might come up with along those lines might not be original and may have been written about extensively already. But…it’s all opinion in the first place, isn’t it, and yes, maybe I haven’t read all the “classics” or the “modern literary writers,” but do I really need to do that in order to express what my takeaway from experiencing art is? No, I don’t. My takeaway might be better informed if I were more trained in criticism and had I read all those books, but the truth is, I didn’t. Most literary fiction, whether classic or modern, is like any other genre of literature–some is excellent, some is okay, and some is just fucking garbage. I really need to let go of my imposter syndrome once and for all, don’t I?

And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and head to my easy chair. Have a lovely Saturday, and I may be back later. One can never be entirely certain, can one?

For All Tomorrow’s Lies

Alabama.

I love Alabama, despite the way the state continually disappoints me. It’s such a beautiful place, with its kudzu and towering pines and broad rivers and that startlingly gorgeous red dirt. (Red dirt is often used to symbolize poverty and ignorance and bigotry…but it’s also gorgeous. I’d much rather have red dirt on my car or my shoes than regular black dirt any time.) Driving through the state I am always amazed at the strange range of country homes, everything from crumbling abandoned wrecks to expensive looking McMansions to trailers of all kinds and all conditions, the creeks and mimosa trees and hollers, sometimes filled with out of control kudzu (kudzu has fascinated me since I was a child) and sometimes just bushes and flowers and wild blackberry bushes growing out of control. It always inspires me when I go back to Alabama, reconnecting with my roots and where I am actually from, or, as we say in New Orleans, where my people are from. I also find myself spending a lot of time visiting graveyards where relatives are buried, while my father once again explains who many of them are (I love visiting the graves of my mother’s paternal grandparents; there’s a picture of them posing with four of their children and they are one of the most gorgeous couples I’ve ever seen; their daughters look just like my mother–and by extension, kind of like me–and seeing that picture always pleases me so) and stories about them, and I know he enjoys remembering the family history while passing it along to me. I enjoy the stories of the county, too; as we drive around the backroads and past places from his and my youth (“we took this road home from Auburn when you were just three months old, remember it?”–Dad humor, sure, but I love every bit of it) and I marvel at it all, hoping that it’s all being imprinted on my faded and dying memory. I really do want to write more about Alabama (which is what I say every time I get back from there, isn’t it?), and yeah, I do need to get back to writing, don’t I?

And some of that county and family history? Let’s just say the county is a lot more like Peyton Place than anyone from there would care to admit.

Dad also brought me a case of Grape Crush in bottles, which was so sweet and thoughtful (you can only get cans here, so Dad always brings me some from Kentucky and yes, I am very spoiled and always have been). We drove down to visit my aunt and uncle (another seven hours total in the car on Friday), so am very worn out this morning, now that I am back home; the drive back yesterday was nice but was very tired by the time I got home. I did listen to John Copenhaver’s Hall of Mirrors in the car (more on that later), but spent the evening watching My Mother Jayne, which was very well done (I always have been interested in Jayne Mansfield) and we really enjoyed. After that, I got started unpacking and putting things away and yes, I really do regret not thoroughly cleaning the apartment before I left on Wednesday. So instead of chilling out and relaxing today, I’ll be cleaning and making groceries (ordering them, at any rate), and hopefully reading and writing some.

It occurred to me last night that I didn’t get to all the queer books I wanted to read for Pride Month, and it also occurred to me that just because it’ll no longer be Pride Month doesn’t mean that I can’t read queer books; that’s the trap of having these celebratory months–I do not only read Black authors in February, after all, so why do I only focus on queer work in June?1 But I am glad I caught that I’d not finished Hall of Mirrors–and I know how it happened. I was reading it and about to go on a trip, and I always keep the books I am reading and the ones that are on-deck on the end table near my chair. I’d gotten down several potential books to take for the trip, and after I packed the books I decided to take I put the others back, and I must have reshelved Hall of Mirrors then; I was convinced I’d read it until before this trip, when I couldn’t remember how it ended and Audible suggested it–and when I got the book down from the shelves again there was a bookmark in it marking my place. Shamefully I downloaded it to my Audible, and decided to listen to it on this trip. There were three chapters left when I pulled up to the house; I finished it after watching My Mother Jayne…and then I fell asleep in my chair.

What a glorious night’s sleep I enjoyed last night, too! And it’s always nice to be home with Paul and Sparky. I didn’t make myself sick on the trip, either–remembering to have protein drinks and to take my pills and rehydrate properly. It was hot as fuck up there, too.

But I am going to bring this to a close, so I can get things done and groceries ordered and prepare for the week. I have an ophthalmologist appointment first thing tomorrow morning that requires me to drive out to (shudder) Kenner before I go into the office…and of course, Friday is the 4th of July so I have a three day weekend this week, too. Huzzah!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Enjoy your Sunday, Constant Reader, as I intend to enjoy mine, and I’ll be back in the morning.

Staircase in the step pyramid of Pharaoh Djoser at Saqqarah
  1. I don’t, but it seems like I put a lot more pressure on myself to do during Pride. ↩︎

Lost in the Crowd

Monday and it’s off to see my doctor this morning, woo-hoo! This is a follow-up to the blood work that said I was anemic; I don’t think it’s anything to be much worried about since I’d been sick for so long and being unable to keep much food down clearly impacted some of my vitamin and mineral levels. The bills from the illness and all of the concomitant charges have also started arriving; got a handful of them on Saturday, which was kind of staggering to see 1) how much I owed and 2) how much the original bill was. YIKES indeed. Heavy sigh. No idea how long it will take me to clear up this lovely additional financial burden, but nevertheless here we are. Dad said he’d help, so that’s a good thing for me to remember as I start trying to make financial plans for July and August.

LSU WON THE COLLEGE WORLD SERIES!!!! Woo-hoo! GEAUX TIGERS! This is their eighth championship, and their second in three years. They beat Coastal Carolina 5-3 yesterday to sweep the series and bring another trophy home to Baton Rouge. It was an interesting game–Coastal’s coach and first base coach were tossed out of the game in the first inning, which never happens–and of course, their starting pitcher was the asshole who dogged LSU in that press conference the other day. Hey, bitch, they scored five runs off your ass before you got sat down…how do you like us NOW? And you were supposed to be their star ace pitcher. Have a nice trip back to South Carolina.

The game pretty much sucked all the air out of the apartment, which is still a mess this morning. I didn’t get much done yesterday, but I did spend the morning working on some things and scribbling in my journal. I leave for Alabama on Wednesday afternoon, so I definitely need to be getting things done around here tonight for sure; I hate coming home from a trip to a messy house. I am going to listen to either Donna Andrews or Carol Goodman or Lisa Unger in the car on the drive over and back, which will be lovely–and I didn’t get much reading done yesterday either. I was drained after the game and the win, and we ended up watching The Mortician on HBO MAX, which was very interesting. I feel asleep during the third episode, and then went up to bed shortly thereafter, but I was intrigued by the documentary and what the actual guy had to say about dead bodies and corpses–“it’s not your loved one, they are gone”–was brutal but accurate? The death business in this country has always struck me as a little weird, but the death business isn’t for the dead, it’s for the living. Ironic to watch that show and have some thoughts about the death business when I’m getting ready to go visit a grave, isn’t it?

I’ll probably take Summerhouse with me to finish reading before bed every night, and next thing you know Pride Month will be over. I also need to get some writing done tonight when I get home, and since I don’t have any errands to run, that should be relatively easy. I am not in clinic this morning, either, which helps me to not feel so drained at the end of the day–I love my clients, but the interactions I have with them kind of wear me out by the end of the day–so I can come home and get stuff done. The apartment does look better than it did originally coming into the weekend, but it still definitely needs some work. Heavy sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for a half-day. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check back in with you again tomorrow morning.

I had a crush on young Andrew Stevens in the 1970s and it’s easy to see why.

touch

Saturday! Sparky didn’t let me sleep as late as I would have perhaps preferred, but I am awake now and slurping down coffee and having a lovely morning thus far. I slept really well last night, which was nice, but mostly spent my evening after our Costco run (it was bizarre; we ran into two people we know there, which rarely, if ever, happens anymore) watching videos on Youtube about a) the 1970s for another project and b) World War II (for obvious reasons) before I fell asleep in my chair and had to finally go upstairs to bed. I did get a lot of chores done yesterday, which was lovely; the dishes are all done, and there’s a load of clothes in the dryer that also need to be finished and folded and put away. I have to run to the mail today, get gas, and make some groceries (while having others delivered1), and the floors need to be vacuumed, but other than that, I have a nice restful day at home planned. LSU plays game one of the National Championships tonight against Coastal Carolina at six tonight, but isn’t anything college baseball related going to seem anti-climactic after the ninth inning of the Arkansas game the other night? Probably.

I decided to read The Crying Child by Barbara Michaels as my next reread; I did some poking around on-line about Myra Breckinridge and apparently I missed a lot on my two previous reads of the book, so I am going to have to spend more time with it when I read it, and right now I am not feeling the bandwidth in my head to do that kind of critical reading of it–while trying to finish Summerhouse, which is my goal for this weekend. (Next up for my new-to-me read is going to be Mia Manansala’s y/a debut, methinks.) I am also thinking I may rewatch Surviving Ohio State–I was doing things and reading during my first watch, so wasn’t paying as much attention as perhaps I should have, and I’d like to write about it more in depth.

I missed the deadline for the short story I’ve been working on, which means I can now talk about the story and the market without jinxing anything; I was so fatigued this past week from the infusion I lost track of dates and thought the 20th, for some reason, was Monday. Nope, it was yesterday and so I missed the deadline and still didn’t finish the story. I will have to put it aside and finish it later–I think going forward, to keep from having so many story fragments, I’ll finish the story anyway rather than just putting it to the side and forgetting it. For one thing, I kind of got wrapped up in it and the main character. Anyway, the anthology was about sea monsters–anything below the surface of any water, really. When I was in the hospital, I had an idea for a new book–and realized I could use an old unfinished manuscript and its characters to graft onto the new idea (the old idea didn’t work because of its setting), which actually got me a little excited, and when I saw this submission call, I thought, oh, I can write something for this that will be an excerpt from this longer novel. So, that’s what I was trying to do with the story I called “The Lake Must Be Fed.” The original manuscript was called The Enchantress, and was set on the coast of the Florida panhandle, but it never really worked for there; the actual terrain was too different from what I imagined. I’ve also always been interested in the concept of “drowned towns,”–places that were evacuated to make way for a reservoir after a river was dammed. Scott Carsen’s last book that I read was one of these (completely different from my idea), and of course, the primary inspiration for moving it from the panhandle to northwest Alabama is Georgia’s own cursed lake, Lake Lanier. I’m sorry I didn’t finish the story, but I’m not putting it on the back-burner just yet; I have other things I need to write at the moment, but when I get stuck on the front-burner stuff I can work on “The Lake Must Be Fed,” which I think is a great title. I don’t know where it’ll get published, if ever, but it would be nice to have it finished and ready to go.

That’s the thing with short stories. I love the form, I love writing them (even as I always struggle with them), but the problem is there’s not many markets for them and you have to get really lucky with a specific submission call to say “oh, I have something for this!” and not have to write something new…which is partly why I have so many partials and unpublished stories in my files. Heavy sigh. AH, such is the writer’s lot in life, is it not?

I also managed to finish and send out another newsletter yesterday, and I also realized that I don’t have to finish and send every newsletter about my queer life during Pride, just like I don’t just read queer fiction during June, either. I do make more of an effort to talk about these things during Pride Month, when it’s more likely the straights might read it and reflect on what I’ve said (whether they agree or disagree with the points I make), but I’m not just gay during June; I’m gay all the rest of the year, too, and it’s just as important to speak out all year rather than just in June. I am writing one now about Overcompensating, and extrapolating that out to other shows/movies about queer people–and how you can pretty much tell when something queer is made to “play in Peoria” as opposed to being something authentic queer people can relate to other than just the sexualities being portrayed. (For the record, Overcompensating seemed authentic to me; but was it, or was it just something I could relate to? This is why I generally don’t do criticism–because it always feels like you’re speaking for the entire community, and I am uncomfortable with that, always having to make certain people understand I only speak for myself and not others, certainly not for the queer community as a whole.)

Well, my coffee certainly is working its magic on me this morning, isn’t it? This is fairly long already, and I don’t think I’ve covered everything that I want to as of yet? Let me get another cup of coffee and the next stage of my breakfast before I continue on here, shall I? Let’s shall.

1 do love me some honey-nut Cheerios. I started craving them when I was sick, and have been having them for breakfast almost every morning since I was able to start eating normally again. I’ve never been a breakfast person, choosing to use the time I’d spend getting breakfast together and then eating it instead staying in bed longer. That changed a bit when I started having to get up early every day, but now I eat so much breakfast that I’m really not all that hungry the rest of the day. And if I don’t eat a lot in the morning, I am starving by mid-afternoon. And I am also eating in the evenings; my dinners are usually lighter than breakfast, but I’ve been making dinner since I came home from the hospital. Again, I am generally not exhausted every night when I get home from work, and do not always repair to my easy chair to be a Sparky bed and relax from the day the way I used to; I can generally get some writing and reading and cleaning done every night, which is kind of nice. I don’t feel as defeated as I did before I got sick, either. I am suspecting that before it erupted into full-scale illness it was already affecting me physically before the lower intestine/colon went into a full revolt.

All right, I should probably bring this to a close and get to work this morning. I need to do some reading and cleaning and possibly some writing, this morning. I also need to do some editing, which I always seem to hate to do because it means more work. But I also always put it off, which is a mistake. So I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday wherever you are, Constant Reader, and no worries–I’ll be back no later than tomorrow morning.

I always wanted to go to Egypt and see the pyramids, among other sites. Egypt has fascinated me since my childhood, and I’ve always wanted to write about Egypt.
  1. Remember the other day when I was talking about not having a day job but would have to leave the house to run errands? I forgot about having things delivered! ↩︎

Pictures of You

Yesterday was lovely, really. Sparky let me sleep a little longer than normal, and I felt good when I woke up, although unsure as to whether or not I would be fatigued and foggy-brained yet again for the day. But breakfast and morning coffee were marvelous, and I started doing some chores while watching coverage of the game from the other night. I also was basking a bit in the afterglow of that insane final two innings and the insanity of the win–going into that bottom of the ninth, and two outs from Arkansas winning? Apparently, Arkansas has never won the College World Series and is also 0-5 overall playing LSU there. That, and the fact that errors cost them this game, has got to be galling for their fans. I’m sure it doesn’t go down any easier since the Razorbacks also see LSU as one of their major rivals. It’s also kind of weird–and nice–to see LSU fans on-line congratulating and talking up the Razorbacks since the game; we all felt bad for those kids suffering through such a heartbreaking loss. I was glad to see it wasn’t just me; the finals will seem almost kind of anticlimactic now. I hope the Arkansas players–especially poor Charles Davalan–are feeling better now. And now I kind of feel like I should root for them in the future when they aren’t playing LSU. Well done, Arkansas baseball team–you’ve made Arkansas a secondary team for me to root for, which I would have never thought possible.

It’s never dull being an LSU fan. That game was intense.

Anyway.

I also watched Surviving Ohio State–Jim Jordan should be behind bars–while finishing The Dark on the Other Side, which was a lot more interesting than I remembered. All of Barbara Michaels’ work is good, but this one isn’t quite as good as the ones I consider her best (Ammie Come Home, The Crying Child, Be Buried in the Rain, House of Many Shadows, and Witch); but she is an excellent Gothic writer, and probably a much bigger influence on me as a writer mysel than I’ve probably ever realized; the Scotty books are actually kind of similar in tone to some of her Elizabeth Peters novels, which are also delightful. I am debating what my next reread will be; I was thinking about another Michaels that I’ve not revisited in a while (The Crying Child) or, since it’s Pride Month, perhaps Myra Breckinridge? I was thinking about Gore Vidal the other day, which reminded me of the book, and wondered how it would hold up to modern scrutiny. I will not lie; I’ve read it twice at different periods of my life and didn’t know what to make of it–and with the current day trans community under relentless attack, I thought maybe try it again? I do remember how it ends, and I am not entirely certain how any reading of the book could make the ending not problematic–but the thing about Vidal is he never gave a shit; I can only imagine how vitriolic he would be about modern times and social media and trigger warnings…he died before social media became the monster it did, and when someone came for him he threw acid back at them. He didn’t mind offending people, nor did he take criticism well.

Although I suppose the fact Myra Breckinridge has never appeared on any list of great and/or influential and/or important queer novels that I’ve ever seen is probably giving me my answer about whether the book has aged well or not.

Surviving Ohio State was horrifying, simply horrifying. I do not believe Jim Jordan and the head coach didn’t know what was going on, but I also can’t understand why they didn’t stop it. It was also infuriating to see how shitty people can be about male sexual assault victims (the patriarchy at work again, hand in glove with toxic masculinity), especially ones that are athletes, without taking into consideration how young and naïve so many of them were. I’ve been thinking a lot about the things we take for granted in order to function in this life and world, and one of the things is trusting medical professionals. When you’re young and have been raised to with that institutional trust (trusting doctors, and trusting that your college will take care of you and protect you from predators), and the fact that it seems like everyone knows and acts like it’s not a big deal (Narrator Voice: It was, in fact, quite a big fucking deal), what do you do? It’s horrifically corrupt, just as both Penn State and Michigan State were institutionally corrupt in how they handled their athletic staff’s predatory conduct. The documentary left me very angry, and hating Jim Jordan even more than I already did. (Of course, if I were writing the story Dr. Strauss would have been murdered, which would have uncovered his behavior–only to have the murder not be related to the abuse at all.) Unsettling, but I think everyone should watch this documentary.

Today is a work remotely day, and I feel pretty good this morning. I rested for the most part yesterday, which was nice, and slept really well last night, too. I have things to get done today–some of it very tedious, but it has to be done–for work but being at home makes it a little better for me. We’re going to go to Costco after work today, and run some other errands as well, before coming home and settling in for the weekend. I have a lot of things I need to get done this weekend, writing-wise, so hopefully today won’t wear me out too much and I can get everything done. I need to finish a short story, and I need to work on some of my other writing as well. If I miss the short story deadline it’s not the end of the world; the story is an excerpt from what I hope will turn out to be a much longer work, so if I don’t get it finished and submitted it’s not the end of the world. I didn’t anticipate the fatigue and foggy brain I’d get from Monday’s infusion, and so didn’t really plan for it.

AH, well.

And on that note, I am going to get another cup of coffee and make my breakfast before going to work. Have a great Friday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back either later today or tomorrow morning. Until then…

Nureyev. Need I say more?

Down by the Lazy River

Happy Sunday to all who celebrate! My alarm cat got me up just past six, and yet again I had a lovely night’s sleep, which was simply marvelous. Yesterday was not a bad day; I got some rest and did some things, but put no pressure on myself and just recharged my batteries. I do have a sink full of dirty dishes, and the kitchen’s kind of a mess, really, but I can get that taken care of today. LSU doesn’t play today until five, so I have the whole day to get things done. Or not, depending on how I feel….but I definitely don’t want to come home from work tomorrow to a dirty kitchen.

My newsletter has been getting new subscribers since my return to it after the illness (which, while chronic for the rest of my life, has actually turned out to have been a good thing. Typical Gregalicious craziness, am I right?), but again, I try not to think about that too much because I don’t want to have to worry about what I write there. I know my Pride posts this month have generated some clicks; maybe it’s just that, you know? Supporting the queer author during Pride? Why do I even question any of this instead of just accepting it?

Which is more crazy Gregaliciousness, but that’s who I am.

As I said, I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked yesterday, but I did watch LSU win their baseball game (GEAUX TIGERS), had groceries delivered, did some cleaning and picking up, and read some more. I finished my reread of The Mystery of the Haunted Mine, which other than some racial insensitivities (mostly about native Americans and Mexican-Americans, but they could easily be corrected, there wasn’t a lot of it) actually holds up really well; I greatly enjoyed the book. I also read some more of The Dark on the Other Side, but got so caught in the kids’ book that I didn’t really read much of anything else. My next y/a read will be Incident at Loring Groves, by Sonia Levitin, which won the first Edgar for y/a when it was finally split off from juvenile. I looked Levitin up and she’s kind of amazing, as was the author of The Mystery of the Haunted Mine, Gordon Shirreffs. I also want to reread some of Phyllis A. Whitney’s juvenile mysteries, which I enjoyed a lot as a kid (I also was a big fan of her novels for adults, which were romantic suspense but really good mysteries, too), and I think I have some of them around here somewhere.

I also thought about some of my own fiction writing yesterday while scribbling notes in my journal. If I can focus, I’d like to get some fiction writing on the short stories done, and some editing as well on the books. I should spend some time with Summerhouse, and I do have other chores to do around the house. I don’t know what time LSU plays today, but I can read while I watch that, or edit. I like that my brain is being creative again (I’m still loving that gay version of No Way Out I was thinking about the other day, so add that to the list of future projects I want to get to at some point), but it’s not doing me any good unless words are appearing in the electronic files and I am drawing closer to a goal, you know? I also need to make another to-do list, at the top of which will be calling my specialist, because we still haven’t scheduled my first infusion, the infusion meds people are getting antsy about getting started (which is an interesting phenomenon I didn’t think happened in American health care anymore; but I am sure it has nothing to do with my health and something to do with money because that’s what our health care system is about: capitalism), and to be honest, I am a little curious about why it’s not been schedule, and I think I am going to need more prednisone because I am getting low and there’s still weeks to go on that treatment. So, yes, indeed, we need to make a to-do list once I finish breakfast.

We also finished Department Q last night and really liked it a lot. I hope it gets renewed. It’s well-written, tightly plotted, and incredibly acted. Not sure what we are going to watch next–probably the Paul Rubens documentary, which will be terribly sad, but probably a good idea to watch and evaluate during Pride. The behavior of homophobic garbage on social media because it’s Pride Month only serves to make me more defiant, and more determined to call it out and shame it whenever I see it. Your ignorant bigotry comes across my feed? Complain to the algorithm after I am finished eviscerating your unwashed flat ass. It’s fucking Pride, can’t you leave us the fuck alone for thirty goddamned days? Would it really kill you that much to not be a piece of shit for that short a period of time?

Obviously, it would.

And if Simone Biles dragged me for the filth that I was the way she did Riley Gaines yesterday, I think I’d just shut the fuck up and disappear. But pathetic loser crybaby Riley Gaines will, once again, play the victim while she bullies children on her infernal crusade. Riley, how do people regard Anita Bryant today? Look it up–that’s your legacy. That’s how you’ll be remembered. As a fifth-place loser who basically threw a tantrum for finishing in fifth place because you weren’t good enough to place. How did you do at the Olympic Trials? And comparing you with Simone Biles, in swimming terms, is comparing you to Katie Ledecky.

Yeah, loser, you’re not even remotely close to her league. Sorry Mommy and Daddy treated every bowel movement as a child as more proof of how special you were, but why should trans people suffer because you had shitty parents and your spoiled, Veruka Salt behavior? Take the L, bitch, and disappear.

I also watched Coco Gauff win the French Open yesterday, which was awesome. I really like Coco, and have enjoyed watching her rise. That’s two slams she’s won, and she’s only 21, and she seems to have the right perspective on it all–and dealt with the c*nty ungraciousness of the Number One seed’s press conference like a champ. I never liked Sabalenka, and I never will now; nothing annoys me more than a sore fucking loser (cough Riley Gaines cough).

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

Out gay actor Cooper Koch is having a moment, and good for him!