Tag: reading

Friends

After we moved to the suburbs and had not only a house but a second car, my mother decided that maybe religion was missing from the lives of my sister and I, and began taking us to church–not the Southern Baptist faith she herself was raised in, but the Church of Christ, which was my father’s family’s faith. It wasn’t like my sister and I hadn’t been to church before; whenever we visited relatives in Alabama we were inevitably dragged to church with them, whether we wanted to go or not. It wasn’t even up for debate, so yes, in some ways, my father’s family kind of forced religion on us when we didn’t really go to church at home with our parents. I never knew why Mom decided we needed to start going–she wound up having an off-and-on relationship with the church for the rest of her life–but we did. Dad played golf every Sunday morning and often hit buckets of balls after or maybe went out for lunch with the other players; I don’t know. But not only did we start going to church, she rewarded us by taking us to Ponderosa for lunch (where I first discovered Catalina French salad dressing, a favorite to this day) and then we’d go see a movie. Most of the movies are forgotten now, collecting dust and cobwebs until I think about that movie again and remember it was one Mom took us to.

The Last of Sheila was one of those movies, and I fell in love with it as I watched. It had everything I could possibly want: an incredibly clever murder mystery, a cast of movie stars I recognized, and it was about Hollywood, even though set and shot along the Riviera. It was an inside look at the rich and glamorous–something I felt was like another planet to me in my subdivision house, in my lower middle class existence which was a place where I felt like I didn’t belong.

Shortly after seeing the movie, I was at Zayre’s with a couple of bucks to buy books with, and there were three I wanted–The Last of Sheila and two others, but I could only afford two of them, and I regretfully put The Last of Sheila back because I’d already seen the movie and I could get it the next time.

Constant Reader, it wasn’t there when I went back. I never forget there was a book, either–but I didn’t know whether it was a novelization or an actual book the film had been based on; and I didn’t mind reading novelizations, either. When I rewatched the film again during the pandemic, I remembered there was a book and started looking for it on-line. It was clearly rare and beloved, because whenever a copy would come up for sale on second-hand sites it was always priced anywhere from $150-$300, and I didn’t care about the nostalgic aspects of it that much. Then last summer two popped up on ebay; both more expensive than I would have liked but still–reasonable enough to consider. I put in a bid on one and then realized the other was a “buy it now”, so I went ahead and bought it. A few days later I won the bid–and a little confused, decided to go ahead and honor the bid since I had put one in but simply forgot about it, and I gave the other away to a friend who also loved the movie for Christmas.

And finally, I settled in to read it–after another, recent rewatch.

The Sheila rode at anchor, stern to the quay, stern lines fastened securely over the bollards. The Mediterranean sun glanced off the brightwork and made of the white hull a dazzling blur. Her eighty-seven feet dwarfed the sleek ketch on her port side, a racing vessel owned by the pretender to the Spanish throne, but the Sheila was in her turn outclassed by the ninety-five-footer on her starboard, a powerful yacht owned by a South African diamond billionaire. The Palma marina was, as usual in the summer, crowded with the pleasure craft of the wealthy, berthed as tightly together as possible, their anchor chains frequently fouling.

Lee Parkman swung her long slender legs out of the taxicab and stood somewhat shakily on the quay, shielding her eyes from the too-bright noonday sun that pierced even through the lenses of. her oversized sunglasses. Her legs still felt rubbery from the long, bumpy tide over the dursty roads that led from the Palma Airport to the marina. Mallorca was like that, she thought. The paradox of moderan airport and luxurious anchorage linked by an ancient and ill-kept road.

I don’t know if they still do novelizations of popular films as a merchandising gimmick–the cover of this one has a little admonition to see the film READ THE NOVEL and of course, the ever-popular Now a Major Motion Picture From Warner Brothers. There’s also a lovely cast photo prominently featured on the book cover–with the cast posed together in the same way they are in the photograph in the book, which holds the key to the very clever puzzle at the heart of the book, and what a cast of early 1970’s luminaries it contained! James Mason, Joan Hackett, Dyan Cannon, James Coburn, a gorgeous young Ian McShane, Richard Benjamin, and the fabulous Raquel Welch. All play, in a way, traditional Hollywood archetypes: Mason is the director fallen on hard times; Benjamin the writer who can’t get a script film so works on rewrites of other people’s work; Cannon the blowsy loud shark-like Hollywood agent (based on Sue Mengers, anyone remember her?), Coburn as the asshole abusive producer; Welch playing the stunningly beautiful actress with little talent; McShane as her loser husband/manager; and Hackett as the Hollywood heiress, whose father was a monstrous tyrannical producer like the Coburn character, married to the Benjamin character and the only thing keeping him out of hock.

Coburn’s character, Clinton, invites all the others for a week-long trip along the Riviera on his boat, the Sheila, named after his late wife, killed by a hit and run driver about a year earlier. Sheila was a gossip columnist that Clinton truly loved, but she was also a typical Hollywood rags-to-riches story. She started out as a call girl and worked her way up to gossip columnist and married a rich producer before her tragic death. The driver of the car that killed her was never found. He claims to want to produce a picture, a way to honor his dead wife, called The Last of Sheila, which he wants Benjamin/Tom to write, Mason/Philip to direct, and Welch/Alice to star in. They will also spend the week playing a game–each person is assigned a card, and every night they will get clues they will have to solve to figure out who has the card. Once the person who has the card solves it, the game is over for the night so you have to find out who has the card before the cardholder does to get a point. None of them really want to play–but once the first night gets underway, some of them get into it and some of them don’t. There are also all kinds of clues and hints that something a lot more sinister is going on below the surface, as the guests become uncomfortably aware that the game is really about them and their secrets…and then there’s an attempted murder, and then Clinton himself is murdered on the second night.

It’s a fantastic set-up, and it’s an incredibly clever plot. The film’s screenplay, from which the novelization was adapted, was written by closeted gay actor Anthony Perkins and Stephen Sondheim (yes, that same Stephen Sondheim), which also lends depth and insight into this world of cutthroat behavior, backstabbing, and vengeance. The novelization itself is one of the better ones I’ve ever read; they were usually cranked out quickly by a pseudonymous writer trying to make a quick buck (no harm there; I’d certainly write them if the price was right and they were still a thing) who basically simply turned the screenplay into a book, without getting much into the story or layers or character development. But this one of The Last of Sheila is the rare one that you put down when finished and think, Oh, there was so much more that could have been told there–and it even fleshes the characters and the backstory–and the motives–out even further. It actually helps with your appreciation of the film by giving necessary back story to the relationships between them and their individual motives, and I am very glad that I read it.

The Last of Sheila will always be one of my favorite films, because it remains fresh and interesting and its cleverness never stops amazing me every time I watch it.

And of course, Bette Midler’s “Friends” plays over the closing credits–after the perfect ending–which was also my first real exposure to the Divine Miss M, whose debut album I bought shortly after seeing the film and I’ve been a fan ever since.

How did anyone not know?

Let It Whip

Tuesday, and we survived Monday again! I believe in celebrating even the smallest of achievements, so here we are. I left work early yesterday for PT–I beat the kettlebell this time, and some of the exercises that were dreadful last time were much better this time; still dreadful, but more easily borne than before. I easily could have slept longer this morning, but alas, it was not to be. I also worked on the story some more last night and I was correct; the missing piece of the puzzle I’d worked out over the weekend was exactly what was wrong with the story and why it wasn’t gelling, but the revision is working quite well, which is very pleasing to our eyes. I am slowly waking up–the coffee is quite marvelous this morning and most definitely hitting the spot for sure–and while I didn’t want to get up, I think it’s going to be a terrific day.

The other day I came across something while wandering around on-line which caught me off guard and yet was kind of cool at the same time–Ann Patchett doing a tiktok or a Facebook reel or something like that, in which she was talking about how she’d recently read So Big by Edna Ferber and really enjoyed it. Edna Ferber! I’d had a Ferber phase the last two years of high school, when I read everything I could get my hands on that she’d written–So Big, Come and Get It, Cimarron, Giant, Ice Palace, Saratoga Trunk, Show Boat–and I really enjoyed her work. Ferber was a very successful and very well known writer of the early to mid-twentieth century; many of her books were made into Oscar winning films; and they were mostly Americana, books set in some region of the US during its history and shining a light on the time. She was very well-regarded also as a playwright and short story writer. She was also a member of the Algonquin Round Table. So I thought, “I should reread Saratoga Trunk, which is partly set in New Orleans and I barely remember it” (although I also remember enjoying the film, with Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman) so I went on ebay and found a decent old copy.

Because I don’t already have enough to read on my plate, right?

I also met Ann Patchett a very long time ago, before she published Bel Canto and became ANN PATCHETT. She was very kind, very nice, and I liked her an awful lot. I think her only book at the time was The Patron Saint of Liars, which I read and enjoyed. I doubt very seriously she remembers me, of course; she’s become a huge literary star since I met her and I was just another face among many others that she’s met over the year, but I can say that I met and liked Ann Patchett very early in her career. Watching her success explode has also been a pleasure because it’s always lovely when someone super-nice actually finds enormous success. It restores my faith in humanity and the world.

I also started reading something over the past couple of days–exhausted brain, really–that I am enjoying for its bitchy wit but am not quite ready to talk about just yet, but it’s not anything I’ve been talking about reading on here lately. It’s also not that I am not enjoying the book I was reading–which I was, and look forward to diving back into when I can get it my full and not tired attention–but this is an easier read, if that makes sense? I already know the characters and the story because it’s one of my favorite films, and that’s all I will say about it at this time.

I also made the Saltburn connection that I’d been trying to make since seeing the film the first time–everyone keeps talking about it in reference to either The Talented Mr. Ripley or Brideshead Revisited, and while I could see that, there was always a nagging sense that there was another, more obscure film that it was more like than either of its regular comparisons/influences, and then this weekend it hit me between the eyes what film it was–because in rearranging the books, I discovered the book the film was based on, and the proverbial lightbulb went on over my head. Yes, yes, this film is more Saltburn than the others, and I did wonder if Emerald Fennell had seen the bizarre little film I watched during the pandemic while making condom packs and revisiting (or watching for the first time) /classic films from the Cynical 70’s–and now I have the hook for my essay/blog entry on Saltburn, so watch this space because I’ll eventually get around to writing it; I inevitably do, and I do think this conversation about the film is actually timeless, so there you go.

But it’s time to start getting cleaned up, pack my lunch box, and head out on the highway to the office to start my work day. I get to come straight home from work tonight, which is lovely, and maybe can get some chores done as well as some writing before Sparky bonding time. Until my next appearance, have a lovely one, Constant Reader!

Shakin’

Holiday Monday, and I slept deeply and well again last night. I’d set the alarm, thinking it was probably better to start getting up early again, since it’s back to the office with me tomorrow but Sparky was being super cuddly and sweet in the bed this morning, and it was cold, and so I stayed in bed for another hour or so. I finished reading Tara Laskowski’s The Weekend Retreat, which I greatly enjoyed (more on that later). I made jambalaya, and did some dishes and started a load of laundry. I also reread some of my own unfinished work, trying to decide what to focus on next. I have to say I am regularly pleased with my work now when I go back and reread it; what can I say? I don’t know if that means I am getting rid of the self-deprecation and “not good enough” mentality I’ve struggled with my entire life, but it’s a welcome change to read some of my work and think this is pretty good.

I also worked on the house some more and it’s starting to look like it did before the acquisition of High Energy Kitten and my surgery–cluttered but at least neat. It’s almost there, you know, and maybe putting some finishing touches on it today before I go to my first STRENGTH PT appointment this afternoon. (I’ll be making groceries after that, I might add.) I’ve also decided that my next read with be R. F. Kuang’s Yellowface; I do enjoy a writer-behaving-badly story. I’ve written my own, too–“Quiet Desperation”, which was included in my collection Survivor’s Guilt and Other Stories, as well as a Kindle single–but I don’t think I ever want to write an entire novel about a writer behaving badly. I may write an entire novel with a writer as the main character–I keep circling back to my true crime writer, who’s now appeared in several of the Scotty books, as well as The Orion Mask–but I don’t think I’m quite there yet.

It is interesting to revisit unfinished projects and decide which of them to focus on and finish. I know that my next short story collection will be finished if I finish a novella and throw it in; but I’d kind of wanted to do a novella collection. One of the novellas–the longest one–will be rather easily turned into a novel, which I think is what I may do with it; there are three or four more that I can finish and turn in as a solitary book. “Festival of the Redeemer” is completed in first draft form, and rereading it yesterday made me realize that it’s next draft can be longer, of course, but I don’t think there’s enough story there to turn it into a novel; same with “Fireflies” and “Never Kiss a Stranger,” so maybe those three can be the novella collection (Festival of the Redeemer and Two More Tales–which I am choosing to call it so I can have a Venetian cover, a la du Maurier). “A Holler Full of Kudzu” might be the one I finish to complete the short story collection. There are also a lot of short stories I’d like to rework and/or finish for some calls that I’ve seen, which could always be fun. But the exciting thing here is I am feeling excited about writing again for the first time in I don’t know how long.

It’s also weird to think that the Scotty series is turning twenty-one this year; on May 1st, to be exact. I definitely should write another Scotty this year, and it does look like Hurricane Party Hustle is the one to do–it’ll also give me the opportunity to write about what it’s like to ride out a big storm and live without power, all the while having Katrina flashbacks. I also have the story for that already fleshed out, and yesterday I even figured out how the book opens, and how the mystery comes to Scotty’s attention in the first place, which is more than I usually have when I start, LOL. That one will be followed by the cursed Mardi Gras of 2019, French Quarter Flambeaux, which will be another fun story to write, and then Quarter Quarantine Quadrille, which will cover the shutdown and COVID madness. So, there are at least three more Scotty books for me to write, which will take the series to twelve books, and then I’ll think about it some more. Scotty’s family–parents and grandparents–are getting older, and will soon have to start dying off, which I really don’t want to deal with.

But it’s nice to feel excited about everything again, isn’t it? And normal, after so many years of abnormality?

And on that note I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely holiday, everyone, and I’ll probably be back later.

Get Up and Go

Sunday morning and the temperature is falling in New Orleans. It’s forty-one right now, which is nothing compared to what people up north are dealing with today, but we are getting down into water-freezing temperatures later this week. I slept for eleven hours last night, which is insane, but…my guess is I needed the rest. I didn’t get up until nine this morning, which is almost as insane as the weather. It’s amazing what a difference the right medications make, isn’t it? Yesterday was actually pleasant. I did some things, ran some errands, and then settled in to watch the LSU Gymnastics meet, which was a quad competition against three of the best teams in the country–UCLA, Oklahoma, and Utah–and the LSU team actually had to count a fall and still managed to come in second. They also had a subpar vault and beam rotation, which makes it even more amazing. GEAUX TIGERS! I also spent some time reading–which I am going to go do some more of once I finish this–and even wrote a little bit yesterday (a very little bit). But tomorrow is a holiday, and I have more chores and things to do today, without anything really to watch on deck.

It’s very nice to get up and feel rested, which happens more frequently these days.

I did a reading for the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon yesterday, with some other mystery writers from Bold Strokes, which was kind of nice. Mary Burns, who moderated the reading, also asked us all how we plan our books–essentially the plotter/pantser question–and it did make me think a bit about my process, how I do things. I write Scotty books differently than I write other books, fo one thing. I always think up three or four things that I want to address in a Scotty book, and from there I try to figure out how to weave them together into a story. This started with Baton Rouge Bingo–prior to it, I pretty much just pantsed the whole thing and figured it out as I went. I was asked on a panel at Saints and Sinners after Who Dat Whodunnit if I planned on writing another Scotty book, and I flippantly replied “if I can figure out a way to make the book about Huey Long’s deduct box, Mike the Tiger (the live LSU animal mascot), and the state’s ban on gay marriage, I will”, figuring as I said it there was no way anyone could write a book with all three elements in it. Three days later it all came to me how to make that actually work, and so I started writing it. For Mississippi River Mischief, there were several separate things; I wanted a family values politician hypocrite who had a thing for teenager boys, a tie in to The Haunted Showboat, and something from Scotty’s own past that he’s never really reexamined before, but has to because of the events in the book. It took me a while to figure out how to deal with the characters’ response to the events of Royal Street Reveillon–I could hardly pretend those things didn’t happen, after all–but eventually it all began to fall into place. I ended up with a book I was very pleased with, and probably one of the best books in the series. I’m not sure what Scotty is next, but I know it’s going to take place while the building on Decatur is renovated and redone as a single family residence, the boys will be living in the dower house–Taylor will be living in the Diderot mansion because there’s not enough space in the old dower house for all four of them. I think this is going to be the hurricane party book, which I am kind of reluctant to write because the last time I decided to write that story was right before Katrina. But I am going to start figuring that one out a bit, see where we can go with it. I do think a crime story set during an evacuation, with the city emptied, is an interesting idea, so I’ll probably write some free form brainstorming the way I always do. I’m kind of excited about writing another Scotty book this year.

There are also some short stories I want to get under control and finished and submitted.

But once I finish this, I am going to my chair with my journal and Tara’s book, so I can hopefully get that done today. I also have chores to get done–the kitchen is sliding again–and here’s hoping for a productive Sunday, okay? Have a great one–I may be back later.

Pledge Pin

It is very bright and sunny this morning; it was in the seventies yesterday but took an alarming dip over night. It is currently forty-three degrees outside, with a forecast of a high of merely fifty-six. The weather? She is bipolar in New Orleans in the winter, and we never really know what to expect from day to day. I’ve also realized that my mom also became obsessed with the weather when she was older, and I now check it every morning when I never really did before.

I had thought I had more to do today with the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon; but I was wrong–it’s next weekend that I have three panels on Saturday. Today is just a reading, and I’ll be reading from Mississippi River Mischief, of course, since it’s my most recent release from them. Other than that, I’ll be spending the day cleaning up and writing and doing things around here. I did get a lot accomplished yesterday–not as much as I had hoped or wanted, of course, that never happens–but I feel better about things around here now than I did before. I think I still haven’t gotten my stamina back yet, which is going to probably take a hot minute anyway right? I start strength PT on Monday, which should be exhausting. I did sleep really well last night, which was terrific; I really cannot get used to sleeping so well every night. I mean, I can, but feeling so rested when I get up every day rather than tired and groggy has been marvelous.

I spent some time with Tara Laskowski’s marvelous The Weekend Retreat last night and will definitely try to finish it today, if I can. It’s quite excellent, and is kind of a master class in both point of view and how to structure a novel. There are three point of view characters (four, if you count someone who is merely identified as “the weekend guest”), and the three women she uses are very different and the voices she’s created for them are distinct and unique. It’s very well done, and it also follows the structure of four that I’ve often noticed in novels–three that are in the same generation and whose lives are entwined, along with another who is not (Valley of the Dolls, Peyton Place, The Best of Everything, Class Reunion)–the list of books that follow that plot structure are countless, and something I’ve always wanted to write about. Anyway, Tara’s book is terrific and I am looking forward to spending more time with it this weekend.

We also watched this week’s Reacher last night, and we’re both a bit amazed at how different this season is from the first; but the books often were very different from each other. Sometimes they were intimate stories, sometimes they were action-adventure romps with very high stakes. Alan Ritchson is simply perfect as Reacher, and he has a very strong supporting cast in the season, but the dialogue is a bit hackneyed, cheesy, and clichéd at times. The action sequences are fantastically shot and choreographed, though, and the story is pretty good.

I also started watching the original BBC miniseries of Brideshead Revisted, which I’ve never seen, and I also got a copy of the book, which I’ve never read…but have become more interested in them both since watching Saltburn and seeing it compared to Brideshead. I’ve been sorting my thoughts on Saltburn since watching and enjoying it, which means it obviously had an impact on me and stimulated me intellectually. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a film that has engaged my mind and my knowledge of film and novels so thoroughly.

Sparky also wreaked havoc on the kitchen again last night while I slumbered, so there’s some picking up that needs to be done, and since the kitchen will again be the background for my reading, I should probably work on clearing the counters and the dishes and all that; of course, I imagine Sparky will make an appearance during the reading, too, since he is very determined and doesn’t take no for an answer (at least for the first five or six times he is told no).

I also need to run a couple of errands today so I won’t really have to leave the house again other than PT until Tuesday morning. I love when I don’t have to leave the house, seriously. To me, that’s the real appeal of retiring–not having to leave the house every day.

Hmmm.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Saturday, Constant Reader, and check out the Bold Strokes Book-a-thon if you have time!

Wake Up My Love

…it’s a new year.

2024, to be exact. LSU plays at eleven this morning, and I’ve let a lot of things slide these last few days. Yesterday was a lazy day; I read for awhile, watched the Saints game (they won!), and then we started watching movies. First up was a gay horror film, Midnight Kiss, which was much better than I expected it to be; followed by The Holdovers, which I also enjoyed; and the evening was capped off with The Exorcist: Believers which was so fucking terrible I cannot imagine how much money they had to throw at Ellen Burstyn to reprise her role of Chris MacNeil. (I mean, the movie seemed to have listened to my observation that any religion that ever gets drawn into a horror story inevitably postulates that Catholicism is real, and therefore the only true Christianity, as it expounded exorcism out and beyond Catholicism into other faiths, which was the only nice thing about the movie.)

Sometimes sequels are nothing more than money grabs that demean the original. Just saying.

Today is going to be mostly about college football with some chores tossed in for good measure. I have early morning physical therapy tomorrow, so won’t be able to see the end of the Washington-Texas game, but I’ll check the score when I rise.

So here we are on the first morning of 2024, and as usual, I am thinking about the new year yawning before me like an open blank book and I want to set some attainable goals for it as well as roll over the ones that didn’t get done last year.

I suppose the first and most important goal for me as far as 2024 is concerned is to continue my physical therapy and recovery from my surgery, and to carry that through to eating better and a regular workout routine of some sort, whether it’s simply stretching, walking, or weight training. I want to stay strong and have energy, and being in better physical condition will help me stay injury-free and healthy. I need to eat better, and I’d like to get down to maybe somewhere between 190 and 200 by the end of this year. I had let this slide for a very long time, and it’s going to be hard to get back into the swing of things again at over sixty, but it can be done.

I’m not going to add “get an agent” for this year, as it’s been a goal for longer than this blog has existed and so making it a goal doesn’t mean it’ll happen or get done. I am going to put “finish designing my website” on this list, though. I’ve not had the best luck with that over the years, and I really didn’t/don’t have the time to do it myself, or teach myself how to do it. I did get started on a simple site, but have completely forgotten everything I learned doing it and will essentially have to start over; and probably won’t finish and will end up forgetting everything I learned all over again. But if I steal some time every Saturday or Sunday morning now that football season is almost over…it could be do-able.

I do want to continue working on myself and becoming a better person overall; a lot of that requires self-reflection as well as remembering the past and situations that triggered future behavioral responses in me and hopefully putting that anxiety-ridden trauma to rest once and for all. The self-work includes better educating myself about the world, and viewing history with a more jaundiced eye–and my eye was already more jaundiced than most.

I also would like to read more, and read more for pleasure rather than quite so analytically. It took me a long time to shake over reading as a reviewer, and the easiest way for me to shake that was switching to reading as an editor–which I have also struggled to stop doing. But I think I am there, at last–and so I want to get back into reading a lot more–especially if all I am doing is scrolling on my phone. I do want to spend less time on social media for sure.

I also want to be better about marketing. My issues with promotion and marketing and public appearances were always anxiety-related, and I have finally learned how to control that…plus the new medications should go a long way to making me loosen up and relax a lot more when it comes to those sorts of things. The panel I stepped in to moderate at the last minute at Bouchercon was actually one of the best experiences I’ve had with and on a panel. I hope that there will be more of those experiences, and I am not going to let myself get worked up into knots before hand anymore.

I’m also letting go of a lot of hard feelings. I don’t know if anyone was actually trying to genuinely damage or hurt me, so most of the pettiness is being let go of; I don’t want anyone like that having space in my head or draining any of my energy anymore. I won’t forget or forgive, of course–I just won’t care anymore.

And I want to continue to push myself and grow as a writer. I think I want to try writing a romance.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Break It To Me Gently

It’s cold this morning in the Lost Apartment, and I didn’t want to get out of bed. The new meds are marvelous for sleeping–I can’t remember the last time I went to bed and was so damned comfortable and relaxed that it was a real struggle to force myself up out of the depths of Morpheus and into the world of the living again. I only have to go into the office twice this week–tomorrow I have PT first, which means waking up even earlier–but there’s another three-day weekend on the horizon and I really like the idea of all the rest and relaxation I’ll be able to get this weekend.

I did manage to get the apartment back into some semblance of order yesterday, with Sparky being absolutely zero help in that regard. He’s a bit rambunctious, to say the least, and still has that Big Kitten Energy thing going for him. The neighbors dropped off some toys for him for Christmas, and these were the first toys he’s actually shown any interest in for longer than a few moments. We watched some more War of the Worlds last night, which is a really interesting take on the old H. G. Wells novel; I don’t really remember the book anymore, which I read as a teen. I know the 1950’s version of the story was shown to me in elementary school; it terrified me and gave me nightmares for weeks. In retrospect, with all the fuss about education and all the right-wing bullshit attempts to take down and out public education, why the hell were elementary school children shown War of the Worlds in our classroom?

I couldn’t decide what to read next yesterday as I worked on the apartment, so I still haven’t started my next book. I’d intended to just read cozies for the rest of the year, but I am rethinking that, and thinking I need to mix it up more. I have a first novel by a Lafayette writer, who is a Black woman–I know, right? A Louisiana crime novel by a Black woman? I’ve been waiting for this forever–now if only we could find a gay Black crime writer in New Orleans….the book is Glory Be by Danielle Arsenault, and it comes highly recommended…and I’ve not read an “Own Voices” book in a while, which is entirely on me. Outside of James Lee Burke, there aren’t many crime writers who write about Louisiana but not New Orleans, and the book is highly recommended by a couple of friends, so I am really looking forward to breaking into it tonight or this weekend. I do have to run by the post office on my way home, and there are definitely chores that need doing around the house, so I’m pretty sure that’s how my evening will go. I also have PT at seven tomorrow, so I’ll be getting up early, too. Yay.

I’ve also been thinking about goals for the new year, and what I need to do in order to achieve those goals, and come up with a plan. I’m trying to remember what my favorite reads and watches of the year were–I did read a lot, somehow–and think about a writting schedule for the year. I’d like to do another Scotty book this year, a short story collection, and maybe something with those damned novellas-in-progress that I never seem to be able to finish. I definitely want to be better organized in the new year, and hopefully getting into that position before the new year rolls around, too. Maybe I can get all these “drafts” finished and posted at some point as well; wouldn’t that be nice?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Not a great Wednesday blog–I’ve really not been doing a great job with these entries, lately, have I? Ah, well, maybe tomorrow’s will be better. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and will check in with you again later.

(It’s Going to Be a) Lonely Christmas

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and if you don’t–well, happy Monday off!

Yesterday was not a good day. I woke up feeling like crap, and it never really got much better until later in the day, when I realized it had started raining during the night. It rained all day, actually, and I was so tired and dragged out and felt so terrible that I didn’t put it together until late in the afternoon–oh, this is SINUS related, because of the rain–and took a Claritin-D, which made me feel somewhat better. I also slept super good and slept in, too. I did manage to get some things done yesterday too–I finished reading Buried in a Good Book (more on that later) and started reading another one. We also finished watching both Looking the series, and then watched the wrap-up film (more on that later as well). I am going to pick out my next read, spend some time with it this morning, and at some point today we are probably going to watch Saltburn. I also have to put the turkey breast in the slow cooker (pulled turkey is quite delicious) and put dishes away, but I also have tomorrow off, so am not overly concerned about getting things organized and cleaned up. I worked on the books some more and pruned some more out, and started learning how to use the microwave–which does make a difference.

Christmas is usually when I started looking back on the year, and 2023 was a bit of a rollercoaster for me (they usually are). My personal life really sucked balls this past year, but it was a very good year for me professionally. The year started with me behind on two deadlines, but I managed to get both books finally finished and turned in, once I was able to turn MWA over to my successor, which was part of the delay on the books. In late January I injured my arm, and got misdiagnosed by my primary care physician. As we rolled into Mardi Gras, Mom had a massive stroke and I drove up to Kentucky to see her one last time in hospice. She didn’t really know me, she was pretty much unresponsive unless she was in pain, and it was rough. I drove home that Sunday, and she died on Valentine’s Day, so I had to drive up to Alabama that last weekend of Mardi Gras for the funeral. Not going to lie, it was tough losing my mother, and it’s been tough all year. I have sublimated most of my grief into worry about Dad, frankly. I went up and met him in Alabama for their anniversary, and we convoyed up to Kentucky, where I stayed for a week. I met Dad at my aunt and uncle’s place in Panama City Beach in October for their birthdays. When my primary care finally recognized what was wrong with my arm (torn biceps), I got referred to a orthopedic surgeon–but I needed a specialist. I had all my teeth removed finally in September, right after Labor Day, but didn’t get my new teeth until the week before the arm surgery, so was on a soft diet for two months which sucked….and then had to go back on it after the surgery because I couldn’t really cut up food. I also got hearing aids, which was great and has helped dramatically.

I also finally realized what the core mental issue was, thanks to a conversation with Dad–when I found out she suffered from generalized anxiety disorder and the light bulb went on over my head: that is exactly what is wrong with me, and all these years what I thought was “normal” because I didn’t know any different and I just always thought I was like Mom…yeah, I am like Mom, and all these years all I’ve been doing is treating symptoms and not the root cause. In consultation with my new primary care doctor, I weaned off the old medication and started treating the anxiety and the insomnia (anxiety related) properly, and it has made such an amazing difference in my life. I think more clearly, and I can analyze myself better. I’ve also started thinking about how most of my life I’ve tried to avoid confrontation (like Mom) and whenever something has happened that hurt me…well, I’ve tried to avoid those kind of situations again. My trust issues come from the anxiety and being hurt before, and I also realized that my socialization as a child was delayed and/or stunted because of being unable to control my brain. I had undiagnosed ADD as a child, and I feel pretty sure that’s carried over to my adulthood, as well. I couldn’t focus or concentrate because I didn’t know how to shut my brain off or keep it until control. The only time I could find peace, really, was reading or writing.

Professionally, I started off the year by getting nominated for a Lefty for Best Humorous for A Streetcar Named Murder, which was a very pleasant surprise. I debated going, but the timing was bad and with all the traveling I was having to do for family stuff, I had to conserve and preserve paid time off. This was followed up by an Agatha nomination for Best Children’s/Young Adult for #shedeservedit, and this time I did go. I lost to Enola Holmes, but I also became friends with Elizabeth Bunce (we’d been nominated together for an Anthony the year before) and Frances Schoonmaker, who was an absolute delight. I was nominated for three Anthonys at Bouchercon this year–Children’s/YA again; anthology for Land of 10000 Thrills, and Best Humorous for Streetcar again. None of those nominations ended with a win, but for me the nominations alone were the real win. I never ever thought I would be shortlisted for mainstream mystery awards, and what a delightful surprise.

I did publish two novels this year–a new series debuting with Death Drop, and the ninth Scotty, Mississippi River Mischief. I also got an (undeserved) editorial credit for School of Hard Knox, along with Donna Andrews and Art Taylor, for publisher Crippen and Landru–which meant working with my dear friend Jeffrey Marks. I have a story in the book, too–“The Ditch”–which was something I’d been working on forever. I also published two more short stories, “Solace in a Dying Hour” in This Fresh Hell, and “The Rosary of Broken Promises” for Dancing in the Shadows. I’m pleased with both stories, but I also need to get more. I have any number of incomplete projects that are nagging at me that I would like to finish in the new year. SO MANY PROJECTS.

But I feel good today, and very rested. I’d intended to take today as a do-nothing day, but I will probably do stuff because I am not really wired to not do anything all day.

And on that note, I will wish you happy holidays for the moment and head into the…well, not the spice mines, but perhaps a spice resort?

Boogie Woogie Santa Claus

I also am hearing today’s title to the tune of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B.”

It’s Tuesday morning and I survived Monday’s early morning PT. It went extremely well, so I am hoping that my surgeon will release me from it until February, when I can start strength PT. The wounds have healed, and cleanly, which is super nice. The bicep is also starting to look like a bicep again and not like a flat tire.

I also got back to writing yesterday and it flowed extremely well. I am very excited to be back on that horse again, and now that I know the plot for the book it’ll be a lot easier to get it finished. The middle (or Act II) will be a struggle as it always is, but at least I know how to end it, and I also know what the primary plot is going to be, and I do think it’s going to be really funny. I rewrote with a mind to the new plot, and everything just kind of was clicking into place and easy, which is AWESOME. I’m itching to finish this and get back to what I was working on before this project fell into my lap*. And I am having fun writing again. Maybe the surgery and the new meds served as a hard reset, like I unplugged my brain and then plugged it back in? I also slept well again last night, showing that Sunday’s restless night’s sleep was an aberration.

It’s very cold here this morning–it’s 44 outside–and thus did not want to get out from under my pile of warm blankets this morning as the alarm started its horrendously annoying beeping sound. This of course brought Sparky out from his fort under the bed, and he cuddled with me until it was time for me to stop hitting snooze and get up, which made it even harder for me to get up. (The affection is merely to make sure that he knows the exact moment when I get up, so I can feed him–he doesn’t fool me! He was nowhere to be found last night once I sat in my chair and edited what I wrote yesterday.) But the good news is I feel very rested and have some energy, so here’s hoping this carries me through the day. I have to go shopping for my secret Santa gifts, and I also have to pick up the mail and figure out when to make the red velvet cheesecake for Thursday’s potluck. I may go ahead and make the red velvet layers tonight, and then do the cheesecake tomorrow night, putting it all together on Thursday morning before work. That sounds like a plan.

I also went a little overboard preparing food for the week. There’s way too much of it, and I’ll need to eat dinner every night when I get home to get rid of it all. I also hadn’t calculated on the potluck Thursday (denial that Christmas is this weekend, no doubt), and one of my co-workers wants to get lunch with me tomorrow, so that’s two days I won’t need to bring lunch. Heavy sigh. I also think I will take Christmas day off from everything; no emails, no writing, no social media–I wonder if I can do it? I’d like to finish reading the Tamara Berry to move on to the next cozy in the TBR pile; there are so many ones with diverse voices and characters I am having a very difficult time choosing one. I am trying not to buy new books until I’ve made a significant dent in the TBR pile (with exceptions, of course–my always must-reads like Laura Lippman, Lou Berney, Megan Abbott, etc.) or donated more books to the library sale. We went to Costco over the weekend, and I had some stuff delivered; so another goal for the week is to do something about the box congestion in the living room; one of the reasons I’m not big into box stores as much as I could be is I don’t have enough storage space in the house to accommodate the things I could get; I’d be in real trouble if I did have the space. I am going to clear out the cabinets in the kitchen; there’s a lot of stuff we don’t need that has just been collecting dust for years.

And the cabinets and laundry room are seriously in need of organizing.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later.

*Perhaps my goal for 2024 should be to finish everything unfinished in my files…

Reindeer Boogie

Up ungodly early on a Saturday because I have to cross the river to the West Bank to get my oil changed. One of the most interesting things about this surgery recovery is it seems to have wiped my memory banks or something–kind of like an Apple OS update. Yesterday on my way to PT I checked the car’s systems and was stunned to see that I was due for an oil change. It seemed like I’d just had it done, but now that I think about it, it may have been as far back as June, when I went to Alabama and Kentucky and back. I’ve done a lot of driving since then, including a weekend drive over to Panama City Beach in October, and so it’s not really surprising that it’s due again–and thank God I checked, right?

But I continue to sleep well, and I am really looking forward to sleeping late tomorrow and just lazing around until I feel like getting up. Monday morning I have PT early, and then have to head into the office for my paperwork day. It’ll be a great and interesting week of trying to get everything caught up so I can take my four day Christmas break with a clear conscience–at least as far as work is concerned. My PT visits continue to go well, and I like both therapists I’ve worked with so far. (If you’re local to New Orleans and need physical therapy, I highly recommend Physiofit in Uptown on Magazine Street.) I am hoping I won’t need the brace after I see my surgeon again next Friday, and what a lovely Christmas gift that would be, wouldn’t it? It’s just cumbersome and awkward now, and the greater dexterity I get with my hand the more annoying it is to have to type around having it on. I also have noticed how easily I tire now, too–but I also know my body had a major trauma that it hasn’t completely recovered from just yet, and three weeks of being sedentary wasn’t a huge help; I have to build my stamina back up.

We watched the final episode of Fellow Travelers last night and while it was terribly sad, there was a kind of release at the end as well. It’s an incredible show, and both Matt Bohmer and Jonathan Bailey deserve to be nominated for Emmys next time around. I doubt that it will get a lot of Emmy nods–It’s a Sin, which was also brilliantly done and brilliantly acted, was completely snubbed by the Emmys. Twenty years ago it would have not only gotten a lot of nominations, it would have probably run a clean sweep on award night, but sadly, the history of AIDS and gay suffering simply doesn’t have the cachet it did when everyone wore red ribbons to awards shows and red carpets. I do recommend the show, and I want to move the book up in my TBR pile. (I am taking Raquel’s Calypso, Corpses and Cooking with me this morning and I am hoping I’ll be able to finish it while I wait to get the car back.)

We also started watching the second season of Reacher, which is very fun. Alan Ritchson, who was already huge in the first season, used the time between filming to bulk up even more. He certainly embodies the character physically far better than Tom Cruise could ever hope to, with no offense to Cruise; he’s just not the right physical type, and since one of the best known facts about the character is his enormous size, well…he was never going to please fans of the books. I stopped reading the series about ten or so years ago–I have no grasp of the passage of time, so you’ll have to give me some grace on that, nor do I recall why I stopped reading it. Obviously, Lee Child isn’t missing my money, but I was a big fan of the series and still remember it fondly; there were some terrific books in that series, and The Killing Floor may be one of the best series-launch novels of all time.

I have to work today when I get home from the oil change and other errands this morning; I really need to spend some time with the book today and I also need to work on the house a lot more. The apartment has really slid, and allowing Sparky free range to do as he pleases has resulted in a lot of debris on the floor–and all of my good pens are missing. Paul’s cigarette lighters, highlighters, scissors, spoons, plastic wrap, plastic bags, dryer sheets, and a lot of other miscellaneous stuff is scattered all over the floors both up and downstairs…and he’s also wreaked havoc in the laundry room and the bathroom. The kitchen floor has never really been completely cleaned up since the ceiling collapse, either. I have decided, though, that this year’s Christmas present to myself is going to be a new microwave. My current one is well over ten years old, and it works fine…but I never read the manual and so am never sure how to use for anything than reheating something. Paul uses it more than I do, and he also never cleans it, so it’s always a filthy mess. Since I never really use it, I tend to not pay attention and then I always notice it when I don’t have time to clean it, and then forget. They had a great one on-line at Costco, so I think next weekend I’ll go pick it up, and then donate the old one (after a thorough cleaning) to work so we have one in our department.

And that’s how I know I am officially old: appliances are my preferred gift.