Tag: Regé-Jean Page

She’s a Lady

Saturday morning and I have errands to run today and chores to do; writing to get done and emails to write. I also want to spend some time today reading as well. I was a lolly-gag this morning, leisurely remaining in bed far longer than is my norm. It felt lovely, frankly, and I think it was exactly what I needed to get my body and my mind back in the order it needs to be in for me to function properly.

In other words, I think I have finally recovered from my trip to Left Coast Crime, which is marvelous.

Last evening I finished reading Catriona McPherson’s A Gingerbread House (more on that later), I actually wrote for a bit (more on that later) and then once Paul got home we binged through the rest of season 2 of Bridgerton, which I think I enjoyed much more than the first (despite the absence of gorgeous charismatic Regé-Jean Page, whom I stopped missing once the story really began going). I think I actually preferred the plot of season two more than the one for season one, and it was absolutely lovely seeing an openly gay actor (Jonathan Bailey) so brilliant and convincing in a traditional male romantic leading role. Is that homophobic of me, or a commentary on show business’ homophobia and fear of casting openly gay male actors in those types of roles? I am not sure.

So last evening was quite an accomplished one, and I was most pleased to see that going into work on Friday was actually helpful. I did manage to get a lot done in the office yesterday as well, which was lovely, and that carried over into my evening here at the Lost Apartment. Today, as I mentioned, I have errands to run (prescriptions, mail, groceries) and chores to do (dishes, floors, organizing) and I would love nothing more than to get some writing and reading done today as well. One can dream, can’t one? I want to get through the first draft of my story this afternoon, and I’d like to work some more on something else I started working on yesterday; nothing of import, really, simply a novel idea I’ve had for a very long time that, for some reason yesterday I couldn’t get out of my head, so I just went ahead, found the existing files, and started writing my way through the first chapter. It actually flowed pretty well, and before I knew it–and it was time to call it quits for the evening–I’d written well over a thousand words, which was marvelous, and had also done no less than a thousand or so on my story. This was pleasing, as Constant Reader is no doubt aware of how I always worry that the ability to write is a skill that I might lose at some point in my life, and it always, always, terrifies me.

I am absolutely delighted to let you know that my story “The Silky Veils of Ardor”, originally published in The Beat of Black Wings, edited by the incomparable Josh Pachter, has been selected as this week’s “Barb Goffman Presents” by Wildside Press in this week’s Black Cat Weekly. I am not the most secure short story writer in the world (many thanks to both Josh and Barb for their keen editorial eye that helped improve the story dramatically from the terrible first draft I wrote years ago), so these little victories help a lot with my Imposter Syndrome issues–which inevitably raise their ugly Cerberus-like heads all the time but especially when I am in the malaise period after finishing a novel manuscript, and especially if I am trying to work on something else and it simply isn’t coming. I am confident now that I will not only finish an initial draft of my story this weekend but perhaps even finish that first chapter I started writing last night and maybe even an outline/synopsis of said book project, which has been languishing in my head for at least a dozen years now, if not more. I mean, it’s not Chlorine, obviously; but that book is becoming even more complicated for me the more I research it–not a bad thing, but indicative of how much work the book is going to be. I was paging through William J. Mann’s Behind the Screen the other night, and I once again was amazed at how tunnel-like my vision was in my initial conception of the book and who the characters needed to be; but I also think the more research I do and the more fears I have of writing it making it all the more necessary for me to actually go ahead and do so.

I really need to work on my focus. I don’t know what it’s actually like to be able to simply write a book and block everything else out of my life in order to solely focus on the writing; my ADHD certainly makes it more difficult and I am inevitably always juggling a million things at once. What must it be like to be able to laser focus all of my attention and energy on a book? It will be interesting to see how retirement, should I ever reach that place, will change and/or make a difference in my writing, won’t it?

I imagine I won’t know what to do with all the extra time. I’ve gotten so used to being scattered in my approach to everything I write that I don’t know what being singularly focused that way would be like, or if it’s even possible for me.

On that somber note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader!

Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey

Friday morning and the first Friday I actually have to go into the office in quite some time. We’re back to four days a week in the office, and since I worked at home on Wednesday, that means I have to go in today. I have work to do that can, of course, be done just as easily in the office as it was at home. I also don’t have to be there as early as I have to go in on the clinic days, so I didn’t have to get up at six this morning–which was lovely–but I also could have easily stayed in bed much longer than I did this morning. I will probably not be able to find a place to park when I finally do go in, which is a pain–I hate trying to find a place to park–but I can hang with it all, I suppose. I was, again, too tired to read when I got home from work last night; hopefully that will not be the case this evening.

I actually worked on my story yesterday, and yes, it was like pulling teeth writing a thousand words yesterday. I don’t think those words are any good, mind you; but at least they are written and can be fixed at some point. I know what the point of the story is, but yes, sometimes you have to force the words out and make progress. I kept hoping the hole in the page would open and the words would just start flowing the way one would hope they would, but perhaps that will be the occurrence this weekend, when I don’t have any day job responsibilities or anything else to deal with along the way. Tomorrow errands will need to be run–mail, groceries, prescriptions–all of which are fine, really; it just seems to wear me out whenever I do those things, and the mood for writing forever lost at that point. But I have hopes that I haven’t burned out my writing engine, despite the lack of any real writing since I turned in the manuscript for A Streetcar Named Murder.

I suppose I did write that other short story, “The Rosary of Broken Promises,” since then, so it’s not entirely a lost cause. Maybe there are other factors at work at my inability to write anything lately or be as “prolific” as I usually am (I am often accused of being prolific, which always amuses me; how can one be prolific when one has to force one’s self to actually write all the time, and will take any excuse not to write?), but it is concerning and a bit disturbing to have these fallow times. I had wanted to get a lot done this month, but as the month is gradually slipping through my fingers, I see that plans will have to be pushed off again and my schedule disrupted and changed again. We are leaving for New York a week from this coming Tuesday, which seems kind of insane since I just recently returned from a trip. COVID caution to the winds, I suppose…but after that I am not going anywhere until June. I also have a July trip and a September trip planned (look at me, turning into a frequent flyer!)…crazy, am I right?

We also started watching the new season of Bridgerton, which we are rather enjoying. It’s weird, the first season dropped with so much fanfare and everyone was talking about it, yet this season–whose plot seems a lot more interesting than that of the first season–has no one talking about it. Sure, the loss of Regé-Jean Page is keenly felt, to be certain; but I like that the two main female leads of the season as south Asian and the male lead is played by a gay man. We watched three episodes last night, and look forward to diving back into it this evening, once my writing chores for the day are finished.

I am kind of looking forward to this weekend, to be honest. I wasn’t home last weekend, and of course, sleeping late is always a joy (despite the resetting of my internal body clock). I could have slept really late today had I not had to rise to go into the office, which is also fine, you know. I’m just grateful to be sleeping well again, after the horrible sleep of the weekend trip to Left Coast Crime.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines for the day. I have to get ready to go into the office, and pack my bag, and my lunch, and…have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader.