Tag: Saints and Sinners

I Think I Like It

Tuesday morning and I woke up before the alarm went off, and only hit snooze once. I actually feel pretty good at the moment–we’ll see how long it lasts, won’t we–and so am hoping for a pretty good day. Taking yesterday off was pretty wise, as I felt like I was a dragging a bit yesterday. I did manage to get some things done yesterday, too, so I feel like this shortened week is already off to a pretty good start. My Achilles tendons are still a bit stiff and complaining this morning, but that’s okay; I shall ice them again when I get home tonight. I do have some errands to run after work–I need to swing by the grocery store on the way home, because I don’t have anything to have for lunch this week. (Today’s is leftover pizza from last night.)

We had some marvelous thunderstorms yesterday afternoon–not much rain, but insane thunder–which also made being inside feel ever-so-cozy. I spent the morning doing some things–organizing, starting work on the laundry, cleaning the kitchen–and then Paul came home from the hotel (hence the remaining loads of laundry) and after he finished unpacking and resting for a while, we watched the world figure skating championship for men and ice dance. I ordered a pizza for dinner, which was marvelous, and after that was over, watched some of the news to get a better grasp on where we are at in this burning down of the world that is now national policy.

It’s always so lovely on the weekends to not pay attention to any of that, and just let my mind relax and be a bit free.

I also watched some documentaries about little known victims of royal inbreeding–and surprisingly enough, they weren’t all Hapsburgs. All European royals are inbred, of course, and they still have a habit of marrying cousins. The Hapsburgs are simply the most notorious for it, because they didn’t have any issues with uncle-niece marriages, which is just, frankly super-gross. I mean, imagine your children’s father is also their great-uncle. Yuck, and it’s not surprising the Spanish line died out from the inbreeding. The seventeenth century, which saw some of these uncle-niece marriages, saw the Bourbons, Hapsburgs and Stuarts also marrying double-first cousins amongst themselves, so even going out of the same breeding pool brought in “fresh” blood that was also inbred. It’s a wonder all the dynasties didn’t die out because of such a contaminated gene pool.

I also spent some time yesterday thinking about the next Scotty book and getting back into writing again. Will I actually do any writing this week? Stranger things have happened, and it’s really not surprising that after S&S I am deep in thought about his next adventure; I also realized the first Scotty came out just before the first S&S, so they are connected in my subconscious. I am almost hesitant to even talk about writing again, as I do and then the mood passes or I can’t make myself actually do it. This is why I haven’t named the book I am going to read next–because I still haven’t started reading it yet and I don’t want anything to think it’s the book’s fault rather than my own limited attention span. The infuriating part is I know that if I was reading more, my brain would probably function better? I should also start watching Jeopardy again. Anything to sharpen my mind…which could use all the help it can get, frankly.

But it’s back to reality again, with me heading into the office and adjusting back to my every day reality, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I feel rested and awake and able to face the day, which is a good feeling, and I should succeed at being productive today.

And on that note, it’s back to the mines of spice for me. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back here tomorrow for another exciting update!

There’s always a tacky-looking strip club just around the corner in the Quarter–and what a great story prompt that sign is!

Cool the Engines

Monday morning and I am at home instead of at the office so I can recover from yesterday. I had a panel, a reading and inducted Trebor Healey into the S&S Hall of Fame. It all went well, I was able to grab lunch with Rob Byrnes, Jean and Gillian, too. By the time the reception was over I was worn out and exhausted, so grabbed a Lyft and headed home. Sparky was incredibly needy when I got home, and I just collapsed into my easy chair to watch some news and things before stumbling up to bed, where I slept insanely well. I had some lovely conversations, ran into and got to talk to some friends I’ve not seen in a long time (hey, Tim!) and over all, exhausted as I was at the end of the day, I think I played the weekend properly. I’m a bit physically and mentally tired this morning–Sparky let me sleep in–and so it’s going to be an easy day of rest around here today. Paul will get home from the hotel later on today, and things will go back to what passes as normal around here once he’s home. Huzzah! I am kind of looking forward to some normality, to be honest.

I have things to do at leisure today–laundry and dishes and picking up–and I am going to spend some time reading this morning once I finish this. I think I’ll read until the laundry is finished–three loads–and then commence to other things. I was also thinking about writing a lot last night when I got home; events like this do tend to remind me why I love writing and being a writer, and my brief appearances this weekend, and listening to authors talk about their craft (I’d never met or heard Christopher Castellani speak before, and he’s very smart) is always inspiring. S&S isn’t like any other literary conference/festival I’ve ever attended because the whole weekend is really about connecting with other writers and readers and inspiration. Douglas Sadownik is also an excellent speaker, by the way. I read Sacred Lips of the Bronx a million years ago and don’t remember it, but it may be worth a revisit.

I may try to watch that manosphere thing again, but I don’t know that I can stomach it. I mean, I have an entire essay series planned for my newsletter about masculinity, so I should watch it as research; I have no interest in the straight manosphere because it’s predicated on grift, illusions, and takes advantage of lost young men by telling them this is the proper “lifestyle” for a man to achieve. The young men aren’t all right, as the last election showed us, but the reason they are lost is because they hold on to old-fashioned notions and theories about what masculinity actually is. Anything I know about these people I learned without my consent–I’m still reeling from my supervisor bringing up “looksmaxxing” and me having to look into it because I didn’t know what she was talking about (ignorance truly is bliss sometimes)–and I wish I’d never heard of most, if not all, of them. I could never put this into fiction, I don’t think, because it’s all so idiotic and unbelievable you can’t make this shit up if you wanted to, and I definitely didn’t want to. Maybe I can find a nice true crime documentary instead.

Or I could watch The Mummy Returns, since I rewatched The Mummy the other day. These really are marvelous films, if extremely colonial in their point of view. Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz are marvelous together and should have made more films together; I remember the first time I watched The Mummy thinking, “oh, they are perfect for Peabody and Emerson!” and whenever I read another one of Elizabeth Peters’ marvelous Amelia Peabody series, I pictured them as the leads. I really wish a British production company would start filming those books, because Americans would ruin them. (Heated Rivalry would be a completely different show had it been an American production, and wouldn’t have blown up the way it did, either.)

Anyway, I am looking forward to a peaceful, easy day here in the Lost Apartment, and hope you are having a lovely day, too. Safe travels to everyone heading home from S&S today, and of course, I will be back here tomorrow morning bright and early in the dark. Until then, adieu!

My guess is immediately after this photo shoot the model ate a pizza.

All the Beautiful Worlds

Ah, you have to love waking up and checking your email and the first subject line you see is Reminder: Inspector Hole is now on Netflix. It always makes me laugh–as does the fact his first name is Harry–because I sometimes have the maturity level of a junior high student. I’ve always meant to get to Jo Nesbø’s highly acclaimed series, just never have. The Festivals will be over by Sunday night, and so normality might return to the Lost Apartment (I’m not counting on it) soon and we can start watching a new show, or the new season of a favorite. I’ll be done with The Traitors New Zealand (I’m not enjoying this season as much thus far, but it should start kicking into gear soon. I was bitterly disappointed they banished the hottest guy already, which threw a wrench in my social theory I was developing from watching. Then again, it could be the exception that proves the rule. Sorry, Fili, you were gone too soon) by the end of the weekend. I will be heading down to the Quarter later for the Saints and Sinners opening party, but will probably come home directly after. Everything I have to do is on Sunday, which will make for a long, draining day, and am very glad I wisely took Monday off to recover and run errands and get ready for the week. I have some work-at-home duties to get done and a training later this morning on-line, so I am also going to try to clean the apartment when my eyes get bleary and start to cross. I got up and fed Sparky on time before going back to bed for a couple of hours, so I feel very rested this morning. Sparky is also playful this morning, so he’s alternating between attacking me with claws and fangs or chasing a bottlecap. He really is adorable, if a bit of a pest sometimes.

I was tired when I left the office yesterday and came straight home from work. I plopped down into my chair with Lord Sparkster and caught up on the news, which was horrible as per usual with this regime. I obviously watched an episode of The Traitors because of course I did, have you been paying attention? I was going to start watching the new Paul Theroux documentary but after seeing the toxic white men all day on social media I just couldn’t face even watching these twerps getting mocked the way I am sure the documentary does (my favorite comment to these pricks on-line is “if everyone’s an alpha no one is”), but I’ll try it tomorrow or tonight when I get home from the party.

The world figure skating championships are also this weekend, with Ilia Malinin in first after the men’s short, with the other Americans in the Top Ten–and Amber Glenn and Isabeau Levito are third and fourth, in medal position. I was very happy to see Ilia’s short program on YouTube last night; he seems much freer and happier than he did in Italy at the Olympics.

All the homophobes are, of course, out in force since it was revealed that a future season of Bridgerton will actually feature a lesbian romance by changing the gender of the male lead to a woman. Oh, the straight white ladies—the same ones who creamed themselves—and still do—about Heated Rivalry, and members of the m/m community suddenly realizing, like gay men have been telling them for almost twenty years, that it’s a fetish for some of you and you need to listen to gay men and call out the homophobia which you never did.

For the record, you homophobic bitches, I read and consume lesbian art regularly because it’s good, not because it gets me off. If a gay man can read and enjoy lesbian art, a straight woman certainly can. Then again, if it’s okay for straight women to write vampires and space aliens why can’t they write gay men? (This has been said to me any number of times. Yes, we only exist in fiction, bitch.) I saw a lot of this misogynistic patriarchical thinking from a lot of hateful straight white women yesterday, and no, you’re never beating the allegations, ladies. Clean up your community and stop attacking gay men.

Someone also pointed out something interesting in response to one of those right-wingers who posted about how he has liberal friends and they all get along because they don’t talk about politics—they noted these posts only ever come from the right, never the left. How often do you see someone on the left post about how they’re still friends with their right-winger friends and family because they don’t talk politics? It’s never someone who isn’t MAGA, and the post inevitably was triggered by being cut off from friends and family members because you voted for a pedophile who’s destroying the world. “You make politics your personality!“ Well, I sure as fuck wouldn’t if I were MAGA, for one, and for two, it’s not politics, it’s morality. How many “I regret my vote” posts and videos have you seen from Harris voters? None? I do see a lot of pining and sadness from MAGA people who’ve been cut off, but they never seem to grasp what their vote and support actually showed decent human beings about who they actually are. I wouldn’t feel safe having my kids around people who support pedophilia, or just are okay with looking the other way.

Sigh.

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

The Temple of Poseidon, Attica, Greece

If You Were My Love

Well, we survived Monday, did we not? It wasn’t a bad day, really. I was tired by the time I got home rom running errands, and allowed myself to get pulled into the vortex of the comfy easy chair and the purring kitty who needs a lap. The news was as grim as ever, and now we have ICE at our airport (and many others) supposedly to “help” TSA…but that’s not what I am seeing happening all over the country. Not flying ever again is looking better and better all of the time, amirite? I am slowly getting caught up on all the news I missed while I had gone dark, and it’s the same sort of shit-show it was before I left for Alabama last Thursday. The lies being told by the administration about Iran go on and reported breathlessly by the lame-stream media1 without any question–you know, the same media that betrayed us all over Iraq and clearly learned not a fucking thing from that dereliction of duty, but rather seemed to race each other to the bottom to become even more sycophantic, anti-democracy, right-slanted garbage than Fox and Newsmax.

Sigh. Don’t we deserve better?

I always thought so, at any rate.

I feel good this morning. I slept well, my mind is clear, and my Achilles tendons still ache a bit; I didn’t ice them last night so will have to tonight. I also got my Saints and Sinners schedule so if you want to find me there, here you go:

Sunday, March 29, 2026

11:30 AM—12:45 PM—Literary Discussion 
TURNING THE SCREWS

One of the best experiences for a reader is to get so caught up in a novel that they have a physical reaction–dilated pupils, increased heart rate, and an inability to put the book down until the final page. Whether the dramatic tension comes from an internal, psychological source or from exterior forces, authors are masters at turning the screws and torturing their audience by creating unbearable suspense. Join us for a lively discussion on tricks of the trade and ways to keep people on tenterhooks until they can think of nothing else!

Panelists: Christopher Castellani, Greg Herren, J.M. Redmann, and Audrey Wilson

Moderator: Salem West

Hotel Monteleone, Lobby Level, Royal B

2:30—3:45 PM—Reading Series

SAINTS AND SINNERS: WRITERS READ

Sponsored by the John Burton Harter Foundation

Take the rare opportunity to hear authors in their own voice. This highlighted Festival event has authors share their vivid imaginations with their new creations, or revisiting a past work that holds special meaning. Please join us in welcoming: Rob Byrnes, Laurinda D. Brown, Drew Banks, Andrew Faye, Greg Herren, Thomas Mallon, Steve Majors, and J.M. Redmann for this year’s mix of established and exciting new writers.

Hotel Monteleone, Lobby Level, Royal D

I’ll probably turn up at the opening reception and the anthology launch on Saturday, and will stick around for the closing on Sunday before heading home. I’ve taken Monday off as a recovery day (and here’s hoping neither Paul nor I get hospitalized afterwards this year). I did start watching New Zealand’s The Traitors last night–I love how different yet the same they are from country to country–and I am thinking about watching this new Paul Theroux documentary about the toxicity of the “manosphere”…which counts as research for my lengthy essay series on masculinity and my perceptions and relationship to it. I have to pick up the mail again tonight after work–my next dose of my injection is being delivered today–and then it’s back home and possibly some chores before I either read or catch up on the news. I’ve selected my next read, but I don’t want to name it yet because I am having so much trouble with reading these days and I don’t want to give the impression that the book isn’t involving; the fault does not lie with the books but with me. We shall see how it goes, won’t we? I also need to go through my to-do list to remember what all I need to get done.

The memory is the first to go.

I’m also still playing around with the ideas for a new Scotty, which is now titled French Quarter Follies, which I cannot believe I’ve not used yet (madness). I hope to get back to doing some writing and targeted creativity this week…but haven’t I been saying that already for months? Author, heal thyself.

And on that turgid note, I will now proceed to clock-in at the spice mines for the day. Enjoy your Tuesday, Constant Reader–and may it ever be a Taco Tuesday.

  1. We are in dark times indeed when I use a phrase coined by moronic hockey mom and overall hatefully ignorant piece of shit Sarah Palin, but here we are. ↩︎

Getaway Car

Wednesday Pay-the-Bills Day has rolled around yet again, and the week is half-over, huzzah! It’s all a downhill slide into the weekend now–wishing my life away again, as Mom always used to say–but can I help it if I enjoy my days off and look forward to them? Surely I am not alone in this, and I say this as someone who actually enjoys his job and what he does for a living (and health insurance).

Speaking of insurance, my nurse from Louisiana Blue (Blue Cross/Blue Shield) called me yesterday morning to see how I was doing and to check in about my treatment and care, which is really nice and again emphasized to me how serious this condition I have actually is. I was pleased to report that I feel better, am hungry all the time, and have gained back some weight, which is great. I am also glad she didn’t call Monday, when I was so tired and low energy…I suspect my answers and my enthusiasm wouldn’t have come across over the phone Monday.

I also finally got a first draft of a guest blog written that I should have finished back right after Saints and Sinners–but got sick. I’ve been writing my Pride posts for the newsletter, and one of them triggered an idea for how to write the guest blog, so I free-formed it and sent it to the blog host for input and feedback. (It also gave me an idea for another book, because of course it did–No Way Out, only the sex worker is gay which will be a big Washington scandal, would it not, with his Capital Hill clientele–because I need more ideas, don’t I?) I also spent some time with fiction last night after I got home from work, but my mind was a bit foggy so am not entirely sure if the work I did was any good or not, but…I wrote some fiction at long last!!!!

Huzzah!!!

After that, though, I was very mentally drained and felt tired. I made dinner for us, and then just settled in to relax for the few hours of the evening allotted to being awake before retiring early in preparation for today. I do feel better, every day–even tired and listless the other day wasn’t as bad as it used to be, so even that is getting better than it was. I’m trying not to overdo it, but at the same time I am rather chomping at the bit trying to get back into doing things and acting like I’ve completely recovered. I am not, and I need to remember that going forward when I am itching to do something which is pushing it–like pushing myself to write and do chores when I am already tired from everything I’ve always done; and I think Monday was actually a result of me doing too much over the weekend, honestly. So, I need to take that lesson and remember it the next time I am feeling ambitious. Just read something. I did spend some time with The Dark on the Other Side last evening, which has me in a Gothic mood, and I think Summerhouse might also be Gothic in tone; I do know The Mystery of the Haunted Mine is actually a Western treasure hunt set in Arizona. (And it was one of my favorite books as a kid.)

I also realized I don’t have to do a Pride newsletter every day for the month. That’s a lot of pressure on me to produce while at the same time writing this every day, and I kind of need to save some of my writing mojo for my fiction–even if it’s just thinking and taking notes. The newsletter was supposed to be different from the blog in that it wasn’t daily; I was even limiting it to once a week for a while there–as I said, even I get tired of my voice sometimes, let alone dropping into people’s inboxes who have other things to do. This meant another difference between it and the blog; the blog is stream of consciousness whatever I’m thinking about while I wake up over coffee and breakfast every morning (I am having Honey-nut Cheerios, a piece of toast with peanut butter and a second with strawberry belly–I prefer preserves and will remember that the next time I get some–and a slice of marble coffee cake); the newsletter had no pub dates, so to speak, so I could spend more time with those essays and go far more in depth than I can here, so why am I killing myself trying to send one every day? Am I no different from corporations, marginalizing queer culture and life and only examining it during Pride Month and then ignoring it? No, I don’t think so. I read queer books all year, absorb queer art, and think about my queer future in a country double-downing on its vicious homophobia. Everything I write, no matter what it is, is framed through my gay gaze; I am intrinsically queer and that impacts my art, no matter what I am creating.

And I also think, since oppression is so intersectional, I can talk about anything that falls under that umbrella, because I had to unlearn so much over the course of my adult life, and I am incredibly lucky to have so many kind friends who didn’t mind teaching me how to think in a more macro kind of way–every lesson unlearned was a revelation and gave me a new perspective on how to see the world, and how wrong the way I used to see it was. I’m not perfect, by any means, and I learn every day while acknowledging the possibility I still have bad things I was taught yet have not unpacked.

But I went to bed early–I was falling asleep in my chair after watching one episode of Department Q, which we are loving–and slept super well. I feel good this morning, awake and rested, which is very odd for a Wednesday, but it is very pleasing in our eyes.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, everyone, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.

I love these old dirt country roads, and the Spanish moss just makes it look even cooler. The image is very evocative, and I am already thinking of a story inspired by the picture.

Heart of Glass

Monday morning and I am exhausted. I slept very late this morning–my legs and lower back are still a little achy–but it was needed. I was on fumes by the end of dinner last night, so much so that I literally waited eighteen minutes for a streetcar because my phone had died (again) so I couldn’t summon a Lyft, and there was no way I was going to make it home again on foot. It was also achingly, annoyingly humid all weekend, and so my socks were always damp with sweat, which makes me uncomfortable because I feel gross. Lesson from the weekend: you need to go back to the gym and take walks more, so you can be in better condition for weekends such as this. I can’t remember the last time I felt so dried out and exhausted and as just a husk of a human like I do this morning. But…probably it was last year’s Festivals. Maybe next year I should just stay down there and not commute because it’s so exhausting. Who knows?

I woke up late to a marvelous thunderstorm and downpour, one of those lovely New Orleans storms where you start to imagine what it was like when the rains for Noah’s flood started, and since I took the day off (wisely, as it turned out) I could burrow back down into the blankets and stay there, warm and snug and comfortable. (I did spare a “sorry” thought for all those flying out from New Orleans, as flights were probably delayed, before drifting off again.) I stayed there until Sparky’s desire for breakfast became so overwhelming that I felt bad for how hungry he must be so got up. I did some laundry and walked to Walgreens to get a few things, before deciding “meh, I can make groceries tomorrow on the way home from work and I can get the mail then too” and went back to the easy chair with Sparky to rest for a while. I watched the gold medal performances for the US Figure Skating team at Worlds (the US for the first time in a long time–if not ever–won three golds; ice dance, men’s, and women’s), which was fun and exciting, and then Paul came home and we talked and caught up for a while, so now he’s upstairs making sure there are no smoldering embers that need snuffing out from the weekend. I remembered I hadn’t finished this, so decided to walk away from catching up on the news–it’s so disheartening to come out of a lovely bubble of writing and publishing and friends and talking about books and writing with likeminded others to the harsh reality of this unpleasant time-line we’re in, seriously–and came back into the kitchen as the last load of laundry from the weekend tumbles dry.

Damn, I am tired.

It was a lovely weekend, though, despite being tired and sort of mentally foggy from overstimulation, I think, from Friday night on. I laughed a lot and talked a lot and gossiped a lot, drank more than I usually do (which is none at all), and ate out more than I ever do. (I had fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade twice, and am determined to learn how to make this at home; I’d never had the tomatoes in a regular frying batter before; it was always corn meal, like with fried okra; regardless, this reminded me that I really like fried green tomatoes.) It was kind of nice, and the weather was more humid than I would have preferred all weekend, but things were good. My panels went well, I think, as did my reading in the Dorothy Allison Tribute and my congratulatory message to the finalists of the short story anthology–and that reading was lit, as was the poetry reading at the closing reception. I’ll probably talk about the whole weekend more as the week goes on, but it was marvelous spending time with people whom I have a great affection for, as well as meeting some new people who were equally marvelous. I did do a lot of walking, so it’s no surprise my tired old out of shape ass is so wrecked from the weekend. I did remember this same thing happening last year–but I didn’t take Monday off last year, so kudos to past Greg; plus I hate having to call it an early night on Sunday because I have to work the next morning.

I probably will still be a little punchy still for a few more days, but I can deal.

I’ll dig myself out of the bubble tomorrow.

It also seems like a lot happened over the weekend that I wasn’t able to acknowledge properly (like the humiliating rebuke to our fascist governor received from Louisiana’s voters Saturday, mwa-ha-ha) that I do want to talk about some more. I also had some lovely ideas over the weekend, and I also heard some things that made me think that I want to explore further, so yes, there was some serious creative stimulation as well. These two festivals are my safe spaces, where I can relax completely and don’t have to worry about experiencing any kind of bigotry. I was on a panel that I’d really rather explore, too, because it made me think about some things about the past and the present that I’d like to explore a bit more.

And on that note, I am going to bring to a close and rest a bit more. Have a lovely Monday, and I’ll talk with you again tomorrow.

Mama Can’t Buy You Love

Ah, Wednesday and it’s all downhill for the rest of the week, isn’t it? Huzzah! I feel good this morning, too, more rested and alert than I have been for most of the week. So, this week feels back to normal in that weird way of feeling better later in the week as my body again resets to getting up early every day. I was fatigued again last night when I got home from work, but I wrote for a little while once I was home, and did some chores (the kitchen looks presentable again) before zoning out with The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and the news last night. I also ran an errand after work, picking up my copy of Christa Faust’s The Get Off, the third and probably final book of the Angel Dare series. I loved the first two (Money Shot and Choke Hold), and nobody writes like Christa. If you’ve not read Christa, and love noir, you really can’t go wrong with reading this trilogy. It really is fantastic.

As a general rule, I simply watch the antics of “”book social media” from a removed, slightly bemused distance and don’t get involved, other than a comment about how jaw-droppingly insane the latest controversy on those sites are, and these controversies usually involve the actions of a problematic author and/or publisher. I have my thoughts and opinions about each and every topic in those hashtags and posts that grow heated (remember the fun days of American Dirt? Good times!) but I don’t contribute to them because I don’t see any point. Are there authors that write bigoted, uninformed work that is questionable at best and horrifying at its worst? Are there readers who will embrace those works because said stories confirm their prejudices and values? 100%. Are they all, authors and readers, awful people? Certainly. Will arguing with them on social media do anything other than raise my blood pressure and wreck my day? Not likely. Personally? I don’t want to ever unintentionally offend anyone (unless you’re MAGA, in which case you shouldn’t be reading my work in the first place because you are not my intended audience but if you are reading it, suck it up snowflakes, and fuck your feelings); and I constantly question my choices in my work. My go-to is always if I question it, best to remove it. (Sidebar: I bet the American Dirt author–Jeanine Cummins?– was really happy about the pandemic because it made everyone forget about her and her shitty racist book.) There have been some tempests in this week’s (and last’s) social media teapots1, haven’t there? Sheesh. There was an explosion (again) of homophobia in the m/m writing community, which got people riled up (I love when cishet straight white women inform gay men that books with two men falling in love aren’t for us.) There was another kerfuffle where a romance writer gave her main male character an HEA–just not with the female lead, but another man. Horrors! Needless to say, that also triggered an on-line meltdown, and I am reminded again why I never want to write romance…just like I eschew the y/a publishing community, which is also a snake pit.

I’d rather jump into a piranha-infested river, to be honest. Or be forced to be on a Kardashian television show.2

And yesterday, the “Tori Woods” groomer romance situation blew up on the Internet–and her book, about a “romance” that begins when an adult male is attracted to a three-year-old “but waits for her to grow-up so it’s not child sexual abuse”, is from the same publisher as the last author who wrote racist books and was “canceled” (whatever the fuck that means) deservedly for being a racist piece of shit. Sounds like a publisher issue to me, doesn’t it? I think the publisher has also published problematically racist books before, too. There was some historical romance writer who also outed herself as a racist pos–apparently, people of color only existed in the past to be enslaved or rescued by noble white people–and seriously, how did RWA take so long to burn to the ground in the first place?3

Don’t get me wrong; I still want to write a gay romance novel at some point–and maybe even more than one, honestly. But I’d really rather not get dragged into that on-line community, if I can. (I saw yesterday that someone is publishing a grooming romance–and the grooming started when the girl was THREE. Um…yeah, no thanks.) Did not trying to be a part of the on-line y/a community probably, possibly have cost me some sales? For sure, but at the same time I am really grateful to have my peace of mind.

Peace of mind is priceless.

I also got my assignments for Saints and Sinners/Tennessee Williams Fests, and I am going to be hopping all weekend, it looks like–panels, a tribute reading, the anthology launch–and I will have LOTS of friends in town, too. But this year I took Monday off, too, so I can recover from the weekend and get things done around the house. I’ll also be commuting back and forth so Sparky’s not alone for the whole weekend, and someone needs to feed him, anyway. He is not going to be happy. Paul went to the office yesterday and wasn’t home when I arrived, so Sparky was especially cuddly and needy. I don’t mind, but clearly he doesn’t like being left alone–or puts on a good show after he has been.

My Youtube algorithms, always an interesting mystery, have recently started showing me videos about the classic scifi television program V. I loved V when it originally aired, but when it became a regular weekly series in the 1980s, I stopped watching because I lost interest. I did love the rebooted series, which was fantastic and again ended on a great cliff-hanger. And of course, once I watched one video, it started showing me more. This of course is because I’ve been watching videos about the rise of fascism in Europe between 1918-1939, World War II, and the “America First” movement of that period (newsflash: conservatives were Nazi-adjacent until Pearl Harbor)…and that’s the allegory at play in the series–the Visitors are stand-ins for Nazis, etc. I had grown up believing that it could never happen here…but watching this show made me realize how incredibly easy it is for people to side with their oppressors. It’s something, sadly, that is very human. I also remember a school did a social experiment with fascism, which was made into a TV movie called The Wave, which was again the same thing–the way we can so easily slide into being “good Germans.” I read Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here during the reign of Bush II: Electric Boogaloo, which cemented it even further into my head. I’ve talked before about writing a book that I originally got the idea for in the 1990s, where the queers fill in for the scapegoated minority…interesting, though, that my video research into fascism triggered the algorithm to remind me of V, which was also probably, along with Red Dawn, the biggest influences on that idea.

And on that grim note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a wonderful midweek Wednesday, and I’ll probably be back later or tomorrow.

  1. Although I am really hoping the move to cancel Kim Kardashian and her odious family really takes this time. ↩︎
  2. Please, God, let this be the end of all things Kardashian. Haven’t we suffered enough? ↩︎
  3. Racists working with a gay white man (racist) brought RWA down, remember? ↩︎

Shake Your Groove Thing

What precisely is a “groove thing,” anyway? I’ve always wondered. And yesterday’s picture–of a dancer wearing a dance belt only in profile, showing the curve of both bulge and ass–did not trigger an adult content warning or removal from Meta. Weird, isn’t it? Go figure. Less revealing photos always seem to set off the puritan bat signal, but this one didn’t. I’m done trying to figure out what stick they currently have up their ass, since it’s different every day. Meta is dying, anyway, such a pity. (I was highly amused that some stupid rag of a newspaper claimed that Zuckerberg was a “gay icon.” Um, no. As I said on Threads, we still have our sight and sense of smell. You just know he smells like urine.)

Yesterday turned out to be a good day. We were busy in the clinic all day, but we managed just fine. No one was seen late; in fact, almost everyone was seen early. I was kept on my toes for most of the day, but it was a mellow day and everything flowed really well. I had very little time to think or so anything else, but that’s fine. My primary concern was that, as team lead and my supervisor was out for the day, I was going to be buried in problems and questions (which usually happens and by the end of the day I’m so exhausted I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep in the car on the drive home), but that didn’t happen and the day went by pretty quickly and easily. I wasn’t even tired when I got home from work! I was able to get some things done when I got home–got some things crossed off the list, and was able to get chores done. Paul didn’t get home from the office until late (and yes, Sparky was a bundle of need when I got home). I slept very well last night, too, and still feel rested today, which is a good thing. I need to get a lot done…and need to get a lot done pretty much every day until the end of the month. Heavy sigh.

And now it’s Tuesday and I feel pretty good today–clear headed and physically rested, which is really nice. I’m not sure precisely which night this week will be when I hit the wall; usually Wednesday isn’t a good day for me, for real. That’s when I generally start feeling tired in the afternoons and even more tired when I get home from work. Sparky of course loves those nights because he gets to cuddle in my lap and gets a lot of attention. He’s such a sweet boy, really. Now in the mornings he jumps into the bed before my alarm goes off (his body clock has already adjusted to the time change), and lays down on the pillow above my head and curls up. Once the alarm goes off the first time, he moved down and curls up inside the crook of my knees, and stays there until I actually go ahead and get up. He also likes to ride my shoulders downstairs. He’s our first cat who’s a shoulder cat, and I sometimes forget he’s asking to be lifted up on my shoulders….which is where he really goes to town on purring as he wraps himself around my neck, like a mink stole.

But I need to get my short stories finished and back to work on the book. Deadlines loom, and next weekend is Saints and Sinners. YIKES. So yeah, definitely need to get working. I don’t think I have much to do this weekend outside of the house, so I should be able to get some good work done on the book. I need to do some more revising, and I also need to reread everything so I know where everything is at with the story (and remind myself where it’s going…I hate not having a memory anymore) and so I can get back to it. But…am feeling better about writing, and my place in the mystery world, so we’ll see how everything goes from now on.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, and I’ll check back in with you again later.

She’s About a Mover

Thursday morning and I’ve almost made it completely through the week. Tonight I am going to that party, which is my first public event/party this is not part of some kind of conference weekend in I don’t know how long. It’s a lovely opportunity to dress up and meet some people that I should meet, or that I should probably already know.

And it’s at John Cameron Mitchell’s home, he bragged again.

Yesterday was a good day. I felt good and rested for most of the day, but after running my errands, I came home and kind of hit a wall. I worked on an essay a bit, and then went to give Sparky his cuddle time in my easy chair while I caught up on the news (and the new season of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, more on that later), but I was daydreaming about writing–what else I was going to say in the essay, what else to write in my short story, what to do with the Scotty book–so my creativity and my drive to write and be productive is coming back. That’s kind of cool, and I am really happy about it. Going to the party tonight meets not having time to do any chores–I have a sink full of dirty dishes, for example–means tomorrow during work-at-home times I’ll have to do chores, as well as going to have lab work done at Quest over my lunch break. I cannot believe Thanksgiving is looming on the horizon, either. Paul is leaving on Tuesday for a week, and so I’ll have those four days at home alone to just either be a vegetable, or get a lot of shit done. I am hoping for “getting a lot of shit done”, but we’ll see how it rolls and all plays out.

I also have emails I need to answer, but I’ll most likely let that slide until Friday morning, unless I can get some of them done between clients at the office today. I don’t think we’re going to be terribly busy–we were yesterday–and we won’t be terribly busy the two days I am in the clinic next week, either. So I should be able to roll into the holiday weekend fairly well rested already, so we’ll see how that long weekend turns out. I’m hoping to not have to leave the house much, if at all, and hibernating in the Lost Apartment while trying to finish reading The Reformatory and get some writing done, too. This looming weekend I am going to try to write and get some editing done. I’m also going to have to read some short stories for the short story contest I am judging for S&S, too. I’m just glad I’m not traveling for the holiday; those alone days will be much more productive and nice for me. Sparky will be needy since I’ll be the only one home here with him, so he’ll turn into my shadow and won’t let me out of his sight. I was reading an article about where your cat sleeps explaining how he feels about you yesterday–so apparently Sparky thinks I am both his mom (sleeping in my lap) and someone he needs to protect (either under the bed or at the foot of it). Sweet, isn’t it?

He really is a sweetheart, even if he goes on damaging rampages periodically. When I got home from work yesterday the Brita pitcher was on the kitchen floor and the rug was soaked (it’s drying on the banister outside), and some other things were down on the floor, too. I really do need to keep up with the chores in the kitchen so the counters remain cleared, so he can’t make a mess when he gets the Zoomies and runs around the apartment at high speed knocking everything off every surface he leaps and bounds off.

Sigh.

It’s also cold this morning–58 degrees. It’s nice–probably partly why I slept so well last night, and hopefully will again tonight. The high for the day is a whopping 64 (dead of winter, really), which is nice. I like when it cools down like this, even if I do get weary of it relatively quickly. It should be a relatively easy day at the office, and I am not going to make myself crazy rushing to come home and get ready/change for the party. I am definitely not making the VIP pre-party cocktail hour at six, so will instead shoot for arriving around seven-ish. I can wear my saddle shoes! I always love an opportunity to wear my saddle shoes. I will probably not drink anything, maybe a glass of wine, and probably won’t stay all that long–even with my anxiety under control, I’m not sure how walking into a social situation like this will play out, but maybe the meds will help me relax and be social and make small talk without breaking into a cold sweat with my stomach clenching and unclenching.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines and venture out into the chill. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I may be back later; one never can be entirely sure with a Gregalicious.

You think the garden hose is symbolizing something? I wonder if Facebook will think this is suggestive.

American Pie

Saturday! Woo-hoo!

Yesterday was an odd work-at-home Friday. Our power went in and out a few times during the day, and that threw everything off–laundry, work, plans for the day. But it did gradually and eventually all get finished in the end so Paul and I could spend the evening riveted by Under the Bridge. We only have two episodes left and it’s soooo good, and so delightfully queer-which was a delightful and unexpected surprise. Lily Gladstone continues to own the screen, and I can’t wait to see the final two tonight when Paul gets home from tabling at Pride for Saints and Sinners.

I slept really well last night, which was marvelous. I woke a bit later than I originally had intended, but that’s okay. I want to get some more cleaning done around the house this morning before I take books to the library sale, pick up the mail, and make groceries; then I intend to get some more writing done today. I did some more thinking about it last night before Paul got home, and I think I almost have the voice right. I also did some more research while he was at the gym–nothing like reexamining pop culture and the news during a distant time period (note to self: TV Guide archives must be checked as well), because it brings back memories, which also helps put me in the right mental place to write and create the story. I also kind of know how the story is going to go, and I also came up with another idea for the beginning, which I also really like. (I just had one of those imposter syndrome moments, where my brain suddenly panics and thinks, that isn’t going to work. Sometimes I really hate my brain…

During one of the power outages yesterday I decided to use the time productively and walked to the gym to do rehab exercises. It made sense when I thought about it–I mean, without power or Internet I can’t work, so utilize the time, right?–but after getting damp with sweat walking over there on a “feels like 105” afternoon, sweating more during the rehab exercise, and getting soaked with sweat walking home to a house without power that was getting hotter wasn’t perhaps the wisest choice? The power was still out for about an half hour or so at that time, so I took a very quick shower while the apartment began cooling down again and felt ever so much better. I also don’t feel exhausted or tired this morning, so maybe physically I am beginning to get back my stamina and getting back to normal, which is terrific. I was starting to worry that I was never going to do so, and I am nothing if not incredibly impatient.

I also watched Ode to Billy Joe yesterday (the film is on Youtube for those inclined to watch it again) because I’d been looking into Robby Benson for a Pride post, as he helped me understand that I liked men instead of women–so, so beautiful–and I realized I’d never watched this movie….and the movie, it turns out, is what fleshed the song out to give us a reason why Billy Joe jumped off the bridge; he’d been with a man, and the shame drove him to it because it was such an ugly thing to be that suicide made the most sense as an option. I’d heard the theory that he killed himself for being gay before, but didn’t realize it came from the movie…and the novelization of the script was written by Herman Raucher, who’d also written Summer of ’42, a coming of age novel and movie that were also kind of formative for me. Looking into it, it was released in the summer of 1976. We moved to Kansas that summer and the movie didn’t play locally, and I’d never watched any of its television airings. Anyway, the movie was interesting but there were lots of parts to it that didn’t play well for me today–I am always prickly about the way films have rural Southern people talk–but keep an eye out for my Robby Benson post if you’re interested in him.

I do feel good this morning, which is nice. I’ll go get cleaned up in a bit, but am going to work on either entries or the prologue this morning. I also plan on doing some rereading of my own work today–I am definitely moving Never Kiss a Stranger to the top of the to-write pile, because I am not entirely sure about the y/a I want to turn from novella into novel; I’m not entirely sold on the plot, to be honest. I also want to work on the kitchen this morning, too; I did buy the wrong vacuum cleaner (mine is a rug cleaner; so I can put water and shampoo in it to clean the carpets too, but it does work as a very powerful vacuum, so I’ll go ahead and use it–and maybe next weekend, I’ll clean the Oriental rugs with it.

Yesterday the right, through The Federalist, decided to come for Dolly Parton and basically call her a false prophet and a “danger” to Christianity. The recovering alcoholic who wrote the hit piece, Ericka Andersen, is about what you’d expect: a self-righteous born-again Christian who thinks she knows the faith better than anyone who ever lived or ever will live, which of course is apostasy, but she’s a soulless troll who got the attention she wanted. Andersen’s social media is now completely shut down as she is in the find-out phase of coming for Dolly. Dolly has not only given the world decades of amazing music and entertainment, she is also one of the most generous people alive, using her money and her fame to do good works in the world and is always kind and understanding and sympathetic; the woman literally loves everyone even her harshest critics. If ever there was an example of what it is like to truly follow the Christian path, it’s Dolly Parton–but you know, giving kids free books, donating millions of dollars to charity every year, and her incredible generosity to her employees at Dollywood? Sorry she won’t condemn people you don’t like, cosplay Christian piece of shit. And for the record, Megan McCain is married to the head of the Federalist Society–which is all anyone needs to know about what utter and complete garbage they are.

Seriously, they’ve come for Taylor Swift and now Dolly. Next thing you know they’ll come for Cher–which is something I would love to see them try.

And on THAT note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, and I’ll be back later, okay?