Monday and back to the office with me today. Yesterday was kind of nice, to be honest. I started clearing out old drafts of posts here; moving them over to the newsletter because they are all longer than I am willing to do here on the blog. It was kind of fun going back to see the ideas I had for longer posts–including ones talking about writing Timothy and A Streetcar Named Murder, which I should really finish and get posted–assuming, of course, that people who get the newsletter are interested in that sort of thing.
Yesterday was kind of nice. I had a short something to write, so I took a few moments and gathered some thoughts and dashed out a rough draft to send to them to see if I was on the right track…apparently I was because they loved it and I don’t have to worry about it anymore. I guess I can go ahead and cross that off my list.
I also spent some time cleaning up and organizing computer files–long overdue, and very time-consuming, but it’s a very good start for now. I now have a nice file for New Orleans Nemesis and even thicker files on works currently in progress. It’s kind of fun, if a little bit daunting, to see how much stuff I need to get done, but I am also getting into the swing of my life again. I feel much better, am not tired all the time anymore, and while there are definitely times when my mind needs to just rest, those moments are becoming fewer and further between. The house didn’t need a lot of chores done, either, so I was able to sit in my chair, watch documentaries on history (some excellent ones about World War II, and some Spanish history through the kings and queens) while I cleaned up my back-up hard drive and organized computer files. The next chapter of the book in progress is forming in my head, and so this week while I wait for those thoughts to coalesce, this week is going to be about clearing up continuity in the four current chapters. I also have to make sure my tenses are correct; I am not used to writing in the present tense, and when my character thinks about the past…that can be in past tense but do I switch back every time I need to? The real nuts and bolts of being a writer here, folks.
I feel pretty good this morning; I slept really well and thus feel rested this morning. I only have to go in three days this week because the birthday is Thursday and why work on Friday if I am taking Thursday off? Doesn’t make sense to me, so I took them both off. We’re also in a heat advisory still, but nothing really new there. I am going to make some groceries on the way home tonight and have some things that need to be done at the office today in addition to seeing my clients. But I am not doing anything on Thursday, the big day itself; that will be my day to just stay home and do not a goddamned thing besides read and watch television. That will be lovely, and I think I will probably stay off-line all day, too.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again in the morning. See you then!
Work-at-home Friday! Huzzah! I was a bit on the tired side yesterday, which was to be expected. I had to go to work in person every day last week, and I always am a little tired come Thursdays. It was surprisingly pleasant outside when I went to work yesterday morning–in the low eighties–and everything was glistening and wet from the previous night’s rains. The city was also low-key and kind of mellow, too. It was a slow day at the office, and I decided not to head uptown after work to run my few errands, I was a bit tired and I forgot my list, too. I want to get a lot of cleaning and organizing done this weekend, and I also have a lot of quality assurance to get caught up on today. We’re going to go to Costco later , which is also going to be incredibly expensive, especially since it’s been so long since we’ve gone. Over a month, I’d say–or at least since Paul’s surgery, and that was definitely a while back. (I have ordered some things to be delivered from them–not much of anything, really–but supplies are low.) But…the tired wasn’t too bad, I did some chores when I got home, we watched an episode of Cross, and I caught up on the news, which was either not horribly depressing or I’m becoming deadened and desensitized; I’m not sure which. And I came down to a picked-up apartment, and a clean kitchen, so am already off to a good start this morning. The first load of blankets are in the washer, and I need to unload the dishwasher.
I also have chores to do today around the work and the errands, and I would also like to get some writing time in, too. It will, of course, entirely depend on how long everything takes and how tired I het doing everything. It was cool when I left the office yesterday–for this time of year, mind you–and there was a lovely breeze. The car was an oven, though. I did sleep in a bit this morning before Sparky became insistent on being fed. I feel pretty good so far this morning and my coffee is excellent, so no complaints here.
I am missing the World Cup, honestly; what a delightful few weeks that was. I’m very glad that Spain beat Argentina; what a pathetic group of sore losers and dirty players. That great player of theirs (I won’t mention his poor sport ass name) is also a piece of shit, apparently; decades of being ‘the greatest’ etc, only to throw it all away as a poor sport. Always remember the Nazi to Argentina pipeline, and I will always wonder why they made a musical glorifying that fascist grifter Eva Peron. I’ve never gotten a good answer to the question. Some gays don’t like having their theater standards questioned, but why not do one on Imelda Marcos? She actually fancied herself a singer, at least. I am missing the world cup, though. There’s any number of monstrous fascist women in history; did Eva stand out because she started out as a prostitute and actress?
Oh, well, college football will be here before we know it, and then my weekends will be built around college football and the Saints–errands on Fridays and Sundays only, etc. I’m cautiously optimistic about both LSU and the Saints this year, but LSU’s schedule is brutal. Auburn, Alabama, Mississippi, Texas, Texas A&M, Florida and Tennessee, and the opener is Clemson. That’s eight games they could lose, right there. Oh, well. Fingers crossed! Hope always springs eternal down here on the bayou.
I am also hoping that having a “normal” weekend will set me back to normality. I feel good and rested already this morning, which is delightful, and of course my coffee is starting to hit me with its best shot…I should get out the espresso machine this weekend and make myself some cappuccinos, because it’s been a hot hot minute. We’re apparently in a heat advisory all weekend, too, and into next week again. And yes, it would be nice to stay inside all weekend, but I will run those other errands tomorrow, because I don’t think we’ll be out of this heat any time soon.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and wherever you are, stay hydrated! I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning, so until then, be safe!
Heracles battling the Hydra. It’s always bugged me that people use his Roman name when talking about Greek mythology; in Greek, his name was HERACLES. In other words, if you’re talking about Zeus and Hera, his nam is Heracles. If you say Hercules, you need to use Jupiter and Juno. (I blame Disney for a lot of this, but it happened before their movie, too.) I’ve also kind of always wanted to write about him, too.
And here I am, on Monday morning again, yawning and swilling coffee before I get ready for work. We’re busy this week, so I am going to be drained and tired when I come home from work every day this week. That’s fine, really. I had a most lovely weekend to begin with. I spent a lot of time just resting and relaxing, but I did get some things done. I’m not used to having so little hanging over my head that I have this much free time, and I have to say that I kind of love having time to just decompress and chill while still being able to get some things done.
We’re in a heat advisory again, and there’s a storm forming in the gulf–Bertha–projected to most likely come this way and pass over New Orleans, but it’s potential for strengthening beyond tropical storm (still not something to sneeze at, just means we don’t have to evacuate) is not very strong and we should start feeling effects of this on Tuesday, supposedly. This means we’ll probably get heavy rains this week, possible flooding, and the potentiality of losing power. I also need to check out what’s going on with the fecal infected vegetable products as I need to stop at the store and make some groceries on the way home; although I did see the FDA was coerced into walking back blaming Taylor Farms for this round of cyclospora. Thanks again, RFK and DOGE. Are we healthy again yet?
Sherlock Holmes, of all people, was on my mind this weekend for some reason I am not certain of; I think I was offered a ridiculously low ebook price for The Hound of the Baskervilles. I know I want to write an essay about not being a Sherlockian; I’ve always felt my lack of appreciation for Holmes was something shameful for someone who identifies primarily as a crime writer. When I wrote that historical story about a New Orleans-based Sherlock in 1916, I did read some of the short stories I hadn’t read before and enjoyed them, and Sherlock dances back into my head every once in a while, primarily because I’d like to revisit that time and write about it more. But does it have to be a Sherlock story? Why can’t I have a New Orleans-based world’s greatest detective? It’s an interesting time period, as Storyville still existed as did anti-Italian prejudice aka they’re all Mafia, where they lived in the lower Quarter. There are also all kinds of interesting cases in New Orleans history that could also go back to that time, too. I don’t feel like I know enough about Holmes to write more about him as a 1916 New Orleanian with a desire for male flesh….I also like the idea of writing about New Orleans when it was primarily accessible only by water. The 1915 hurricane after-effects would also be interesting to write about, especially since both St. Malo and Freniere were wiped off the map. I already have a Sherlock short story idea having to do with Freniere–but I’ve held off on writing it because I need to decide whether to base my character on Sherlock, and continue with him as I have already adapted him.
I also wonder if I should be writing about Sherlock.
Since Lisa Morton will occasionally urge me to write more horror (which is incredibly sweet, encouraging and supportive all at the same time) so I have been thinking about horror more these last few weeks or so. I have an idea for a horror novel that I am toying with currently, which could be a lot of fun to write–horror always is–but like the Sherlock thing, I’m not sure I have the background knowledge or the necessary steeping in the genre that I should have…then again, I always am very quick to point out my lack of formative knowledge in the crime genre (see: Sherlock Holmes), too, but I write it anyway. Horror always, surprisingly enough, turns my mind towards Alabama and the Florida panhandle and the Sierra Nevada mountains. I also came up with the opening for a new series I am interested in tackling this weekend, too…
I did work some on the book as well as a couple of short stories…and I also thought a lot about the next Scotty and what to make it about. I was going to go with January before parades start, with it opening as the boys watch the Krewe de Vieux parade pass beneath their balcony, but then I remembered the S&WB project that has the streets in the Quarter all torn up and thought, well, I’d need to look into the construction work and then started thinking about October/November; something to do with Halloween as the title anchor, and Hijinks as the third word, but I need something to go in between; I can’t use season because I just used that…maybe Halloween Pumpkin Hijinks? Maybe candy? Sigh.
I also hate that the World Cup is over and everyone is going home…but at least Spain beat Argentina (ETTD).
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back again tomorrow.
But nobody walks in LA, as the song says. I did a few times, and always heard this song in my head as I strolled down Santa Monica Boulevard. I do miss my annual visits to Los Angeles to sign at A Different Light. I don’t miss the stress and anxiety of signings (will anyone show up? Will I make an utter fool of myself?), but yes, I used to walk down Santa Monica from my hotel and shop on my way to visit the store.
Ah, the good old days…
But it’s Pay-the-Bills Wednesday, always a fun exercise in depression that always ends up with the plaintive cry where did all my money go? At least I can pay them–for now, at any rate. I just really hate paying them and trying to remember all my user names and passwords; nothing makes me feel older than not remembering things.
I was tired when I got off work last night–and actually, was kind of dragging all damned day yesterday. I’m not sure why, either; I was kind of mentally lethargic–and when I am that way, I inevitably come up with new ideas…which is my brain trying to get me to not stress too heavily about not doing any writing: but at least I had some ideas! Insanity, but that’s the way my mind has always worked. I’ve really been wanting to write some more essays for the newsletter; I already have several done that I don’t want to send because I don’t want to become that annoying person dropping into the subscribers’ (I can’t believe I have subscribers!) inboxes all the damned time. I don’t think all my book/movie/television reviews need to necessarily go there? I don’t know. I originally decided to use the newsletter to write longer form essays–ones that were too big to go here–but somehow that evolved into my writing longer reviews of books and movies and television shows there as well. Heavy heaving sigh. I guess I am having a newsletter identity crisis….but now that I am up this morning, I’m thinking I don’t need to write reviews there; I can do shorter ones here and do the longer ones, the ones where I really have something to say about the art, on the newsletter.1
We watched some more of Olympo last night, and there was finally some more gay storyline; Roque, the gay rugby star, is now getting involved with a teammate (Sebas) who is only now beginning to experience same-sex desire, which should be interesting to see play out. Both are gorgeous, too–so was the closeted guy Roque was hooking up with until the closet case turned on him–and as Paul said, “the most interesting characters are the men–the women are unlikable.” He was right, of course, and I don’t think that is gay misogyny at play; they really are unlikable. It’s not as good or as involving as Elité, which took off like a speeding freight train from the opening of the very first episode; this one is more of a slow burn–the primary story of the season is doping, as it would be in most shows about up-and-coming Olympic hopefuls. There are some curiosities about the show–little mysteries that might become bigger story-lines as the show goes on, but for now, the doping is the primary story–as well as the homophobia Roque is experiencing on the rugby team and in the school.
Plus, I love that name: Roque.
I only have one more day of work this week after today thanks to the 4th of July holiday, which seems kind of muted this year. Not surprising, since the entire country is being reshaped in the image Christian Nationalists have been pushing for since Brown v. Topeka Board of Education was decided by a decent Supreme Court, as opposed to the conservative activists currently sitting on our present-day court. I mean, it’s not like the country has ever lived up to its ideals; our country’s sad history of racism, homophobia, and misogyny goes back all the way to Columbus arriving in the West Indies (Spain and Portugal really never get enough credit for kicking off colonization and inventing racism).
I started thinking our empire was beginning to crumble in the 1980’s–I just hoped it would wait to collapse into authoritarianism after I died.
Ah, well. Somber thoughts on this July 4th Eve Eve. I try not to talk about politics or what’s going on in the world; if you come here to read this blog periodically where I fall on the political spectrum shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I try to leave talking about politics and world events out–I am hardly an expert, and adding to the angry on-line chatter isn’t really appealing to me: there’s no point in preaching to the choir, and anything I say isn’t going to convince someone who disagrees with me that they are incorrect (and vice versa; I don’t engage with conservatives because I will never agree with them on anything, really), and all it does is get me riled up. Sure, I’ll sometimes give in to the urge and go all Julia Sugarbaker here–ignorance and deliberate stupidity get under my skin like nothing else, but I try to resist the urge because I prefer to save my energy and time for productivity. I’m back to not engaging with anyone monstrous on social media–I find blocking trash more satisfying than scoring points off a troll anyway, which is performative in the first place, since all you are doing is showing your followers how witty and smart you are.
Sigh.
Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like this is a more New Orleans-style summer than we’ve had in years. It’s already miserable outside when I leave the house for work, and even more miserable later in the day when I’m running errands. I know it’s worse because my sinuses and allergies are really kicking in this year–wet and humid with the thick heavy air, the heat, and the sun beating down mercilessly from above; we’ve also had a lot more rain (another sign of insane humidity) this year than we’ve had in the last few. I think the weather, coupled with trip recovery (I was in a car for almost twenty hours over four days), is why I’ve been so out of it this week.
I kind of hope we have some delightful thunderstorms this weekend, too; so I can snuggle under a blanket in my chair while reading. Sparky has been very attached to me since I got back–demanding my lap to sleep in when I get home from work every day, wanting to ride on my shoulders while I do things, and being incredibly playful, too. He really is a dear thing.
And on that note, I am heading back into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably check in with you again tomorrow morning. Till then!
Seriously, where were all these muscular pro wrestlers during my adolescence?
Which means I’ll be moving some of those reviews from the drafts on my newsletter page to the drafts here; and deleting some of the ones in the draft files here. ↩︎
Ah, here we are on what I wished were Taco Tuesday, but alas, it is not to be. Too much food already on hand to go out and get something entirely new. It’s dark again this morning, and of course there are any number of tropical systems out there that need to be watched, but at least we’re in the final months of the season. I was very comfortable in the bed this morning–Sparky was cuddled up with me when I woke up–but forced myself to get up. My week is kind of messed up already. I had to cover the clinic yesterday because someone’s on vacation (I kept thinking it was Tuesday all day), and now today I am working clinic by myself. That means I’ll probably be tired when I get home tonight, which is okay. I made groceries and got the mail last night, so I can come straight home tonight. I ordered some things on-line this week–new shoes, coffee–and I also repaired a book whose binding had broken (a Three Investigators tome), and tried repairing a pair of very cool Oxfords. I’ve had the shoes for almost thirteen years now, but have only wore them a handful of times (I rarely dress up and they’re too dressy to wear otherwise) so am not comfortable with just throwing them out when they just need to have the sole reattached. (Gorilla Glue failed me, so they’re going to have to wind up going to a shoe repair.) There wasn’t a lot of traffic last night on the way home, and after getting home and bonding with Sparky, I relaxed in my easy chair and bonded with the kitty while watching the news on-line. We did end up watching another episode of American Sports Story, and this season is really about the dangers of the closet, and how that level of self-loathing can twist someone into something dark.
Kind of sad, really; yet another example of the dangers of toxic masculinity (as if we needed another). And the guy who plays Urban Meyer is kind of uncanny.
I also read some more of Rival Queens, and have finally reached the part where the final Valois king, Henri III, has ascended to the French throne, and talks about his gender identity and homosexuality–and of course, the most interesting part to me; the mignons, his handsome young men that danced attendance on him as his favorites. Both mother and sister queens (Catherine de Medici and Marguerite of Navarre) despised the mignons, but weren’t so above the fray to not use them in their own attempts to either control the country or save her own life. It would be interesting, methinks, to write about this treacherous period of religious civil wars in France, with Spain, the Empire and England all meddling in French politics–lots on intrigue, back-stabbing, the changing of sides, assassination and murder, and of course, war. The second half of the sixteenth century saw France torn apart by factionalism and war, which wrecked the economy and kept France from building itself into a major power; fear of France really drove European history for centuries.
There certainly has been a lot of celebrity death lately, so much so that I’ve not really been able to keep up. Maggie Smith–what can I say about Maggie Smith? I first saw her on film in Murder by Death, and she was my favorite part of the movie. When I saw California Suite in the theater, I fell in love with her and wished the entire film had focused on her and Michael Caine; the other stories were dull and trite and cliched. From then on, I made a point to watch anything with Maggie Smith in it, and I was never disappointed. Such a massive talent, and so many great performances left behind. Kris Kristofferson was another giant, of music and acting. I first really noticed him in A Star is Born, and DAMN the man was fine. And that voice! Kristofferson was also a progressive and that came across in many of his classic songs. Just “Help Me Make It Thru The Night”, “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” and “Me and Bobby McGee” is enough to ensure an impressive legacy, and that’s just scratching the surface. He was also a very good person, a classy guy who cared about people and the downtrodden–from that period of country music where the greats (Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Kristofferson) were progressives who stood up to oppression and bigotry. (I also love his quote about Toby Keith’s music–“he’s done for country music what pantyhose did for finger-fucking.”)
In other exciting news, the so-called “abortion pills” have now been banned in Gilead, er, Louisiana; the bill banning them outright went into effect this morning. I never thought I’d see the day when we had a worse governor or legislature than we did during the Bobby Jindal “burn Louisiana to the ground” administration…so of course the Reich Wing bigots in Louisiana had to elect someone far, far worse. Such a beautiful state–with so many ugly people living here. That is unfortunately true about the entire South, really, and no, Southern states don’t deserve hurricanes as punishment, either; that’s the kind of hellfire and brimstone shit the Reich believes in, and I reject any natural occurrence as being “God’s punishment” for sin–when God doesn’t choose to protect children from physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, you can miss me with your bloodthirsty god.
I’m looking forward to working on the book some more, and I also want to submit a story to an upcoming anthology deadline that could actually work for me. We shall see how motivated I am, shan’t we?
And on that note, tis off to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I hope you get some tacos tonight!
Saturday morning and here we are, looking forward to another good day at the Lost Apartment, huzzah! Sparky got me up for food at six thirty, but joined me when I returned to bed (after licking his bowls clean) and cuddled with me another hour or so. He really is a dear, even if he turns into a vicious apex predator terror every once in a while. I’ve not seen any bugs or vermin in the house since we acquired him and brought him home either, so I can deal with the vicious apex predator terror for the short while that mood lasts.
I was thinking yesterday as I cleaned up around the kitchen and waited for Paul to get up (I never wake him up unless I know he has to be somewhere), and as a marvelous thunderstorm moved in, that my Substack hasn’t grown much but I also am not actively trying to grow it, to be honest. It’s free, just like the blog, but what I really want to do with the Substack is make it more essays about stuff that no one will ever ask me to write (or not for pay, at any rate), and leave the more personal stuff here and here only. That way, if you just want essays about queer life, history, culture, books, movies and television shows etc. you can subscribe to the Substack and skip the every day here. If you can’t get enough of me, you can do both or you can just stay here. I may eventually get to the point where those essays no longer get posted here…but that will have to wait until the subscribers make complete separation of self worthwhile. I was also thinking yesterday as the sky darkened and the winds picked up, that all of this new free time I am enjoying so much can also be used for productivity–if I can get back to the point where I’m writing 500-5000 words per day again, then this extra time can be utilized for marketing and teaching myself how to work my website and get it all finished and updated. I also am going to start learning how to do more promotion and format ebooks, too, so I can eventually get to the point where I can do my own ebooks. It would be cool to put up a short story or a novella here and there whenever I feel like it, for free–yes, I know my work has value and worth, but every so often it would be fun to gift readers who like my writing with something free every once and a while, you know, as a thank you for sticking with me all these lengthy years.
I also wrote for a whole yesterday, which felt great. I got about a thousand or so words done, which felt great, and I was most pleased with myself for doing so. I also came up with an idea for yet another book that sounds rather interesting and might be fun to explore thematically; I certainly wrote down a shit ton of notes and ideas and riffs in my journal last night, and I have to say I am really enjoying my journal these days. I also managed to get my review essay of Liebestraße finished yesterday, which felt great, and I hope to get some more of those done over the course of the weekend. Yesterday was, overall, a very good day that I got through without much irritation or aggravation, so I will take that. I do have more errands to run today–we ended up skipping Costco, so we have to do that today–and I hope to have some time to read and write later on after I finish everything.
Today is also our anniversary; twenty-nine years today we’ve been together. Almost thirty years, and almost half of my life. We’re going to watch some movies tonight, and we’re going to have a nice little dinner here at home to celebrate. Next year will be thirty years, and in ten days we’ll have lived here in New Orleans twenty-eight years, too. New Orleans was the key to all of my dreams coming true. I wish I would have been less anxious and more confident when I was a teenager, and if I knew then what I know now, I would have gone to college at LSU and moved to New Orleans after graduation, and maybe gotten a master’s in creative writing at the University of New Orleans. My life would be completely different now–I probably would have left New Orleans at some point rather than staying here my entire life, but there’s no use in speculating over that sort of thing–especially since I am settled and extremely happy.
We finished the seasons of The Acolyte and The Boys (which is coming hard for MAGA and I am so here for it; the season finale especially was rather pointed) last night and also watched this week’s The Serpent Queen, which is very well done, but most of the drama for the rest of her life now was political; and I don’t know how the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre is going to play out in the show. There are already inaccuracies in the speeded up timeline; Princess Elisabeth was long married to the King of Spain by the time Charles IX was old enough to be depicted as an adult. I try not to get heavily involved in complaining about inaccuracies in historical shows–they are always rotten with them, but I love watching historicals far too much to stop watching them now because they twist history to fit their storytelling purposes…and this is a period of history I am very interested in. Thank you, cable channels, for committing to doing shows set in historical times I love (like Mary and George). I know there’s a television series based on The Three Musketeers, but it’s very hard for me to watch any adaptation of that after loving the 1970s film versions with (sigh) Michael York (who is an incredibly nice man).
There was a lot of open homosexuality at the royal courts of England and France during this time period, even more so in France rather than England. I’ve always wanted to write about Louis XIV’s brother, Monsieur le duc d’Orléans, who often donned women’s clothing to attend court functions and had a long time lover the Chevalier de Lorraine1 (both were depicted beautifully in the series Versailles, which I also loved). Maybe when I’ve retired I can delve into writing more historicals. I also have an idea for a short story that is a historical; another Sherlock story from 1916, which I am hoping to get started this weekend as well. This morning I am going to do some clean-up around the kitchen before doing some writing and cleaning myself up to go run my errands. I also really still want to write my book about the women in power of the 16th century, too. I suppose it could be called The Monstrous Regiment of Women, but I suppose it could also be called When Women Ruled the World.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for now. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.
The Chevalier started a society of homosexuals at the court of Louis XIV, which I would also like to research some more. ↩︎
Saturday morning blog, after a rather dreary and gloomy Friday. It clearly rained overnight, as everything outside is wet. I was exhausted yesterday after I was finished with PT and daytime work duties; by the time I ran my errands I was exhausted. I got a delivery from Sam’s last evening too, which had to be lugged into the apartment. I was dozing off in my chair a lot last night while watching documentaries about Spanish history, the Moors in Iberia, and the line of regnant kings and queens. It’s an interesting subject, to be sure; the physical and mental exhaustion did it, not the lack of interest or boredom. I even went to bed early and slept like a stone (I’ve always found that cliché odd; stones aren’t sentient so they don’t sleep).
I have an on-line panel today at 1:30 for Murderous March, an event put together by Upper Hudson Sisters in Crime, so I do hope if you have time, you’ll join us; they have panels and things programmed all day so head over to their website and take a look; you can also register there (it’s free!), and it should be a good and entertaining and informative conversation. I’m going to try to get some writing done before and after, as well as cleaning the apartment. I also want to do some more reading; I did spend some time with Norah Lofts’ The Little Wax Doll, which I am really enjoying. About a hundred pages in the story took a surprising turn; Lofts was rather good at that, if I recall correctly. I’ll definitely talk about Lofts more when I finish the book and write about it.
Tomorrow I’ll go out and make groceries, probably in the morning, and today is going to be the day where I make a definitive list for tomorrow, and I also need to check my to-do list to see what I’ve managed and what I’ve not thus far, as well as make one for the weekend. Ugh, I also have to start working on my taxes; a tedious chore to be sure, but one that needs doing. I’ll put that on the list for next weekend. I’m also going to try to get some of these pending blog drafts finished this weekend–with me luck, there are quite a few of them–but they either need to be finished at some point, or simply deleted and given up on. (It’s really hard for me to let go of ideas for things.)
But sometimes…sometimes you do have to let things go. Grim as it is to think, I know I am never going to write all the ideas I already have, let alone any new ideas that come to me. I really need to clean out the files–I have so many; ideas that are so old that I don’t even remember having them, and the way things are going I am not entirely sure I’ll even be able to finish writing the things I am currently working on, either. I do need to tackle the rust and grease the gears and unlock my writing drive. Heavy sigh. The malaise is gone, I think; I’m not really sure, to be honest, where it came from in the first place. I’m never sure where it comes from. I think it has to do with my faulty brain chemistry, if I am being honest. Sigh.
And on that dreary note, I am going to have my breakfast preparatory to heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday–I’ll probably be back later.
I’ve been toying with an idea for an essay for a while. It began as a blog post, but as I worked on it I realized it might be too long for a blog entry, were I to cover the entire scope of the issue even in abstract form. I moved it from here into a Word document yesterday, which may or may not mean something bigger in store for it than simply a blog entry. I don’t know. It will probably wind up here at some point as one of those long rambling things I do from time to time when I feel passionately about something. Consider that your warning. I’ve been thinking about masculinity a lot lately–it’s been an albatross hung around my neck since I was a child (“Boys don’t play with dolls! Boys don’t read Nancy Drew!”) and after reading so many bad takes about how “men are in crisis”–which basically boil down to an inability to adapt to cultural and societal change that is so intense that they resist such adaptation violently–I started thinking about masculinity and what it means to be a man; if it means anything, really. It’s probably too important an issue for me to take on in a personal essay, but personal essays are supposed to be revealing, and no one expects me to have an encyclopedic knowledge of everything ever written about American masculinity, and to discuss it; thinking I can’t write something for whatever reason is self-sabotage of the worst kind, and something I am guilty of, over and over, throughout my life and career.
And yes, self-sabotage is 100% a by-product of my anxiety.
I also have Justin Baldoni’s book about masculinity, Man Enough, which is also an exploration of masculinity. Baldoni played the incredibly hot and sexy father of Jane the Virgin’s baby, and so as a gorgeous male actor/sex symbol, he has some gravitas to speak on the subject. I’m looking forward to cycling around to his book, once I finish my reread of a Charlemagne biography I really enjoy. I also spent some more time with Shawn’s All the Sinners Bleed, which I am liking and savoring as I go–and can’t wait to spend some more time with it today. When I finish, Lou Berney’s Dark Ride has preempted everyone and been moved to the top of the TBR pile. It’s so lovely having so many great options of what to read next. I also think once October rolls around I am going to read only horror that month, in honor of the season–so I need to finish Shawn and Lou’s books before the month turns.
It also occurs to me that many of my books–unbeknownst to me–have explored the topic of masculinity in great detail already.
I slept really well last night, and only got up once. Ironically once I did wake up, I thought wow you really slept late and then saw it was quarter past seven on my alarm. I guess how it feels matters more than how long it actually was, and what truly matters is that I woke up feeling rested and relaxed and ready for my coffee this morning. I am debating right now whether I want to take the books to the library sale and the beads to the donor bins as well s make a slight grocery run–but am leaning towards not making the trip outside the house. I don’t really need anything from the store until Monday at the earliest, and the boxes of books and beads are out of the way and not bothering anyone, let alone my need for order and open space in the living room. I also want to work on some writing today before the games, so maybe leaving the house today isn’t in the cards–or am I just being lazy? It’s definitely possible that laziness and procrastination and my tendency to self-sabotage is what is really going on here. It’s possible. I do tend to put things off I consider unpleasant (and by unpleasant, I mean have to put some effort into it)…
LSU plays Arkansas tonight in Death Valley, and tonight we’ll find out two things: basically, how good either time is. It’s hard to say this early in the season how much quality your wins and losses have; the Florida State-Clemson game today will impact how good the LSU loss to the Seminoles was, and of course we aren’t sure how good Mississippi State is, so we don’t know if that was a quality win yet or not. Arkansas lost to BYU last weekend, so there’s also no telling how good they may or may not be, either. The whole conference seems to be down this year, but a tight win for Georgia can be shaken off as meaningless this early, and Alabama may bounce back; a Nick Saban coached Alabama team has never lost more than three games in a season since 2010 and only twice overall; sure, they looked unimpressive against USF and lost badly to Texas in Tuscaloosa, but does that mean Alabama isn’t going to rebound and is destined for a bad season? No, I don’t think so. Love them or hate them, Alabama consistently wins, and an early season loss means nothing to their program. Sure, LSU could run the table, win the West and potentially even the conference title game and make it to the play-offs; but they have to run the table on a schedule filled with landmines, including both Alabama and a rebuilding Auburn as well as the always hated Florida Gators. There are some great games today, which is why I want to spend some time reading Shawn’s book this morning before the games start, and I plan on rereading and revising Jackson Square Jazz during the games today.
And of course, there’s always filing and organizing to be done. I have seriously messed up my filing system so thoroughly and completely that it’s going to require a major overhaul to begin with, but I also have to think about putting together a new and workable system that will be easier to maintain than this haphazard way I’ve been doing things–and of course the computer files are an utter disaster as well. Heavy sigh.
I’ve been doing a lot more research (or rather, falling into research black holes on the web) about New Orleans during the decade of the 1910’s. I am definitely going to write a Sherlock pastiche for the Bouchercon anthology–which of course means I will most likely be rejected. Perhaps a Sherlockian-type character, and if they turn it down I can simply turn him into Sherlock and toss the story into my short story collection? I need to finish the revisions of “Whim of the Wind” and finish a draft of “Parlor Tricks,” which will probably go into that collection as well. What particularly interests me now is “Manila Village,” a settlement of Filipinos on Barataria Bay, settled by native Filipinos who were forced to serve in the Spanish navy and escaped to Louisiana. There’s still a strong Filipino-American community here (which I actually didn’t know before falling into this wormhole of research), and I do feel that Holmes, living in New Orleans in that decade, would probably embrace them and their culture. (I also need to research the Isleños; descendants of the Canary Islanders who settled here.) New Orleans was also dramatically different geographically back then; the New Basin Canal was still there, for one thing, and I am not entirely sure when the Carondelet Canal (also called the Old Basin Canal) was filled in, but it came right up next to Congo Square; the streets in the Quarter were either dirt or cobblestone, and the lower part of the neighborhood had been almost entirely taken over by Italian immigrants.
I’ve also got strong starts of first chapters for another Jem book (sequel to Death Drop) and another Valerie (sequel to A Streetcar Named Murder); so there’s plenty of writing to be done this weekend as well. I’m not feeling overwhelmed by any or all of this writing that must be worked on and done; this morning I literally feel like all I need to do is roll up my sleeves and dive into the word documents head first, which is a great way to feel.
And on that note, it’s spice mine time this morning. Have a great Saturday and I’ll probably check in with you again later.
One of the great joys of my life has always been history. One of the many reasons I love New Orleans so much is because the city has never completely paved over and replaced its history; on a foggy night in the French Quarter, the sound of mules pulling tour carriage clopping on the streets can make you feel like you’ve somehow stepped through a window into the past, and I love that. I’ve never known much beyond some basics of New Orleans and Louisiana history; and I’ve been going down rabbit holes since right around the start of the pandemic, learning more and more about the history here. It’s humbling to realize how little I actually did know. I knew when the French arrived; I know how English Turn got its name and when Louisiana was turned over to Spain (1763, to be exact) and when it became American (1803). I also know Napoleon sold Louisiana to the Americans before he succeeded in forcing the Spanish to return it to France….so he could sell it to the Americans. I know New Orleans fell to the Union in 1862 during the Civil War; I know a little bit about Storyville and Huey Long; and I know that the landing boats used for the Normandy invasion in World War II in 1944 were built here. I know a smattering of things post-war about New Orleans–but the gaps in my knowledge are staggering, and I know even less about the rest of the state’s history.
I know that the Cajuns are actually Acadians, from French Nova Scotia, kicked out after the French and Indian War and forced to resettle elsewhere–many of them, after a long and mostly horrific journey, arrived in the swampy wetlands of Louisiana and made their home here. I know that Longfellow’s epic poem “Evangeline”, about two lovers tragically separated during what is called le grande derangement–the Great Expulsion–who promise to find each other once they reach Louisiana. It’s a tragic poem, and of course the Evangeline Oak in St. Martinsville is supposedly the”place” that the fictional lovers finally found each other after so many years, but their pairing was simply not meant to be–the story is a tragedy, after all–but that was how the “Cajuns” came to be Louisianans, and even after they arrived it wasn’t easy for them here. The Creoles of New Orleans looked down their aristocratic noses at the lower class farmers, and so they settled in the part of Louisiana still known as Acadiana to this day.
I have a copy of Evangeline somewhere. I really should read it.
One of these years, I am going to explore my state more. I’ve lived in Louisiana now for almost twenty-seven years, and I’ve never done much in terms of exploration, sight-seeing, and research. The Atchafalaya Basin fascinates me, as does Acadiana. The more I read about the history of both New Orleans and Louisiana, the more I realize how little I know (I always laughed off being called a “New Orleans expert,” because there’s literally a library filled with information about the past of both the city and the state to completely humble me and make me realize I know actually very little about either, and definitely do not qualify to be called expert on anything Louisiana.
I’ve slowly started writing about the rest of Louisiana, but I often fictionalize the places I write about; they are loosely based on the reality but I get to play around with that sort of thing and that’s better for me than trying to write about the real places and making it all up. My first time outside of New Orleans writing about Louisiana was really Bourbon Street Blues, when Scotty is kidnapped by the bad guys and winds up deep in a swamp. “Rougarou” was when I came up with a fictional town and parish outside of New Orleans, which I’ve used since then again. Need had portions that were set in the rural parishes outside of the New Orleans metropolitan area. The Orion Mask and Murder in the Arts District also were heavily reliant on being set (at least partially) in a fictional parish between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. “Solace in a Dying Hour” is another one of these stories. Oh, and Baton Rouge Bingo also had a lot of action outside of New Orleans as well.
I probably should have majored in History for college, but what would I have done with that kind of degree other than teach? Ah, the paths not taken, since I never had any desire to be a teacher, probably my subconscious saying um, you cannot be a teacher because of who you really are which was probably smart. Besides, I wouldn’t have ever been able to pick a period to specialize in; I would have had to be like Barbara Tuchman, interested in everything and picking certain periods that intrigued me for study. How could I ever choose between the Wars of Religion and seventeenth century France, or the Hapsburgs in Spain and Austria? Although I suppose I could have specialize entirely in the sixteenth century, primarily because it was such a tumultuous transitional century. I wish I was a trained researcher, but I suppose I could still learn how to do research properly despite my great age; the problem is time. Fall Saturdays are given over to college football (and I am not giving up one of the great joys of my life) and of course Sunday I watch the Saints. But if I am going to write historical fiction set in New Orleans or Louisiana, why wouldn’t I avail myself of all of the magnificent research facilities here in the city? UNO, Tulane, Loyola and I’m sure Xavier all have archives in their libraries documenting the past here; there’s the Historic New Orleans Collection and the Williams Research Center and really, so so very much. I also need to explore the bayou parishes and the river parishes, and make my way further north to explore Acadiana…and if I ever want to write a book based on the Jeff Davis Eight, I would need to go visit that parish and look around, get a grasp for how it feels and looks there.
So much to do, so little time…and one of the great problems about Louisiana and New Orleans history is trying to decipher what is fact and what is fiction; as so many “historians” and “writers” (looking at you, Robert Tallant and Harnett Kane) often wrote legends and lore as historical fact. I’m not sure how much of Gumbo Ya-Ya is actually true or not, but for writing fiction…perhaps it doesn’t matter as much how right it is? I have this idea for a story, predicated on something I recently discovered again–I have a tendency to forget things–but there was a community just outside of New Orleans called St. Malo, which was settled by Filipinos who’d escaped bondage on Spanish sailing ships. Filipinos in Louisiana in the eighteenth century? But it’s true; and the community was mostly houses and buildings built over the water; the 1915 hurricane destroyed it completely and it was never resettled, with those who survived moving into the city proper. I have an idea for a story called “Prayers to St. Malo” that would be built around that, but the story is still taking shape. There is always more to learn about regional history here…and since I am doing such a deep dive into Alabama history, why not continue diving in regional here?
Louisiana is unique and special and different–which is why I think I felt at home here that fateful thirty-third birthday when I came to New Orleans to celebrate it. New Orleans was the first place I ever felt like I belonged, and I’ve never regretted moving here. I just wish I’d started diving into the local history sooner.
Saturday and all is well within the Lost Apartment. I slept really well last night, and woke up early this morning. I guess I slept in yesterday till eight so today my body was all “what the hell, dude? GET UP”so I did. My coffee is brewing, and I have a lot to do today. I have errands to run later, cleaning to do, and writing to do as well. Paul has his trainer later this morning and will probably go to the gym after; he’s been really good about that since the Festivals are now over. As soon as my toe is fine again, I plan on starting up again. It’s been over a year, and I think I can hang with returning to the gym again, testing out my left biceps, and seeing how long it takes me to get back into the groove. I need to lose some weight–I’ve not weighed in months–but my shorts are getting to the point where they don’t really fit comfortably anymore and same with my jeans; getting back into shape and starting to eat a more healthy diet can’t hurt, either.
I got some good work done on the revision yesterday; my goal is to get it finished this weekend and turned back in so I can get back to work on another revision I have to get done quickly. This one will require a lot more work than the other, so here’s hoping I can get it all done in April. I really do want to get these out of the way so I can go back to the ones I really want to be working on. I went down a Michelangelo wormhole this week, thanks to the stupidity of the David statue controversy, and I really want to write that book at some point–not quite yet, I don’t think; it’s also going to require another trip to Italy. Paul and I are thinking about doing an Amsterdam-Berlin jaunt at some point; I’ve always wanted to see both cities. I’d also like to do Greece and Spain before I die, too; Egypt is probably never going to happen (Mom always wanted to see the pyramids), but that’s also fine. Who knows? I could die in my sleep tonight, too. And of course, I have always wanted to go to France, too. Heavy heaving sigh. Ah, well. As little as I enjoy traveling domestically, not so sure how I will do on another international flight.
We finished watching season three of Outer Banks last night and it was terribly disappointing. I’m not entirely sure what went wrong with this season, but it was nowhere near as fun as the first two. Without giving spoilers, the treasure hunt that has been the basis of the first three seasons ends with the third; with a potential set up for a fourth season that’s a whole new treasure hunt coming at the very end. I’m not sure if the magic will return, but I suspect the writers ran into the problem that so many do; you have to keep going bigger, and eventually it becomes farcical. The writing was particularly bad in this third season; so much that didn’t make sense, and of course they wasted the first half of the season setting up the second half, which then felt incredibly rushed and nonsensical and stupid. It was disappointing, of course–we’d been looking forward to its return, too. Ah, well. Now that A Knock at the Cabin is streaming, we’ll probably just watch movies tonight; The Pale Blue Eye is also something I’d like to watch.
And what a night for LSU yesterday, as the women’s basketball team won to make it to the National Championship game for the first time in school history, where they will be facing Iowa. That game is tomorrow–I also think it’s Iowa’s first time playing for the national title–but I am not sure that I’ll watch. I used to love basketball, but stopped watching when they kept changing the rules to try to make it more exciting. LSU’s Gymnastics team is competing for a shot in the final four in that sport as well; not sure if they’ll make it out of the group of eight, but you never know. GEAUX TIGERS! And the baseball team is kicking ass this year, too. Looks like that athletic director that replaced the idiot one who went along with all the program abuses (I also like to remind people he was the same guy who blew the Duke lacrosse case) knows what he’s doing.
I also want to spend some time with Margot Douaihy’s Scorched Grace this morning (her last name is pronounced like Hawaii–only with a d. Doo-wa-eee), which looks fantastic. I am taking books to the library sale this morning, and want to do some more purging over the weekend, too. I’m starting to feel. like i have my life back again–the gym is the last piece of the puzzle to snap back into place–and I’m kind of enjoying myself again. It’s been quite a ride since Mom’s initial stroke–the grief still sneaks up on me every once in a while–but I also hadn’t realized what a subconscious weight her health had put on my shoulders. I don’t clench up and my stomach doesn’t knot when I get a text message anymore. I guess with all the other weight I was carrying around from other things I didn’t really notice? I think my compartmentalization is probably not as healthy as I would have liked to believe. But you know, you live and you learn. I’m realizing a lot of things now about life (mine in particular) and seeing things I couldn’t see before. I think the past few months, with everything going on with Mom and all the writing I had to do and the readjustments at my day job, was just so much that I just was kind of coasting along, doing what I needed to get by and trying not to get overwhelmed by focusing on one thing at a time. I also think, hard as it was to be a Festival widow this year, that it was probably good for me to have all that time in the evenings to myself. I could have been a lot more productive, but I think that was also part of the grieving process?
I just feel sort of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and have finally woken up.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader; I certainly intend to!
Queer and Loathing in America 