Tag: The Summer of Lost Boys

My Wish Came True

The big news of yesterday is that I actually revised, copy-edited, and finished a short story last night. Woo-hoo! The deadline for the anthology is not until this weekend, but I think I’m going to reread it one more time and then go ahead and pull the trigger. The last story I sent out was rejected, so a sale would be nice this time around. But if not, I’ll just put my nose to the grindstone and try, try, try again. I can always put this into the collection–and writing the introduction to the collection is on my to-do list for this week. I think June is going to be here sooner than I was thinking–the holiday really has messed up my already fucked-up sense of time–which isn’t ideal, but it’s fine. I want to get this one manuscript finished in June–and maybe the collection, too–and then I can move on to my next manuscript.

See? I am starting to feel ambitious again, and that’s been a long-time coming.

I slept very well last night, too, which was a very good feeling and of course tomorrow I don’t need to set the alarm as it is Work-at-Home Friday for one Gregalicious. We started watching a new Netflix show called Bodkin, which is really quite enjoyable–the first episode wasn’t terribly promising, but it really takes off in the second episode and continues to build. It also has a lot more depth than it seemed to at first, and I am looking forward to getting deeper into it tonight. I also am going to try to do some more reading this evening, after doing some more writing. My next goal is to revise the prologue to The Summer of Lost Boys–probably tonight–and then tomorrow after work-at-home duties I’ll work on finishing the revision of “When I Die,” and this weekend I can get to seriously working on my next book. I came up with a very ambitious writing plan for the rest of the summer; so we’ll see how that works out. But–Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, it’s also completely do-able. There will be times, I know, when I will need to rest and not risk burn out again, and that could affect the schedule. The key is to be flexible, and not get down on myself, for therein lies the path to crippling anxiety and creative paralysis.

But damn, it feels good to feel excited about writing again rather than seeing it as an odious chore…especially when life sometimes feels like everything is an odious chore. I still have to try to fix the garbage disposal, which is irritating not to have, and I still need to really do something about the floors. I think if and when I get my tax refund, I am going to use it to buy a new vacuum cleaner, one that is heavy duty and not only will work, but continue to work with little to no maintenance. I don’t know what is wrong with my current one, but I am going to go through the manual and see if I can’t figure out how to get it to work properly; if that fails, I’ll be getting a new one. Big plans for my weekend, right? The excitement really never lets up around here, let me tell you.

The Louisiana lege, in an effort to create a state more repressive than Puritan Massachusetts, passed two bills yesterday targeted at queer people: a bathroom bill, and a “don’t say gay” bill, which are now heading to our Christo-fascist governor’s desk to be signed…and thanks to the illegitimate Supreme Court, these laws will likely be upheld. Thanks again, protest voters in 2016. So glad Hillary wasn’t “pure” enough for you–and everything she warned about that summer has fucking come true. I will never forgive protest voters in 2016, and no one else should, either. There is no telling what other horrors Republican state legislatures and governors are going to do, now that they know they have a joke court upholding all of their un-American and un-constitutional laws. Samuel Alito and Clarence Thomas are making a mockery of the Constitution and legal ethics, and John Roberts either doesn’t care or applauding them behind the scenes–so he is also unfit for office. That’s three who need to go right there–and Kavanaugh, Gorsuch and Barrett shouldn’t even be there in the first place. So, hey, Susan Sarandon–miss me with your fucking ally-ship to my community, you narcissistic bitch. I will never watch anything with her in it–and that means never seeing some classic movies that mattered to me again, and frankly, I can live with it. Glad you don’t vote with your vagina.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close and head into the spice mines for my last day in the office this week. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader–unless you’re a Louisiana Republican, in which case you can rightly and justly fuck all the way off.

Kissin’ Time

Ah, the Tuesday after Memorial Day and back to the office with me. Such an exciting life I lead, don’t I? I didn’t sleep all that great last night, to be honest–the kind of half-sleep/sort of awake kind of nights, which I didn’t quite understand until I came downstairs to find my sleeping pill (Trazodone, if you’re keeping track) sitting next to my keyboard, where I left it last night. Mystery solved!

But as I wake up, I’m feeling better–more alive and awake than usual, but I imagine I’ll be running out of steam later this afternoon. LSU is in the Chapel Hill regional for the NCAA baseball tournament, playing Wofford. GEAUX TIGERS! I did do some other things yesterday, including finishing the dishes and laundry, and doing the floors. I think I need a new vacuum cleaner (I saw a meme the other day that said “now that I’m an adult I understand why so many prizes on the The Price is Right were appliances”, and yes, very accurate). I didn’t work on fixing the garbage disposal or get out the vacuum handbook for maintenance help this weekend, but it’s something that can go on the list for this coming weekend. I won’t have as many errands to do next weekend, if I plan properly; although I will need to go to the library to donate books.

I also managed to make it to the gym yesterday to start the arm-rehabilitation process again. I went back to the light-weight-one-set thing, worried about overdoing or re-injuring (my biggest fear, seriously) my arm…which seemed easy-peasy, but we’ll have to see if stiffness or soreness sets in any time today. But the stretching and exercise felt great, and I was on an endorphin high for the rest of the afternoon, which was pretty fucking amazing. We’ll see how long I can keep this up for…I am looking forward to re-acclimating and getting back into a regular workout routine by mid-summer. Huzzah!

I read Michael Thomas Ford’s story in the queer horror anthology We Mostly Come Out at Night, edited by Rob Costello. Ford’s story is called “Be Not Afraid”, which is what I recognized immediately as what angels say in the Bible when they appear before humans to bring them messages from God, and I love some Biblical based horror. But even better–it was a Mothman rural West Virginia story, set at Christmas, and what a delightful story it turned out to be. Ford is a master at voice, and writing sentences that make you keep reading on to see what happens next. His characters are likable and relatable and absolutely real, and it’s always delightful to read one of his stories–he always seems to write about people who are lost and become found, but not in a Christian way, if that makes sense; he writes lovely hopeful queer stories. In a just world he’d be more successful than most other authors…he’s one of those I think will be studied as a queer literary giant by future generations. He also always can do poverty in a way that isn’t moralistic or judgmental; you understand the characters and what they are experiencing, but not in an exploitative way. Highly recommended, and I am looking forward to reading the other stories in the book, too.

I wrote for a little while yesterday, too. I worked on something I’ve been thinking about over the weeks–The Summer of Lost Boys, which I think is going to be my next book, once I finish the current in-progress one–and I also did some brainstorming on the next Scotty book, which I am hoping to finish writing by Labor Day. It felt good to be writing again, even if it was so very little, and I think my creativity is coming back in a major way after being dormant for so long. It feels good when I write. The writing I did yesterday didn’t feel like it was garbage or anything, either. Here’s hoping that feeling continues, shall we?

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and no doubt I’ll be back later–I am definitely making progress on catching up on blog entries, which is terrific–and so I bid you adieu for now.

Enchanted

Sunday morning! And LSU Gymnastics won the national championship yesterday! Woo-hoo! That accomplishment is worthy of its own post, so tune in later for that, okay? It was very exciting, I have to say, and the Lost Apartment was filled with excited cheers even as we held our breath as LSU clinched it all with a fantastic final rotation on balance beam. We kind of celebrated this throughout the night by watching replays and highlights before episode two of Sugar, which I am loving. Colin Ferrell, yum.

I was very tired Friday from running all those errands, and so was Paul. I was still fatigued yesterday, the physical and mental kind that I’ve not felt in a while–but sadly more evidence that my stamina is not back and needs to be worked on. The heat is also back; yesterday was pleasant, but Friday was eighty-eight degrees…in April. That doesn’t bode well for the summer, especially for one that’s going to be a more active hurricane season. But while I was so tired yesterday I managed to use what little nervous energy I had to clean and organize, and the apartment actually looks better this morning. It’s still not up to par–I need to do the floors to get there–but it’s nice to walk down to a neater first floor. I do need to run the dishwasher this morning, and finish filing before I read and write for the day. I do feel a little dragged out this morning, but hopefully getting caffeinated and cleaned up will take care of that problem.

I did do some things writing-related yesterday. I found the epigraphs for the next Scotty book, for one, and also wrote the opening of The Crooked Y in my head yesterday as I cleaned and organized. I created some working folders for projects that are forming in my head, and I did write notes down in my journal occasionally. I also did some electronic file cleaning up, which is proving to be an endless, endless process that may never be finished. But as long as I can still search for everything in a finder window, it should be okay. I also thought of how to open The Summer of Lost Boys, too. I’ve been listening to the Billboard Top 100’s for the years I am considering setting the book in, and I think I am settling into 1974, which was when I originally wanted it set in the first place, the summer (in my life) between junior high and high school. It’s kind of fun, if a little painful, to go back to that time and remember it for myself, but I think it’s going to be a really strong book once it’s underway. I also started getting the current book a bit better organized. I feel better about things, if that makes any sense? Hopefully I’ll be able to get a lot of writing done. I want to finish the rewrite of “Passenger to Franklin” and start the revision of “When I Die,” before diving into the book headfirst and trying to get the rest of it plotted.

I think I’ve been a bit overwhelmed lately, in all honesty, and I need to get calmed down and focused again. I need to remember how to harness my brain ADHD-driven creativity and focus on one thing the way I used to be able to do so. I have been very pleased with the (sparse) writing I’ve been doing, but I also think that might be partly due to the stamina issues I’ve been having since the surgery. I am trying to rush to get back to “normal” (or what passes for it around here) and getting ahead of myself, and I need to reign in my impatience and take things slower. It’s okay because it’s temporary, and this too shall pass. Take a breath, remember you had a rough go of things last year, and you have to build everything back to the point it was before the injury.

I’ve also been remiss in not congratulating award winners lately in my field; I am very pleased to report that J. M. Redmann won the Hansen Prize for queer crime fiction for Transitory, which is now also a Lambda finalist AND a two category Goldie finalist. Yay Jean! I’ve known Jean for almost twenty-five years now, she was my boss’s boss for about eighteen years, we’ve co-edited anthologies together, and now I am her book editor. Transitory is a terrific book, and being Jean’s editor is pretty easy, actually. Ivy Pochoda recently won the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Best Crime Novel for Sing Her Down, and Ivy is pretty awesome, too. I am behind on her books (I’m behind on everyone’s books, really) but her Wonder Valley was fan-fucking-tastic. Way to go, Ivy! (That was a loaded category, too–other nominees were S. A. Cosby, Cheryl Head, Jordan Harper, and Lou Berney.)

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines, eat something and get cleaned up and ready to go for this glorious morning. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will chat at you again later.

Lonely Teardrops

Well, good morning, Constant Reader, and I do hope everything is going well for you on this lovely Saturday. I slept deeply and well (and a little late), and feel pretty good this sunny morning. My primary priority for this weekend is to get my taxes finished and to my accountant (we’ve already filed an extension because I couldn’t get my shit together last weekend), do some writing and cleaning and run some errands, and relax as much as I can. Last night after getting everything done that needed doing, I ordered us a pizza for U Pizza (formerly Slice) on St. Charles Avenue, and we watched some more documentaries about child abuse reform schools for “troubled” teens, The Program. It’s very chilling to see how these kids were treated both in these schools and in those camps (Hell Camp), and I imagine we are also going to have to, at some point, watch the documentary about conversion therapy camps, too. Watching these has given me an idea for another Kansas book (I already had the idea, but this was excellent research for it), which made me think about some other things about my writing: what inspires it, and what issues do I take on in my work? I think part of the issues I am having with really getting back into the writing (where I’m writing three thousand words or more every day) is because I am not addressing issues I am passionate about, things I write about and learn more about and should be more concerned about.

And now that uneducated white supremacists are now in power in Louisiana, I’m going to have a lot of issues here to take up. So far, Governor Landry is unchecked in his attempts to turn Louisiana into an authoritarian state, and I doubt very seriously any Louisiana politician is going to oppose his horrific agenda for Louisiana–he’s actually worse than Jindal ever dared to be, and he was a monster who left the state in shambles. It’s kind of scary knowing our governor is someone who wouldn’t agree to be Klanmaster because the position wasn’t racist and homophobic enough for him. As much as I love New Orleans, retiring out of state is beginning to look like the best option.

Sigh. But there won’t be anywhere safe for us if we don’t win the November elections.

I did manage to finish two pending blog entries yesterday on top of the daily entry, and so that made me feel a bit better. I’ll probably spend some time this weekend cleaning out the drafts–getting rid of the duplicate ones, or trying to combine them all into one and getting rid of the others. I’d love to finish my Saltburn essay, too, but that may not be in the cards this weekend, either. I’m going to go run errands later this morning, and I also have some more cleaning and filing and organizing to do around here as well. Like always. But I really do feel like I made some great progress on all of this lately, but the floors need to be done, and the rugs need to be reorganized. I also want to spend some time with Michael Koryta’s The Cypress House, which I should be able to finish reading this morning…which will lead to me having to pick out something else to read next. I do have some good choices–piles and piles of great potential reads–and I did go through them a bit last night while making some choices. I should also read some more short stories while I am at it; the Short Story Project has definitely dropped off, and I’d also like to revise one of my in-progress stories this weekend, too, but we’ll see how that goes.

I’ve also been doing some casual research for The Summer of Lost Boys, which I am hoping to start and finish by the end of the year. All I am doing is listening to the Top 100 hits of the year for (so far) 1973 and 1974, and that in and of itself is bringing back memories. I do think this is going to be a really good book and I’m getting kind of amped to write it. I know immersing myself into the history of current events as well as popular culture in those years will trigger my memories, not all of them good, of course, but definitely its helping me to remember what it was like to be a tween in those years, going through puberty and truly realizing how different I was from everyone else I knew as well as getting ghosted, bullied and mocked for being different, which I didn’t really understand other than knowing the truth–that the horrible things they were saying was right, and that made it even more shameful and awful. The only thing that kept me going sometimes was dreaming of being a writer and reading books, escaping from an existence I neither asked for nor wanted.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I’ll be back later without a doubt, and so hang in there until I wind up posting again. May your Saturday be marvelous, and thanks for stopping by yet again this morning!

16 Candles

Paul moved into the Monteleone yesterday for the weekend, so I find myself home alone with Sparky, who either feels needy when there’s only one of us here, or gives me a lot more attention when Paul’s not home to make me feel less lonely. I’ll be spending most of my weekend down there myself–although I am hoping to get some writing done every morning before I head down there for the panels and parties and things. A boy can dream, at any rate. Sparky was pretty needy after I got home from work, and spent most of the night either sleeping in my lap, following me around, or riding on my shoulders.

I did spend some time going down an Internet research rabbit-hole for the new book I am looking forward to writing later this year, The Summer of Lost Boys. I found a Facebook page for the suburb we lived in that is going to be the basis for the story (the same suburb the main character of Lake Thirteen was from), and spent some time between clients going down memory lane and remembering people, places and things I’d forgotten in the ensuing fifty years or so since we lived there. (FIFTY YEARS???) Most of the members of the group are people I didn’t know or don’t remember, but there were certainly some familiar names there–including some of my bullies. Charming, but glad to see they don’t look so great now. It was a strange suburb, really. When we moved out there it really wasn’t much of a town or anything; it was mostly subdivisions that were going up very rapidly. The town (or village; it’s still called The Village of Bolingbrook) started developing more after we moved out there…the end of the street we lived on was a field about a block away from our hose…within a few years, the Ivanhoe subdivision went up in that field. We got our own high school in 1974; I was going to be in the first graduating class for BHS that had gone to BHS all four years; the older grades has spent some years attending Romeoville High in the next town over. I am going to try to immerse myself in the period–culturally, politically, and so forth–which should make the book more interesting, or at least to people my age. I’m kind of excited about it, to tell you the truth. (And yes, some of my earliest post-pubescent crushes are also there. Also didn’t age well, but hey, we’re all in our sixties now.)

I’ve also picked out the other stories I want to use to fill out my next short story collection. Those two stories need a bit of work, but I hope I can get this whole thing finished relatively soon, so I can move on to the novellas I want to finish, the two books already in progress, and then this new one I want to do. See? I’m feeling ambitious and driven again, which is lovely. I wrote some more last night, and it was good work; revising the second chapter and pulling the story and everything together, and I’ve found the voice again, which is so crucial and was part of the problem I was having before.

I also spent some more time with Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (Taylor’s Version) last night and realized…I’ve liked every song thus far, and I am well into the second hour of the film. I will undoubtedly write about it once I’ve finished watching, but it’s an excellent way to hear her music–some of it for the first time–and think, I really need to listen to her albums in the car and this is why she’s the biggest star in the world right now. It’s also a pretty amazing show; the girl knows how to please an audience and make them happy.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back probably at some point later today.

Lipstick on Your Collar

Tuesday morning and the temperature dropped over night, so I had to turn on the heat once I got up. I was exhausted yesterday when i got home from having a drink with a friend, and was nodding off in my easy chair by eight o’clock, finally deciding to just go ahead and go to bed early. Maybe it was the alcohol? But I slept deeply and well, and because of the cold (and a cuddling purring kitten) I really didn’t want to get out of the bed. But I was wide awake and the day wouldn’t be denied, so I went ahead and got up to feed Sparky, threw on my sweats, and started getting the day going.

The short story is now about four thousand words, and nearing it’s completed first draft. I am hoping to get it finished tonight once and for all, so I can get back to writing the book without any distractions. I am feeling more determined than I have in a long time, and while I am sure my mind will still wander and I’ll still get sidetracked easily, but this morning? I feel like I’m a writer again, which is odd but nice. Maybe the feeling will fade eventually as the day gets underway, but it’s nice to feel like this again. It was probably talking about writing last night with my friend? Which is funny, because talking about writing and publishing and so forth last night made me feel like an outsider…because I’ve not felt part of that world in a very long time. Given the tumultuous upsets of last year, it’s not really surprising. I was coping with a lot last year and my focus went away from not only writing but reading as well. I am still reading at a much slower pace than I used to, and I don’t write as fast as I used to either–but I also flipped out of the right mindset dealing with everything from last year, and I’m still dealing with some of it even now, despite it getting a bit easier every day. I also realize this morning that despite my intent to be kinder to myself, I slipped into that incorrect mindset and have been beating myself up over not reading or writing faster, and feeling shame about it, which is insane. I had a major surgery in November, and the recovery after; of course that’s going to affect my creativity and my ability to focus.

I am actually really grateful that I changed medications to something that actually handles the problem rather than the symptoms, otherwise the post-surgery months would have been horrible, much worse than it was. Almost my entire life my focus has been on books–either reading or writing them–and I either wanted to be a writer, or was one; my identity has always involved writing in some form or another. Not being able to focus enough to write since having a cadaver tendon sewn into my arm (it sounds so much worse when it’s put that way, doesn’t it? It also sounds like something out of those horror comics I used to read when I was a kid, where it would have inevitably turned out to be from a serial killer and it’s possessed or something) would have been peak anxiety for me, but fortunately while I still had those thoughts (who am I if I can’t write anymore?), I was properly medicated so it didn’t turn into an anxiety spiral. I am also very impatient, and always want to be done with the healing/recovery as quickly as I can. I am healing physically much faster than anyone could have anticipated (had another new PT on Friday and she was constantly commenting in shock and awe at “how advanced I was”) but the mental recovery has clearly not been as fast, which then becomes a concern, and then so on and on and on.

I really don’t miss the spirals at all.

And I think I’ve decided that my next new novel (the next one after I finish everything on hand that isn’t) is going to be The Summer of Lost Boys. I can’t stop thinking about it, even though I need to put it aside and focus on everything else before I get to it–but I may start the prologue because that’s what I can’t get out of my head. And yes, this morning I am starting to feel excited about writing again…maybe all it took was a martini with another writer.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, I may or may not be here again later–one never truly knows, does on?

Serpentskirt

Work-at-home Friday has rolled around again, and I was able to sleep a little later this morning, which was marvelous. The heat continues to be extreme here, and we’re in yet another heat advisory. I can only imagine what my power bill is going to be next month–but it’s worth every penny. I cannot fathom living here without power in weather like this.

Yesterday wasn’t a bad day by any means. I came straight home from work and lugged in my homework and laptop around the workmen (their business name has “patriot” in the title and their truck is painted in what can best be described as “Old Glory porn,” so I avoid them as much as possible) who are installing new gutters on the house. A locksmith is coming this afternoon because the handle on the deadbolt broke off–it still works, but it needs to be repaired–and we are probably going to get our new refrigerator ordered this weekend. I’ll need to do some cleaning and rearranging and so forth, but it will be nice to have a new one that works properly and has a freezer on the bottom instead of the top (I think I found one that will actually fit). I was a bit sad when I got home from work because that was my time with Scooter–when I got home before Paul got home. I felt antsy as I sat in my chair, realizing that I can’t justify sitting there watching videos on Youtube because no one needs my lap to reassure himself that I will always come home. I felt guilty because I didn’t have the excuse of a sleeping cat to continue sitting in my chair and relaxing after work!

We watched this week’s episode of The Crowded Room–seriously just give Tom Holland the Emmy now–and then another episode of something delightfully charming and funny that we’re late to the party to watch, Awkwafina is Nora from Queens. Oh my God, what a hilarious delight this show is, and Awkwafina is hilarious. She has stolen every movie she’s in that we’ve seen, and as I scrolled through MAX (I hate that rebranded name) it popped up the other night, and we started watching. B. D. Wong is terrific as her father, and the actress who plays her grandmother is hilarious. And every episode is relatively short, about twenty minutes–we’re always looking for a shorter show to fill in the final half hour of every evening before I go to bed; depending on when Paul gets home and finally unplugs for the evening and we get started watching for the night. (I also generally like to do some touch-ups and do some winding down before going to bed around ten, so I always want to turn off the television around nine-thirty.)

I have to run an errand for Paul this morning, and other than that I am most likely not leaving the house today. I do need to make a grocery run at some point, but I want to take books to the library sale, so perhaps I can do all of that tomorrow. I want to get some cleaning done around here, and if I am going to submit something, anything, to the Malice anthology for 2024 I would need to write it this weekend. Heavy heaving sigh. I don’t know. I’ve not felt particularly creative lately. I went over the copy-editor notes for the secret book (as soon as I have a cover, I’ll share it along with more information about the book itself) and turned them in yesterday, and I did try to write something last night. I didn’t get very far because I think my batteries still need recharging. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and words will start flowing out through my fingers onto the keyboard and onto the screen. There are some other stories I want to pull out and work on as well; I think its still adjustments to my new schedule, too, that are causing some of the problems. I don’t know how to explain it, but in some ways I feel like there’s been a cloud in my brain since about 2020; for three years I never really had a moment to rest or relax without the constant anxiety that I was forgetting to do something important. Between the pandemic and long COVID and my volunteering around my day job and trying to maintain my writing career during a time of vast uncertainty, it’s a wonder I didn’t have a breakdown of some sort…but I know at one point I just began running on accessory and lost all track of time and purpose and pretty much everything. I feel like I’m waking up at last, if that makes any sense (and it probably doesn’t, which is fine; I know what I mean).

I also have a lot of blog entries that have backed up; drafts I’d like to either delete because they are no longer timely (seriously, some are years old) or finish because, well, I like to finish things I start.

Yesterday I guess was the day of the moon landing anniversary, as it was all over social media along with remembrances. I vaguely remember watching a man walk on the moon on television; it was a really big deal at the time even if I was only seven–my parents were so awed and excited by the event that I remember both my sister and I being very solemn about the entire thing, even if we didn’t fully grasp the monumental achievement we were witnessing. It’s really a shame the way our space program has been allowed to decline, both in funding and importance to us, in the years since. I also remember the Watergate hearings, and childishly being irritated that it was being broadcast on all three networks so nothing else was on to watch. I was too young to appreciate that I was witnessing history, and too steeped in my parents’ values and beliefs to recognize fully that Nixon wasn’t being persecuted but rightly investigated for criminality and abuse of power. (Nixon wishes he had Trump’s loyal-to-the-death fan base.) This was around the time I began questioning my parents’ values and beliefs; it was around this same time I was baptized into the Church of Christ for more indoctrination and self-loathing only to have the opposite-than-desired result. I also have begun realizing that I don’t remember as much of my childhood on the south side of Chicago as I thought I did; most of that is blurry and foggy, which is unfortunate.

I was trying last night to find the right opening for a book project I want to write called The Summer of Lost Boys, with no luck getting the words i’d formed in my head onto the page. I also tried writing the opening for Voices in an Empty Room, with no luck there, either. I then tried to start a short story, and it too, got me nowhere before I finally gave up in utter frustration and repaired for the evening to my chair.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great day, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow morning, if not sooner.

Wax and Wane

Thursday and last day in the office for the week. I was very tired yesterday, despite not working on Tuesday, and so when I got home I didn’t do a whole lot of anything. No chores, nothing of that sort. I didn’t even read anything! The heat and humidity have returned and it was so miserable when I went out to the car after work yesterday that I felt drained by the time I got into the coolness of the Lost Apartment. I slept decently last night–not great, but restful, waking up a couple of times throughout the evening, but I feel a bit groggy this morning, which is also fine. I think we have a fairly light schedule today at the office and I have some other things I need to get done around seeing my clients. But I’ve almost made it through another week, survived it all, and now we’re at another three-day weekend, which is lovely. I have a lot of work to get done around here this weekend, so the extra day is going to be super great to have.

I need to get caught up on my emails–which won’t take nearly as long as it used to, because I don’t get nearly as much as I once did, which is kind of nice. It’s not that I consider email to be an odious chore or anything, and it’s not like I get problem emails anymore (thank God; I no longer cringe and cower and have to steel myself before pulling up my email), but there’s also not as much urgency with them anymore, either. The decline in the amount as well as the not-quite-as-urgent sensibility of it has resulted in my being pretty lazy about it. (My email provider also recently changed a lot, which is irritating because I don’t like the way it looks now and it wasn’t an improvement to make it easier to use; the Spotify app on my phone recently did the same thing. The lovely thing about technology is the constant need to have to relearn how to fucking use it. That was sarcasm font, by the way.)

So, rather than being my usual lazy self and wasting time finding things on Youtube (primarily to see if they are there), lately as I sit in the easy chair with a purring kitty in my lap I’ve been trying to do some research, that hopefully will stick in my head. Mostly I’ve been looking up videos about the HUAC and Confidential magazine in the 1950s, among other things for that period–also beefcake and peplum–as research for Chlorine. I’m also digging into the 1970’s–mostly music and pop culture, along with historical stuff from the decade–because I want to write a book called The Summer of Lost Boys, which has been simmering in my head since the earliest days of the pandemic. I’m leaning towards setting it in 1975–the summer I turned fourteen and started my sophomore year of high school. It has some potential I think, and while the idea is still amorphous up there in the clouds in my brain, I really like the idea and think it could be a really good book…but I really want to get these two noirs done in first draft this summer. If the heat and humidity doesn’t wear me down too much, I should be able to get both drafts finished by the end of summer.

Unless I get lazy, which is always a possibility. The heat seriously doesn’t help, either. But the thing I always forget is the best thing to do when you get home from work in New Orleans in the summer is take another shower and get cleaned up. I sleep better and I feel better and it generally results in me being a lot more productive. I need to do laundry tonight, put away dishes, and reload the dishwasher, and I am going to start rereading this book that I am about to revise per my editorial letter (I still will be getting one for Mississippi River Mischief, too) and I want to finish reading my book, which I’ve stalled out on now for a couple of weeks…but I need to finish it if I want to move on to my AMAZING TBR pile. I have some errands to run tomorrow morning, too, before starting in on my work-at-home duties, and after that–I am hoping to not leave the house again until Tuesday when I return to work. It would be nice to get some more de-cluttering done this weekend, but I also want to relax, write, and read a lot.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. May you have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will see you again tomorrow.

It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Ah, yes, time for hot men in Christmas clothing. I usually wait and just do the twelve days of Christmas thematically here, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to figure that out. And why not do an extra couple of days of holiday cheer? We could always use more cheer and happiness and joy in this sometimes grim and grotesque world and life. Today is going to be dedicated to three things: more work on my book, picking up the groceries I ordered, and making potato-leek soup. I’m also going to spend some time this morning reading. I finished Wanda Morris’ marvelous Anywhere You Run yesterday, and started Nelson Ahlgren’s A Walk on the Wild Side. Someone on Facebook had posted they were going to watch the film (starring Barbara Stanwyck and Jane Fonda) and I, who have never seen it, vaguely remembered it was connected to New Orleans. I did some research and yes, sure enough, it was indeed a novel first; and since it’s about the demimonde here in the 1930’s, I figured it was a necessary read for my understanding of the past of the city and perhaps even a needed read for the canon of New Orleans fiction. No one ever talks about this book in connection with the city, maybe because Ahlgren wasn’t a native? One can never be completely sure, can one? So, I will probably read some of that for about an hour–I like the idea of dedicating one hour every day to reading; maybe that will help me get through the ever-growing TBR pile. I know I wanted to do some Christmas reading–I am saving Donna Andrews’ Dashing Through the Snowbirds for Christmas day as a gift to myself–and I have some Christmas crime short story collections on hand as well, so I could do a story a day–maybe that will be what I do for the Twelve Days? Not a bad idea.

I slept well last night, which was a lovely experience–Scooter cuddled and purred with my for most of the night, which helped me enormously; making us doze off is truly his super-power–and woke up at a decent hour this morning. I think I am going to be able to get a lot more work done on the book than I did yesterday. It’s finally taking shape and I know where I am going with it along the way now, so I have to revise and redo the first half of the book to get it in line with how the final act will play out. I got started on it yesterday, and the story makes a lot more sense now than it did (and that is not me being hard on myself, either; what I had already done wasn’t badly written, it was just disjointed and had a lot of info dumps that have to be put into the story in a more organic way). I pulled up Spotify yesterday and listened to music while I worked on the book–Paul wasn’t home–which was cool. I listened to the Liza Minnelli that was produced by the Pet Shop Boys (it is truly outstanding; give it a listen sometime) and then cycled through some Pet Shop Boys albums as that was clearly the musical theme of the day. Paul will be home today, so I’ll probably just put in my ear buds and listen that way–I’d forgotten what a difference having music on makes to my writing and productivity.

We watched another true crime documentary last night, The Lost Boys of Bucks County, which–similar to the ones we were watching about the Murtaugh family–shows again the difference in how the law treats the wealthy and powerful as opposed to people that are considered unimportant and disposable. “They were just trash to be thrown away,” someone said towards the end of this sad story, in which four young men were pointlessly murdered over the course of three days. I’ve been thinking about–toying with, teasing it around inside my brain for quite some time–writing a suburban serial killer in the 1970’s book, based on the suburb where I lived for five years and the life people lived there, and then grafting a serial killer based on Houston’s Candyman onto the story. I’d been calling it Where the Boys Die for quite some time now, which I don’t think is the right title for this story; Where the Boys Die is a spring-break revenge spree killing story, and I think this one should be The Summer of Lost Boys or something along those lines. I know, I know, I talk about books I want to write all the time and never seem to get around to…but I think 2023 is going to be the year of finishing things that aren’t finished and getting them out of the way. Groan, that’s going to be a lot of work…but the kind of work I love doing, so there’s also that–and yes, I am well aware that I always have to force myself to do things I love. What can I say? I love being lazy and doing nothing the most out of everything.

When I was at home for Thanksgiving, my recently retired brother-in-law asked me what my plans for Retirement were. I know what he was really asking–my family is nothing if not predictable (are you going to move up here to be close to us once you no longer have a job? because it does not compute to any of them on any level that it’s not my job that anchors me in New Orleans. I live here because I choose to live in New Orleans, and I love it here. They can’t imagine making any such decision that would keep them out of the bosom of the family deliberately.)–but I chose to respond with “Well, I can’t wait for it to come. Counting the days” and he replied, “Oh, you’re in for a big surprise–you might want to hold your horses a bit on that.” He meant well, and I know what he meant; he’s been bored since he retired and the adjustment to not having to be somewhere for a set amount of time Monday through Friday hasn’t been easy. It wasn’t easy for my father, either–still isn’t. They, and other men of their generations, were conditioned to work and to identify their selves with their job and the work. That isn’t me. I love my job, don’t get me wrong–it’s the perfect fit for me on every level, and even now the only thing I don’t like about it is we no longer have non-traditional hours. I miss not having to be at the office until eleven most of the week and having my mornings free to get things done before going into the office, and not having to be in bed by ten most nights. The only thing I truly dislike about my job is the forty hours I have to spend working at it–because I would much rather be utilizing that time to write. Will I be bored when I retire? Probably not. I am never bored and can always find something to do. There’s the TBR pile, for example, and I am always writing something anyway. There’s a shit ton of classic films for me to work my way through, and other films and television shows I would love to rewatch and revisit.

And there’s always going to be books to read, errands to run, dishes to wash, clothes to launder, and so on. I’d also probably go to the gym with a higher degree of frequency as well.

So, no, I won’t be bored when I retire from my day job. I’ll probably wind up working even harder once I do retire.

And now I am going to read for an hour, and get back to work on the book. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader, and I will check in with you again tomorrow.