Tag: writing

Save Your Heart for Me

Well, hello, Tuesday, how you doing this week? Yesterday wasn’t too bad. I was on social media more than I needed to be1, which I must correct, but I had a nice day at work and then ran errands on the way home. Paul was home shortly after I got home–I also left earlier than usual–and I grilled the hamburgers I didn’t last night, which was nice. We watched the last episode of Rivals–most excellent, highly recommend–and caught up on Someone Somewhere, which I also love. I wasn’t particularly tired when I got home last night, so I picked up some and read a bit more of my book, which I am loving, even as it also makes me squirm a bit (more on that later, when I write about the book)–and you know what? I should squirm while reading that book. Every white person should, but they won’t read it–or finish reading, if they start– because it might “make them feel bad.” Well, if you want to be a decent person…you need to do the fucking work and feel bad every once in a while. I think that’s the real truth: straight white people don’t want to completely understand how horrible they truly are–which is why they are so defensive all the time. They know they’re bad people, they just don’t want to face up to it, and so lean into being horrible.

And they sure as fuck don’t want to do the work to be better people, so why waste my time with them?

Hell, why am I bothering writing this book? We’re going to be all labeled as porn soon enough, and my publisher might be forced to close. And for the record, I know what it feels like to have your entire canon, your entire writing career, labeled and called pornography. I know what it feels like to get death threats. To paraphrase, there’s nothing as hellish as Christian love.

It’s raining again this morning, which is relaxing. I did sleep well again last night, which I was expecting to do, even though I wasn’t terribly tired when I got home. Today I am in the clinic working with people for the first time in a while, so we’ll see how that goes. I have to get myself back into counselor mode after an enormous (well, several of them) shock to my system…but I was able to counsel after Mom died, so I should be okay. I wonder what their mood will be like? I mean, we are entering the dark times. I think that’s why I wrote that Substack post; it was after the election that I realized that people who are casually homophobic like it’s no big deal aren’t going to step up to rescue queers when it comes to that, so…this is what minority people are talking about, straight white people–if you’re so callously dismissive of us and don’t care about that sort of thing, how can we truly ever believe we are allies? It’s a return to the 1980s again (which were not fucking great, no matter how the Reagan apologists try to make it seem like this glorious lost time; likewise the 1950s shit, too–those may have been good times for straight white people, but not so much for anyone else. And straight white people will always close ranks against outsiders, because ultimately their privilege is the most important thing to them. More important than outsiders…”others.” And sorry, I’m not here to make straight people feel better about themselves. You’re homophobes at heart and it’s not my responsibility to absolve you so you can feel better about yourself…I really don’t give a fuck about how you feel; why should I when you clearly don’t care a fucking thing about how you make us feel? “Oh, sorry if we turned Bouchercon back into your junior high school hellscape! You’ve survived it before, right? You’ll be fine.”

I never should have gone back after the initial homophobic experiences back in 2009-2010. I’ve given the crime fiction community so many chances, always thinking oh it’ll be better this time and optimistically tried again…but unlike Lucy and the football, this faggot Charlie Brown has finally learned to accept that it has failed me, repeatedly, over and over again, and talk about diversity and inclusion is just that–talk. I’m no more welcome in the mainstream mystery community than I was in 20022. That old cliché about how trying the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result, is insanity?

Well, now I am sane and clear-eyed.

When I tried again this last time, I refused to be chased away the second time because I’ve tried, as an adult, to always stand up to, and fight, the bullies. I hate giving them the satisfaction of admitting defeat finally, but you can only try so hard for so long before realizing that any win for me in this regard would always be Pyrrhic in nature. I’ve never, ever be able to completely relax or feel welcome or made to feel like a part of things, like I belonged. I used to think it was because I was so scarred from my past, and that it was entirely on me and not anything anyone else was doing to make me feel that way. I convinced myself we were welcome.

So, so naive and trusting that this time would be different.

I should have known from seeing friends do book events in stores run by homophobes and racists but then claim to be allies. How big of an ally are you when you talk the talk but launch your book in a store known to be unashamedly homophobic, misogynist, and racist? What message do you think you are sending to people who you claim to support until it comes to your money and your career? How you “don’t want to rock the boat”? It’s called collaboration, and after the Second World War you’d have been executed or at least your head shaved and a public shaming. But–at least in our brave new world you won’t have to pretend to care anymore.

This is why minorities don’t trust you, you know. You can blithely go through your life smugly patting yourself on the back about what an ally you are, how you definitely talk the talk so people know you’re one of the good guys, but guess how we feel when you announce your book launch at one of those stores? We see you, but most of the time we’re too nice to call you out for supporting stores that hate us. Miss me with your boycotts of Home Depot and Walmart and whoever; it’s all just performative bullshit when you really only care about yourself–and you’ll shop there if you think no one will ever find out.

And for the record, telling a minority writer “you’d be so successful if you’d just write about straight people” is condescending, invalidating and deeply offensive. You think I can’t write about straight people? Bitch, please. I understand you people better than you understand yourselves. Believe me, I see you.

And no worries if I’m boring you with all this, Constant Reader. I’m giving you straight people the okay to stop reading this blog, without judgment. It’s a queer space, and I care about your feelings as much as you care about mine.

Then again, you’re probably not reading this anyway? Straight people won’t read me for free, let alone pay for something I’ve written. Christ, what a fucking fool I’ve been.

But give me another day or two and things will go back to normal. I’ll be over it, and not to worry; none of this will ever come up again because I will never be hurt by betrayals from straight people–especially men–ever again. I’ll just expect y’all to be homophobic garbage from the start. It’ll be easier that way–and like I always used to say, you can always count on straight people to carelessly, casually and thoughtlessly cruel…because you don’t matter to them. You’re subhuman. You‘ve heard the things white people say about racialized people–well, that’s also what they all think about queer people.

All these years I’ve smiled and let you demean and dehumanize me, over and over again, with a smile on your face as you performatively act like I’m a colleague when you really are disgusted by my existence.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely day, Constant Reader, and I may be back later. One never knows.

  1. In fairness to me, I was enjoying the “find out” phase the Nazi voters are experiencing. But if your feelings are hurt, MAGAts, no worries–we’ll probably all be dead by the 2025 holiday season so you can gloat to your heart’s content, guilt-free! ↩︎
  2. When mystery bookstores wouldn’t let me sign in their stores because “they don’t carry those kinds of books”–which is why I will always be grateful, and loyal, to Murder by the Book in Houston–to this day, the only mystery bookstore in the country that would have events for me. ↩︎

Eight Days a Week

I guess this will be the last Veterans’ Day, since going forward it will be renamed Suckers and Losers Day, right?

It’s Monday morning in the Lost Apartment and I am up early. My vacation is over and I am going back to the office. It’s going to be weird; it feels already like I’ve not been there in eons. But going back to the normal routine after a very restful (if stressful) vacation was inevitable. I had a nice day yesterday, in which I got some things done and made groceries, before Paul and I settled in for an evening of Abbott Elementary and Rivals–both of which I love– and we’ll be finishing Rivals tonight. I’m glad to be back home in New Orleans, and I slept very well last night. I didn’t really want to get up this morning because the bed was so comfortable, but Im not groggy this morning, so that’s a big win for me. I feel rested, which is the point of time off, and ready to face my week and whatever demons are thrown into my path this week. There’s always, sadly, a few.

I also spent some more time with Tananarive Due’s The Reformatory yesterday, and it is truly an exquisitely written and incredibly powerful story. It’s also heartbreaking in its truth about what life was like in Jim Crow Florida for Black people, and it’s a very stinging indictment of whiteness and the false promise of this country. I keep thinking ah yes this is what they mean by make America great again–a return to this kind of disgusting societal norm1s. I will write more about it when I finish savoring it, but I felt it needed to be brought up right now–I am not even waiting for me to finish this book to tell people they need to read it. I started listening to it in the car–the audiobook narration is completely en pointe–and continued reading in physical form when I got home this weekend. It really is superb, and I can see why it was (is?) so acclaimed and it definitely deserved every award it won. Due is going onto my ‘must-read’ list; I’m just sorry it took me this long to dip into her canon.

But after that I think I am going to read a crime novel. I have a shit ton of them in my TBR stack, and with my time on social media being dramatically curtailed going forward (I succumbed to the trap yesterday more than I should have; bad Greg, bad Greg), I should have time to read every night. Tonight I am going to pick up the mail on the way home, and I am going to cook out–it rained all day yesterday–and I’ll read some more while I do that (and clean up the kitchen more). Thanksgiving will be here before we know it, and that’ll be another lovely long weekend. I also decided this past week that this will be the last year I’ll skip Thanksgiving; it’ll mean a lot to my sister to have me there. Dad didn’t go last year (it’s really a Mom holiday), but he might go this year. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have either Dad or my sister, so I should spend as much time with them as I can while I still can. Morbid, yes, but my reality. And yes, since the election I’ve been much more aware of how little time I may have left here.

My new mantra, by the way, is fuck your feelings (see caption on picture), and I am not dialing anything back anymore. What good did being a pick-me gay ever do for me? I’m actually kind of sickened by how much of a ‘pick me’ loser I’ve been for so long in the crime fiction community. My Substack essay? Wasn’t even the fucking tip of the iceberg.

And you know what? DO you have any idea of how many straight “allies” let that kind of shit fly because it doesn’t affect them in the least, and well, if a queer is listening, that’s on them to say something. I can recall exactly ONE time in the last fifteen years when some straight white asshole decided to use the word faggy in front of me at the table in the bar where we were sitting. He smirked and looked right at me when he said it, too; he knew what he was saying and was testing me to see what I’d do or say; in other words, he put his little shriveled dick on the table and dared me to say something to him. As I burned and counted to ten before punching him in his smug smirking face, Lisa Lutz stuck her finger in his face and said, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. We don’t use that word, ever.”

And I will be grateful to her for the rest of my life.

I do find it amusing how many straight men have no clue how close they’ve come to getting punched in the face.

None of this stuff makes me angry anymore; it’s how things are, and I’ve come to the realization that straight white people are never going to change. They are always going to be entitled, selfish monsters who will always convince themselves they were the real victims. “Well, we wouldn’t have had to kill all those Natives if they hadn’t fought back” or “if they hadn’t massacred that white settlement”. If anything, they were too kind to the colonizers. That’s what happens when you give straight white people the benefit of the doubt–it somehow always ends up in genocide.

And on that cheerful note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Monday, Constant Reader, and never worry–I’ll be here for as long as I can be!

I used to worry about offending straight people by making lewd comments on these pictures, but nobody made you come here, so fuck off. And this picture just needs to be captioned “taste the rainbow.”
  1. For you white people who haven’t thought this through–no offense, but I am sure it’s most of you–when you ask, smugly, who’ll do the menial jobs when everyone is deported? They told us already–those are “Black jobs.” What else did you think they meant? Now do that math. How are they going to get Black people to do that work? Now you’re on the right track. ↩︎

Just a Little

Sunday morning in the Lost Apartment and all is well. It’s raining, and has been since last night–probably related in some ways to the hurricane, Rafael–so I slept deeply and well last night. It was muggy and miserable outside when I ran my errands yesterday morning, and today I have to make a grocery run, but rather than what I usually do–go in the morning or right around noon–I am going to go later and try to get all the things done today that I need to do here in the house instead. That makes the most sense to me, because usually making groceries (going out in public and being around other people in general) ends up with me in the chair with a sleeping kitty curled up in my lap. I want to get these other posts/book reviews done this morning, and I want to do some more writing today; I really need to get back on the Scotty horse this week. I also am going to start going to the gym a couple of times per week. Protecting my mental health is my biggest priority right now. The nice thing is that now that LSU humiliated itself in front of the nation last night, we don’t really have to pay much attention to college football anymore this year. Really, it’s such an enormous waste of time on a free day that I really shouldn’t waste my time on it going forward. I will say that I was incredibly lucky when I landed Paul; we both have the kind of dark sense of humor that makes us laugh about this horrible world in which we’ve always lived. It’s gotten us through some really dark days, and at least I have someone to face down the darkness with–while pointing and laughing at it. Thank heaven for him, seriously.

But my relationship isn’t real, you know. Perverts can’t love, right?

I am completely out of fucks now, and so yesterday I wrote a Substack entry talking about some of the homophobia I’ve experienced in the crime fiction community, and it got me a lot of new subscribers. I called out some people in the piece, not by name–I can never really get over that polite thing that was instilled so deeply in me by my mother–but I said some things that have been bouncing around in my brain for quite a while. Bigotry is very insidious, and it pops up all the fucking time, whether it’s direct aggression or a micro-aggression. I’ve always been the kind to give people the benefit of the doubt–“well, they don’t know how homophobic they are being”, but no more. Straight men making jokes about being gay, or gay people in general, or our sexuality, isn’t funny. It isn’t funny to have a writer’s retreat you mocking call after a movie which is literally about how much it sucks to be gay in this country and one of the main characters is beaten to death for it, ha ha ha, how funny!1 Maybe we can have a gay male writing retreat we can jokingly name after a miscarriage, or a dead child? If my rights are going to be stripped away from me, why the fuck should I keep giving straight people the benefit of the doubt? (I know, I know, #notallstraightpeople, right? Yes, yes, those of you in the dominant culture are the real fucking victims.) I never completely trusted straight people to begin with–you know, the people who wanted us all to die in the 1980s and laughed about it–and have always been somewhat wary.

Clearly, that wariness was smart. I haven’t felt this way since 2004, when the entire country made it abundantly clear to queer people that they think we don’t deserve love or happiness or full citizenship.2

You can never go wrong expecting straight people to be horrible. Trust me, they’ll never disappoint–like the ones I actually know who basically called all queer people groomers and pedophiles and couldn’t understand why that was like punching me in the mouth. I’ve shared meals with you. I’ve hung out with you. I’ve been nice to you. But queer people shouldn’t be around children, right? Thanks for nothing, mediocre bitch.

But I no longer care about other people’s feelings anymore, or not wanting to make other people feel bad about their own fucking bigotry. I’m not explaining to you why you’re a problematic bigot anymore. You don’t like and there’s nothing I can do about that–so fuck you to hell and back. I’m not getting paid to educate your stupid ass, nor do I care about your fucking feelings. You have no idea what a fucking bitch I can be, and I am taking the gloves off now. I’m not playing nice anymore, and until proven otherwise, you’re my enemy. I don’t like being that way, but how many times do we have to be abused by our fellow Americans before we finally say fucking enough?

And if you ever ask me to be on a fucking diversity panel ever again, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born–or demand payment for being an educator to troglodytes.

Be nice we need their support.

No more fucks.

Have a great day, Constant Reader.

  1. You want an idea how offensive that is? My partner was almost beaten to death twenty years ago and lost an eye. HILARIOUS, right, assholes? It’s no different than telling rape jokes. ↩︎
  2. Funny how we still have to pay all of our taxes to a system with its boot on our throats. ↩︎

I’ll Be Doggone

Well, it’s election eve and I am in Kentucky, of all places. I didn’t think when I planned this trip–it was postponed from a few weeks ago; we’d originally planned for me to meet Dad in Alabama for their birthdays and then I’d follow him up to Kentucky. Another family thing came up so plans couldn’t be made or finalized until it was too late for me to get the time off, and I chose this week because LSU didn’t play this past weekend (of course)…so I am up here with my right-wing family for the election. The election hasn’t come up much since I arrived, and my dad mentioned something about it to me today; I won’t say what he said but it started even if his candidate doesn’t win blah blah blah. It sounded defeated, frankly, and I’ve never heard Dad make such a comment in such a way; usually it would be the problem, followed by “this is why he has to win”, so it was odd enough for me to take note. I’ve been essentially off-line all day–we went over to my sister’s for lunch and stayed the afternoon over there–and away from the television. Dad and I watched some television tonight and he went to bed early. I am tired now–I ran out of steam a few hours ago–but I wasn’t when I got here yesterday.

It was a beautiful drive. I came up through Nashville instead of Chattanooga, and it was a nice, new drive. Gorgeous drive, even if the traffic between Huntsville and Nashville was a bit more heavy than I would prefer. But I felt good. Sundays now are my best day of the week. I’ve gotten enough physirest and my brain is working and firing on all cylinders and it’s usually when I got the most done. I got up at six on Sunday morning and slowly woke up, did some chores, and drank some coffee and packed. I departed the house around eight thirty in the morning. I finally finished listening to that hilarious podcast My Dad Wrote a Porno (more on that later) and then listened to Gabino Iglesias’ House of Bone and Rain, which is fantastic, the rest of the way. I still have about an hour to go; I’ll most likely listen to the rest while I am here and then start The Reformatory on the way home Friday…and yes, I am aware of Raphael and am paying very close attention. Right now it’s projected to come ashore about five hours after I arrive in New Orleans–so I will have to pay attention to the weather intensely as it could seriously affect the drive home. Yay?

Anyway, I wasn’t physically exhausted when I got here. I was tired, but my mind was alert and I didn’t feel like I could fall asleep unexpectedly at any moment. I felt good, and it was nice. I’ve not made this drive in well over a year (at this time last year I had already undergone a surgery and was prepping for another–and I think I also got a colonoscopy/endoscopy last fall as well, if I’m not mistaken. My memory is so tattered these days. I can’t remember anything anymore, and to remember when something happened I have to remember when other things happened and my feeling about when it was is inevitably incorrect. This bothers me some, because I used to have an excellent memory–and for many years it was one of the few things I had that I could take pride in. How sad does that sound? Pretty damned sad, I think. I spent my twenties in an almost constant state of depression, which was incredibly miserable, but the chemical imbalances enabled me to hide it well from most people, since I never let anyone get to know me well enough for them to know. I never let people close enough because I couldn’t trust anyone enough to actually be myself around them. Wow, that was some digression, was it not?

But I was very pleased to arrive and not be a complete zombie, and then I slept well until I got up this morning. I did hit a wall today, though.

Tomorrow we’re going to go see some historic homes and making a Sam’s run, which is always nice…and a bit surreal. I do like being divorced from anxiety-making news and social media, and it’s also put me into a place of whatever will be, will be. Probably more zen than I would have ever thought I’d be or feel, but that could also be my new medications. But it’s also super nice to not be wrapped up into Gordian knots of anxiety.

And on that note, I am going to call it a night. We can do this, people.

Screenshot

Baby the Rain Must Fall

Up far earlier than usual on a Sunday morning1, because of course, later on today I am driving to Kentucky. Twelve hours in the car, but I’ve figured out what to listen to on the drive, which is cool. I don’t know what traffic is going to be like, but that’s cool; I am also going to go a different way than I usually do–going thru Nashville instead of the nightmare that is always Chattanooga–so that will be interesting.

I was very tired yesterday morning, the way I always am on Saturday, but I got errands done and then came home to work on the house and get ready for today. We mostly watched football all day before going to bed; starting with Vanderbilt-Auburn (Auburn lost) and Mississippi-Arkansas, then Georgia-Florida, capping the night off with South Carolina’s big win over Texas A&M. The SEC is indeed crazy this season; it almost seems like no one wants to win it all this year. Now, all the one-loss and two-loss teams are going to continue knocking each other off the rest of the season, which is wild. LSU still has a chance, but they have to win out…and that won’t be easy (Alabama, Florida, Oklahoma, and Vanderbilt remain on the schedule). Interesting season, this first year of super-conferences and paying players and a play-off, hasn’t it been? All in all, a very nice, relaxing day was had by everyone in the Lost Apartment, including demon kitty Sparky–who turned himself into a love bug for the entire day. I’ve not yet packed or loaded up the car–I got up early this morning to do that specifically, as well as to add to the “I’m really tired so will sleep well tonight” feeling when I get there tonight. I’ll also be on the road for the Saints game today, so GEAUX SAINTS and I hope they do well.

It’ll be nice spending some time with Dad, resting and relaxing and reading. I don’t know if he’ll want to go do things–like sight-see historical sites in the area (I am not going to the Ark, rest assured of that)–or if we’ll end up just sitting around chatting and watching television. The weather will be similar up there to what we’re having down here, which is great as I don’t want to take a coat with me, either. I decided to finish listening to Gabino’s book in the car on the way up, move on to The Reformatory, finish reading it over the week, and then listen to Shadowlands in the car on the way home, so I can finish reading it when I get home Friday. I have a lovely weekend when I get home before I have to go back to work, and then of course it’s only a few more weeks to Thanksgiving. Paul is probably going to visit his mom for the holiday, which will give me a long weekend alone at home with Sparky, which could be a lot of fun.

And of course, once I get home from this trip I need to really get back to work on the book and everything else around here that I want to get finished by the end of the year. I need to do some research on actual hurricanes (as well as the ones that have hit New Orleans over the centuries, including from before when they got names), and I hope to spend some time brainstorming on the book’s plot. I know I want it to shift direction several times, but I am still not sure of how everything comes together and why, which is part of the fun ohf writing these types of novels, isn’t it?

And on that note, I think I am going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely, lovely day, Constant Reader, and I don’t know how much I’ll be here posting this week, so hang in there without me, okay? MAKE SURE YOU VOTE.

  1. But not as early as it usually feels, thank you for the extra hour this morning, Daylight Savings Time. ↩︎

The Seventh Son

Saturday and I need to make a to-do list, as well as a packing list. I do get an extra hour of sleep tomorrow morning (thank you, daylight savings change!) which should make the drive somewhat easier. I am also kind of excited about trying a new route, which is oddly thrilling to get out of the usual rut of going the same way I have ever since I started driving up there around the turn of the century. I was still very tired yesterday from Thursday’s toe procedure (which isn’t difficult to care for, so that bit of anxiety was for nothing) so after I finished yesterday’s work, I ran my errands. I picked up my new glasses, got the mail, and picked up a prescription before heading home and just collapsing into my chair. Paul was working, so I watched the news clips and so forth to make certain I was aware of the daily madness that is the election, and then Paul and I finished off Agatha All Along, which was fan-fucking-tastic (more on that later, as the utter queerness of the show deserves more reflection and commentary) and for which I am hoping there will be another season, which was sort of set up in the show, too, although they may not be able to call it the same thing. Such brilliant writing and direction and production values and the acting! The show should get multiple Emmy nominations, but I am pulling mostly for Patti LuPone, who was fantastic as Lilia. Today I have to clean the house and make groceries for Paul and run a few errands and pack. LSU is off this weekend, so I don’t care about the games today–background noise, more than anything else, really–and hopefully, I’ll get to read some today as well. I just don’t want to get lazy, you know, and blow everything off and leave it for next Saturday when I am home again.

It’s kind of nice not to have my toe hurting again. I have to go back to the podiatrist next month (how is next month December already?) to have it looked over again. Yay! Closing out the year with non-stop doctor appointments constantly isn’t exactly the biggest thrill of my life but might as well use the insurance as much as possible before the deductible kicks in again…and I am rather pleased with both the dermatologist and the podiatrist; I’ve really felt like I am in better care than I ever have been since I fired that primary care doctor last year. I am dragging a bit today, too–carryover from the shock to my system as well as exhaustion from the week, which is okay; I usually am dragging a bit on Saturdays lately, which is why watching games all day on Saturdays usually is so appealing. But I’ll finish this, take a reading break, get cleaned up and redress the wound, and then run those errands. I’m not terribly concerned about doing any writing today, although I might so as not to lose the time. I mean, I probably won’t even be here after tomorrow until Saturday anyway. And so much will have changed by then, too. The election will be over, for one–I can’t be the only person who is sick of the endless elections cycles; elections were never meant to be a billion dollar industry, let alone a life-career path. They also didn’t expect people to make a life out of public service, either, but here we are.

Imagine my shock, when sitting down at my desk and waking up my computer simply to see that I never finished writing this, let alone never posted it. Bad Greg! I am getting older, you know. Yikes. I don’t think I’ve ever started in the morning and never finished the entry till later, which is bizarre. Ah, well. I did run my errands, and it was a lovely day outside. I Armor-All’ed the inside of the car, vacuumed it out, and washed it. I should do that every few weeks, frankly, and maybe going forward that will be my plan. I got the mail (another royalty payment; that’s two this week!), made groceries, came home, went to the car wash and then stopped at the Fresh Market. I think I have Paul supplied, plus he can always eat out whenever he wants to or doesn’t want to mess with making anything. Now I just need to make my packing list and get started on that, too. I’d like to get the suitcase packed and loaded into the car today, and then tomorrow morning the other things can go into the car as I depart New Orleans for the week. I did spend some time this morning with House of Bone and Rain (I keep saying blood instead of bone, which also works, but not as well), which continues to be extraordinary; I’ve decided to finish listening to it in the car on the way north tomorrow, move on to The Reformatory in the car, which I’ll finish up there, and then on the way home I can listen to Shadowlands, which I’ll finish reading when I get home next weekend. A very good plan, methinks.

And on that note, I am going to bring this to a close as it is LONG overdue. Have a great Saturday, and I’ll post tomorrow before leaving town.

California Girls

And here we are at Remote Friday again in the Lost Apartment. I was very tired when I got home last evening, after my doctor’s appointment and running some errands. I went to my first ever podiatrist, and the good news is I don’t have arthritis in my big toes yet, but the bad news is that there’s really nothing to be done about the pronation of my feet, which I was expecting and was kind of a Hail Mary ask. What was super-nice was his PA was a lesbian, which she revealed in one of the most amazingly nonchalant way, and did make me feel better about being there, if that makes sense? (I think the primary care physician I fired last summer was homophobic, if I am being honest. He was certainly dismissive of me and all of my concerns to the point where I was uncomfortable asking him anything. He could just be a shitty doctor, but one of the great joys of being marginalized is never knowing, or being completely sure, if someone is homophobic or not homophobic and just an asshole. Got some serious trust issues, don’t I?)

And of course I slept late this morning! No wonder I was exhausted; I also asked him about the chronic ingrown toenail on my big toe, so he took care of it in the office as an outpatient procedure. I won’t go into details of what he did on my big toe, but for the next week I have to soak my toe twice a day in epsom salts and re-bandage it after applying Neosporin. I always forget those kinds of things are a shock to the body, and it needs rest after trauma, so it takes a while to recover. I’m not used to these sorts of things, which is pretty amazing that these little traumas and shocks to my body didn’t start until I was in my sixties. I’ve always been relatively healthy for the most part, and also…lived in pain for a good portion of my life mainly because it never occurred to me to do anything about it, which is really kind of insane. But all those years of no insurance taught me to live with pain because I couldn’t afford to see a doctor. (I am writing about my low-paying job history and being the working poor, in an essay for my Substack, which I really need to finish and post before I leave for Kentucky on Sunday.) He also gave me a cortisone shot in my right big toe to do away with the reoccurring pain, and it’s actually kind of nice to not have my toe joint hurting for a change. Woo-hoo!

At some point today I have to take a break from working remotely to head out to Metairie to pick up my new glasses, which is very exciting. I have a lot of cleaning to do around here before I leave Sunday morning, but LSU is off this weekend so I am not terribly vested in watching games tomorrow; I’ll have it on in the background but will mostly clean and read for the day. I also was able to read some more of House of Blood and Rain, which is extraordinary, and I am hoping to finish that before Sunday, too, so I can blog about it before I head up there. I’m going to listen to Shadowlands by Peter Straub on the way up there, and probably Lisa Unger on the way home. I am also going to experiment with going a different way than I always have–I always go through Chattanooga–but this time I think, for something different, I am going to go through Nashville. Exciting, no? The drive to Birmingham will be the same; that’s where I’ll leave 59 North and head for Nashville instead of driving through northeast Alabama. I’m not going to worry about doing any writing (or blogging) while I am up there; you’ll simply have to get used to doing without me for the duration of the trip. (I know, I know, whatever will you do without your daily Gregalicious?) It’s also going to be rough being with my conservative family during the election, but I can keep my mouth shut, and years of experience (and knowing they will never change their minds) has taught me how to be honest but noncommittal; it’s not my fault if they interpret my responses as agreement or concurrence. (Example, from 2009: my dad says “Sarah Palin is no Hilary Clinton” to which I reply, “you can say that again.” I can certainly can agree with that statement , right?) But at least I’ll know how the right is taking the results, regardless of what happens. It may be harder if there’s violence, as I expect there to be. (I’m hoping not, but…those hopes aren’t very high.)

I did watch The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City last night; as you can see, the excitement level around the Lost Apartment for Halloween was very intense. Paul went to a friend’s party (I was exhausted, as I already mentioned), and so I stayed home, reading and cleaning (very lackadaisically) and watching news clips on Youtube to stay slightly aware of what’s going on nation-wide with the election. All the desperate shrieking from the right side seems to be getting more shrill and hysterical on a daily basis. I also had to laugh at the right being so upset over the false claim that President Biden called them garbage; let’s see, what have you trash called me over the course of my life? Pervert, sinner, fornicator, groomer, pedophile, traitor–so yeah, miss me with the hurt feelings of the “fuck your feelings” crowd. Maybe the lie hit too close to home to the people who know, deep down, they aren’t good or nice or Christian or even decent? Just like the “deplorables” thing. Hillary said one negative thing about “some” of his supporters, while they were chanting “lock her up” and worse, and they lost their fucking minds. They sure don’t like being called names, for a group of assholes who feel pretty strong in their ability to call everyone else names but should remain free of criticism myself. And at this point? I’d correct Hillary to say they are ALL deplorables. Maybe not in 2016, but they sure as fuck know they’re all trash and a disgrace to all humanity now because they’ve seen what he is capable of doing and they are looking forward to the end of our democracy.

I don’t think that’s patriotic, actually. I find it deplorable and disgusting and treasonous. (Someday I will write about how the right wrapped itself in the flag and absconded with the country’s symbols to such a point that the word patriot no longer means what it once did.)

Ugh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Friday, everyone, and I may check in again later.

A Walk in the Black Forest

Thursday leaving work early because I have an appointment with a podiatrist (for the very first time in my life) to see if a) I have arthritis in my big toes and b) if there’s anything that can be done to stop, or at least delay, the continuing pronation of my feet. I have finally found an every day shoe that is incredibly comfortable and my leg joints finally feel good again–or at least, don’t ache. (Air Monarchs, to be exact. I love my new shoes.) I slept really well again, which is great, but I do feel a bit wrung out, if that makes sense? I was very tired yesterday when I got home from work–came straight home, too–and so took the evening off after finishing the character list (so far) and starting the outline. Maybe, if I’m not too tired from running errands tonight after work, I’ll be able to get some writing done on the book before the trip, which is Sunday.

And it’s Halloween! Yay! I didn’t get as much horror read this year as I would have liked, but I think I am still going to read some more horror for a while, just for the fun of it, before going back to my usual crime novels. I am so far behind on my reading it’s not even funny at this point. I will try to read some tonight, since tomorrow is a work-at-home day and I don’t have to get up at six (Sparky to the contrary). My new glasses also have come in, so I need to pick them up before I leave town. Yay! I’m not dressing up for work–I always go as Bitter Old Queen Close to Retirement— but I do miss the days when I would wear costumes for Halloween. I was never good at costumes; I always say the descriptor for my costumes started with ‘slutty.’ Yup, I used to be one of those gay men, ready for any opportunity to go shirtless and/or dress ‘slutty.’ I don’t see anything wrong with it, though–then or now, for that matter. I’ve never been one to turn up my nose at embracing our bodies and our sexuality in a positive, healthy way, and yes, I’ve had people explain to me almost my entirely openly queer adulthood about how ‘desperate’ and ‘thirsty’ that is, that gays who dress like that1 and show off their bodies are just attention-seeking narcissists who love to show off, etc. etc. etc. I’d listen to them, all the while thinking and if one of them was interested in you, you wouldn’t say no2 and wow you are really saying this to me. Bold choice to insult me right to my face!3

The thing is, gay men are just as guilty as everyone else of making assumptions on other gay men, based on superficiality, and sometimes place more value on how people look than who they are. This is not peculiar to gay men, either; everyone does this. When I lost weight and joined a gym, it was astonishing how differently I was treated by strangers…

Envy is always ugly, for the record, which is why I refuse to go down that path with my writing colleagues. No good ever comes from envy (as opposed to spite, my primary motivator), it’s a waste of time and energy because it doesn’t change anything, and so I don’t indulge myself with it anymore, and haven’t in over twenty years. I never envy anyone their talent or their careers. That’s pointless, and who wants to head down the path of negativity like that? My focus going forward is to try to stay positive, while making myself and my career more of a priority than it ever has been before. And it kind of feels good, you know? It’s so incredibly freeing to say “I don’t care” and “no thank you” and “sorry that just doesn’t work for me.” (That last is my absolute favorite.)

I actually do feel a bit rundown this morning, now that the coffee’s hit and I’ve had some sugary treats for breakfast (follow me for tips on how to live a more healthy lifestyle!), I do feel a bit of fatigue and some slight brain fog. At least I’m not exhausted, the way I used to get by the time Thursday rolled around again. That’s progress.

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

  1. A former woman friend of mine, when I once complained about being groped without my consent in gay bars, replied, without missing a beat, “That’s what you get for dressing like a whore” to which I replied, “so you’re saying I’m asking to get raped?” and the look on her face was priceless as that reality dawned on her. I really should have cut her off at least a decade before I did. She was the kind of Trumpelthinskin asshole I have come to detest: “I get to say horrible and cruel things to and about people because I’m being funny but IT IS NOT FUNNY WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT TO ME AND HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE SO HEARTLESS AND MEEEEEEAAAAAAANNNNNN TO MEEEEEEEEE???.” Immature piece of shit. ↩︎
  2. Trust me, scruples go out the window for gay men when someone hot is interested. You’d be surprised (maybe not) at how many gay men want that homophobic POS Nick Bosa to fuck them…and let’s not forget Aaron Schock. I appreciate their looks, but who they literally are as human beings is so revolting to me that I could never. ↩︎
  3. I have so many marvelous stories about not being taken seriously because of how I looked, but that’s a story for another time. ↩︎

Go Now

Ah, Sunday morning and the last day of relaxation before I return to work tomorrow, and of course next weekend I am driving up to Kentucky. That’ll be nice, if exhausting–I never sleep enough when I travel–but I’ll get to see my sister and spend time with Dad, which is always nice. I’ll get to listen to books in the car, and read some while I am up there. I doubt I’ll write anything; or even edit much. I should just accept that in advance since it never happens, and I’ll have my journal with me and the laptop if the urge should strike. That should be enough, don’t you think? I know I certainly do.

Yesterday was kind of a flat day. I ran my errands and came home to watch football games, and was pretty tired. I did end up getting some chores done around watching games, but not much of anything. I did read some, too, between games. About the best game of the day was Texas-Vanderbilt; Alabama seems to have righted their ship at last, Auburn finally notched a win, and LSU lost last night at Texas A&M. They played great in the first half and then just crumbled in the second, and it was mostly the offense and the kicking team that cost the Tigers the game. But good for you, Aggies–your rivalry renewal game with Texas over Thanksgiving just became super-important. We don’t play again until November 9th, when Alabama comes to Baton Rouge, and we’ll see how and if the ship gets righted that night. I can’t remember the last time the two played where both had two losses coming into the game…I cooked out last night and that turned out well, and I did get some things done yesterday. There’s a few dishes in the sink and of course, the floors…but mostly today I think I am going to focus on writing and reading the most. I want to work on the Scotty Bible today and I want to revisit the manuscript completely, and of course there are short stories and essays to be worked on, as always. So, once I finish this I’m going to go read for a while with my coffee, and then get cleaned up and get to work on writing. Exciting!

I do want to start the week with the apartment cleaned, for one thing.

Yesterday I was thinking–during the dull Alabama-Missouri game–about projects I want to work on and the things I want to get done over the course of the next year, until 2026. It’s an ambitious slate, to be sure, and does require me to actually focus and work rather than blow everything off and spent time with Sparky, who gets sweeter and sweeter every day. He’s finally started cuddling and sleeping with us downstairs while we watch television–he’ll sleep on Paul before moving over to me in the chair–and of course, every morning he gets into bed with me (because he’s hungry) and is kind of a snooze button/alarm that I much prefer to the clanging of the actual one. I need to research hurricanes, too, because I am writing about one, so it doesn’t hurt to actually research and find out a basic overview of them so I can write about it in the book. I do think this Scotty could easily turn out to be the best of the bunch, frankly. Which is a nice feeling to have, I don’t remember feeling that way with the last two, but at the same time I also wrote the last two maybe five years apart? That’s kind of crazy, because I really should at most space them a year and a half apart, which I’ve not done in well over a decade. Kind of nuts, isn’t it? I’d say so. That’s no way to write a series, is it? I don’t know. I probably don’t care all that much, either. I’ve never been terribly smart about my writing career, mainly because my primary driver is the writing itself. I love writing, even when I complain about it, but it’s my primary source of joy in this life.

This week I have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday, with a podiatrist to see about my pronating feet and what is up with the pain in my big toes. It’s not always and it’s not bad enough to make me limp, but it is noticeable. I also noticed when I was pushing the cart around the grocery store yesterday that my hips were sore and hurting, which means time for a new pair of shoes. I should probably get that checked out as well, but it is most likely a side effect from my feet and their pronation. It wouldn’t surprise me if I’d need to have them (the hips, not my feet) replaced at some point over the next five years or so. My new glasses should come in as well, which will be great. I’m hoping they come in before I leave for Kentucky, because I got transition lenses because bright light and glare have become really painful for me, and that will help me on the drive up. I also think I am going to be brave and go up a different way, skipping Chattanooga by going north on I-65 at Birmingham to go through Nashville instead. That’s a better route for me; there’s a lot more places to eat and get gas between Birmingham and Nashville than there are between Birmingham and Chattanooga. I can always come back the normal way–I do want to get a look at the rest stops on 75 for a short story that I think I’ve finally figured out–which never seems to be as bad as going, you know?

And on that note, I need to get another cup of coffee and have breakfast and get cleaned up this morning so I can have a good, productive day. I hope you have a marvelous Sunday, too, Constant Reader, and I’ll chat with you again probably a little later.

I’m Telling You Now

Wednesday morning of Pay-the-Bills day, which is always a pleasant day, much as I loathe paying the bills I am just grateful that I can pay the bills; I’ll never not be grateful for that. I remember all too well the days when paying the bills was a nightmare, there wasn’t enough to cover everything and buy groceries…and there were late fees and so on and ugh, you never could ever just breathe easy and catch up. Once you get behind financially, it becomes exponentially harder to ever get caught up. One of the reasons I never address financial concerns in my work is because it’s too hauntingly familiar for me, and I don’t really like remembering those days very much. That’s not good–and not really true entirely; I have written about working class/the working poor in short stories, which is about as long as I can handle it. Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’m thinking I do need to write about someone poor or working class in a book sometime, so I can process the shame of my poverty-stricken past. I’ve also been thinking about this because I am writing an essay about my first job (McDonald’s; can’t imagine why I’ve been thinking about that lately, can you?), and that has also brought back the memories of being one of the working poor for so long, and all the money worries, and everything else that went along with it1. I’ve had some pretty awful jobs…but the only thing worse than having an awful job was looking for another awful job I would grow to hate.

Ugh, those low wage job years were the worst. It’s no wonder I had so little self-esteem. Scrounging in the couch for change to get a burger at McDonald’s. Going through the car looking for change. Nothing in the cupboards to eat, no money in my wallet and no money in the bank, but super hungry. Lots of eating macaroni and cheese in the blue box, any flavor of ramen, and buying store brand deodorants and shampoos and shaving cream. Not being able to afford an oil change for the car, or a new tire should one go flat. To this day, I have food anxiety, where I’m scared there won’t be anything in the house for us to eat and nothing in the cupboards and no money. This led to a small scale hoarding situation with me and food; in which I am always stocking up on dried stuff so there’s always something I can make to eat. I have canned baked beans and boxes and boxes of Lipton’s Double Noodle Soup and all sorts of things that I hoard…but I’ve managed to stop buying more of these things, and have cut back on buying more than we need. There’s still more than needs to be done in the kitchen cabinets and in the grocery stores, and I am still working on the food anxiety. There are also any number of Asian vinegars and wines and sauces for cooking in there that had probably gone bad over the years.

Sigh.

I slept well again last night, which feels great this morning. I have tomorrow off because I have appointments during the day, which is going to be weird–especially since Friday is my work-at-home day; my weekend is going to be all messed up and potentially my week next week, too. I have some errands to run tonight after work, too. I didn’t do much of anything once I was home last night–big plans often come to naught in the Lost Apartment on weekday nights–but today I am planning, again, to get some things done. I need to finish working on the Scotty Bible, which is the plan for this weekend. I also need to get started revising the first seven chapters and fixing them for the continuation of the book next week before I leave for Kentucky. Funny how I always have big plans for the evening in the morning that so rarely come to fruition, isn’t it? But by the time I negotiate traffic on the way home, I am usually a bit tired when I get home to begin with–and then when Sparky keeps insisting on needing a lap (like Scooter used to) I’ll sit down for a moment and then am down for the evening because he’s so deeply asleep and so cute–he sometimes purrs in his sleep–that I don’t want to disturb him. Last night he was back to normal completely and over his sulks; he pounced on me several times and wanted to play with some Big Kitten Energy after he was done napping. I have a busy morning at the office today, but it’s not that terrible, and of course I have to make two stops on the way home today, which isn’t a big deal but also might be an issue about being tired when I finally park and go inside.

I also decided that I am going to Kentucky the first week of November, so I don’t have to listen to horror on the way there or back. I think I will listen to Shadowland on the way home from up there, because it’s thirteen or so hours long and I have the ebook on my iPad so I can finish it when I get back to New Orleans. (I thought I had a paperback copy, but can’t seem to find it.) But since October and Halloween will be over by then, I am not bound by my “only horror reading in October” rule. I want to finish reading Gabino’s book this weekend, too. I think there are some good games on this weekend; LSU is playing Texas A&M at night to see who will be alone on top of the conference standings. The day games are not the greatest, but there’s Missouri at Alabama and Texas at Vanderbilt (!!!) and Oklahoma at Mississippi, so not anything terribly involving unless they turn out to be great games…and there have been a lot of those this season. I didn’t know what to expect from this season of new everything and big changes, but so far it’s been a lot of fun.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Pay-the-Bills Day, and I might be back later, one never can be sure!

  1. The only luxury item I never did without was books. I would always spend money on books because that was something just for me, and for me alone. I also really resented having jobs where I had to consider books as luxury items I technically should have done without. ↩︎