Queer · and · Loathing · in · America

Last night, we watched Rise of the Planet of the Apes (which was a lot better than I'd been led to believe, but the last thirty minutes kind of strained credulity), and the first disc of a show called The Cape, which, while also somewhat flawed, was entertaining. Tonight, we will finish it off. (Last week we finished Boardwalk Empire, which was really well done but I didn't care much about it; it's not like I was ever in a rush to watch the next episode--in fact, it took us almost two weeks to watch the whole thing. Not a good sign.)

Timothy, by the way, will most likely be finished at last this week; just about a week past deadline; I'm getting better.

I have editing to do this month, as always, and short stories to write. Lots of short stories to write. Huzzah! As painful as they can be to write for me, I do enjoy writing them--especially after I am finished writing them.

And while I haven't forgotten that I am talking about my favorite short stories of all time--there are some good ones left for me to discuss yet--I thought today, I'd talk about the story "Crazy in the Night," the story I contributed to my own anthology Night Shadows, just turned in to the publisher yesterday morning.

Here's the opening two paragraphs:

Danny probably would have never moved from his apartment on Constantinople Street-- if it hadn’t been for that damned thunderstorm.

It wasn’t that it was such a great place—it was far too expensive for as small as it was, frankly, and he was well aware of that. But rents had gone through the roof after Katrina, and he needed a place to live. He could afford the rent, of course, that wasn’t the problem with it. He just felt like he was being gouged every month when he wrote the check to his landlady, whom he called ‘that greedy bitch’ to his co-workers and friends so often that no explanation was necessary. But he hated the hassle of moving—of getting services turned off and on, of packing and unpacking—and he hated the search for a new place most of all. So, every month on the first he simply gritted his teeth, wrote the check, and gave it to that greedy bitch with a phony smile plastered on his face.


The first version of this story was actually written in the mid-1980's, when I was living in Fresno, and the main character was a woman. I submitted it to a horror magazine, which of course rejected it; but the editor gave me wonderful feedback and asked me to submit more work. I may have submitted a couple more pieces to him, got more feedback and more encouragement, but gave up. (I roll my eyes about this now; but I just thought he was being nice to me. Now, of course, the fact that I was getting encouragement and handwritten feedback from a magazine editor makes me slap myself silly--he wouldn't have done it to be nice; he saw something in me, and would have undoubtedly kept working with me; and what I should have done was revise the stories based on his notes. But what did I know then, right? Oy.)

I rewrote it the first time in the late nineties, shortly after we moved to New Orleans. (Regular Gregalicious readers will probably recognize that the house where Danny's new apartment is located happens to also be the house where Chanse MacLeod lives.)

I had no intention of revising and using this story for Night Shadows, I might add. Every so often I would remember the story and think, I should probably rewrite that and do something with it, but never did. But last fall I'd written a horror short story for an anthology--which not only didn't use it but didn't bother to tell me they weren't going to; I found out when I saw the publication notice and checked the table of contents--clearly, unprofessionalism also can be a problem in the horror genre. Anyway, I wanted to rewrite that story ("Blues in the Night") and use it. But much as I tried, I just couldn't get into the right mindset to work on that story; and so, regretfully, I had to put it aside and will go back to it sometime in the future--maybe.

Next up was one of my Alabama short stories; another one that editor had rejected called "Fireflies." But I couldn't find it anywhere; there was no electronic file to be found. I looked on CD back-ups, to no avail. I couldn't even find a print out of it anywhere, which was especially annoying. I started writing it again from memory, renaming it "Lightning Bugs in a Jar"--but again, didn't get very far with it before realizing I just wasn't feeling it. Another, original story also didn't pan out.

So, I opened the file for "Crazy in the Night," deciding to read it and see how much work it needed. I started correcting things, and the next thing I knew three hours had passed and I'd completely rewritten the entire thing.

Voila, I had my story.

Moral of the story: never throw anything away.

And damn it, I know I have a copy of "Fireflies" some-fucking-where...

So, this morning I finished putting all the finishing touches on Night Shadows, and emailed it in.

What a great collection of stories.

Here's the table of contents:

A Question of Genre by Greg Herren and J. M. Redmann
The Hollow Is Full of Beautiful Monsters by Lee Thomas
The Zealous Advocate by Carsen Taite
Room Nine by Felice Picano
The Price by J. M. Redmann
Matinee by Vince Liaguno
Capturing Jove Lunge by Steve Berman
A Letter to My Brother by Carol Rosenfeld
All the Pretty Boys by Michael Rowe
The Roommate by Lisa Girolami
Filth by ‘Nathan Burgoine
Saint Louis 1990 by Jewelle Gomez
Blackout by Jeffrey Ricker
Crazy in the Night by Greg Herren
Ordinary Mayhem by Victoria A. Brownworth

And now, back to Timothy.

Sigh, the last day of May, and it's June tomorrow. (Well, obviously, moron.)

The book's due tomorrow, but it's not going to be turned in until next week, alas.

Ah, well. I just got kind of overwhelmed here in the last few weeks, and I just couldn't get it done. But a furious morning of writing tomorrow, another day of writing on Saturday, and another furious day of writing on Sunday, and I might be able to get it in on Monday. Stranger things have happened, of course, but I seriously don't see how I could possibly get it finished tomorrow, even if I called in sick to work and stayed home.

It's been so long since I turned a novel in on time I don't remember what it feels like. On the other hand, I don't think I've ever turned a novel in on time, now that I think about it. Sigh.

I also didn't get a chance to write entries about my other favorite short stories, which also irritates me. Well, just because 'Nathan made May Short Story Month doesn't mean I'm tied to it. I can make June Short Story Month--the Sequel if I want to, can't I?

So, yes, I think I will do that. Especially since June is going to be the month I write a buttload of short stories.

Whew.

Last night we were really busy at work, and I wasn't able to leave on schedule, which delayed me getting home, blah blah blah. The point being, I needed to stop at Cadillac Rouse's last night to pick up a few things, and I was feeling especially crabby as I walked through the store.

"Wait a minute," I thought to myself when I saw two young woman and an older one looking at the expensive cheeses, "that girl looks just like Hermione Granger!"

Nah, can't be, must be a girl who looks like her, I thought to myself, smiling at the very thought of it. Yes, we are Hollywood South, and yes, you can run into famous actors and actresses on the street or in stores all the time--but why on earth would Emma Watson be in New Orleans, let alone in Cadillac Rouse's?

I ran into the three women again, though, and they were talking. I stopped, a six pack of diet Coke in my hands.

It was, indeed, Emma Watson!

And yes, I had a fanboy moment.

But I am also a firm believer that in situations such as this--the grocery store, for Christ's sake--that famous people shouldn't be bothered. They shouldn't be bothered when they're doing some random chore that we all do every single day, and their privacy should be respected.

So, rather than getting all Fanboy on her, I just looked over.

She looked at me at the exact same moment, and our eyes met.

I mouthed the words You are FABULOUS at her.

She smiled and winked back at me.

And we both went our merry ways.

And she's even more beautiful in real life than she is in the movies--and has amazing skin.

And dorky Fanboy that I am, I am still excited about this sighting the next day.

Sigh.

So, after my incredibly lazy do-nothing Saturday, I realized today that I've knocked out about 28000 words in the last four days or so--Friday morning before work, yesterday, and today. Hell, if I can manage that by taking a day off every once in a while, maybe I should take a day off more often, right?

The book is coming together nicely as well, I might add. I think I have a minimum of about 25,000 more to go, possibly more. And yes, I am thinking it just might be late. The most important thing about this book isn't so much the story and the characters (not that they aren't important), it's the mood and atmosphere that's really important. I think I am getting that right...at least, I hope I am, otherwise the book isn't going to work.

Sigh, I worry about this shit all the time, don't I?

And seriously, sometimes even I think I am a machine.

I might even do some more writing, once I finish the entry and put the laundry away.

Pretty damned cool, methinks.

As you were.

I was a bad Gregalicious yesterday.

I tried to write yesterday, really I did.

But I spend the morning cleaning the kitchen/office, and emptying my email inbox. By the time I was finished with all of that it was time to go to the gym and train with Kosta--arms and shoulders. After that it was off to the post office and the grocery store, so by the time I got home from that, I was exhausted. I tried, I swear. I opened the documents I was working on and stared at them, tried to do some writing--but finally decided I was too tired to be creative, and surrendered to the inevitable. I retired to my easy chair with a book for the writing award I am judging this year (seriously, I agreed to judge a book award YET AGAIN), and spent the rest of the day reading.

I did go to bed relatively early, and slept deeply and soundly, waking up promptly at seven this morning, and now I've already gotten the emails answered, the kitchen/office is already pretty clean, and so once I am done with this entry, I can go back to work on Timothy. I'm trying very hard not to be angry at myself for blowing off yesterday (or taking the day off); and a good writing day today and tomorrow could actually get me back on track.

We'll see how that goes, won't we?

But I am thinking it's going to be a good writing/editing day. I am going to the gym at noon to do (sigh) cardio (caveat--I only lost a pound last week and didn't do any; and I can see a difference already in me with the twelve pounds I've already lost; and if I can just lost another eleven and get down to 200...) and meet Jean, and then I can come home and write/edit some more.

But I do think a good strong push--if I can keep it up--will result in everything getting finished when it's supposed to...

And with that, back to the spice mines.

As always, I am behind and trying to catch up. The revision of Timothy is coming along nicely, if too slowly, and Night Shadows is also nearing completion. I might not make this coming Friday's deadlines for everything, but that last extra weekend might just do the trick.

Fingers crossed, people.

Heavy sigh.

For today's entry into Short Story Month, I gave myself the daunting task of picking out my favorite Stephen King short story--which was no easy feat; Mr. King is certainly a master of the short story (as he is of writing in general, frankly) and he has produced any number of magnificent short stories--from "Children of the Corn" to "Word Processor of the Gods" to "Night Shift" to "The Last Rung on the Ladder" to "Ur" to "Riding the Bullet"; the list goes on and on--and that doesn't even take into consideration the novellas: The Body, Apt Pupil, Hearts in Atlantis, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, The Langoliers, and Big Driver,--another list of great work that goes on and on.

But if forced to choose, I would have to say ( my favorite King short story )

Today's title is an insanely catchy dance-type song that has been stuck in my head for, oh, I don't know--about three fricking weeks now? Oy.

I am taking a break from my short story entries--not to worry, there are plenty more on deck--to shriek about how busy I am. I don't know, I honestly don't know, if I am going to get everything done.

I want to get everything due by June 1st done indeed because I don't want to spend June trying to get caught up on all the stuff due by June 1; I want to spend June getting caught up on the things I keep letting slide because there's so much else for me to do. AUGH.

Right now, for example, I should be working on Timothy. In fact, I should have been working on it all morning. But other shit keeps interfering, and I am really getting sick to death of it. I'm really not sure what part of "I have a full time job, I have an anthology AND a novel to finish and a novel to edit by June 1" doesn't compute with other people.

Sigh.

I also love how I have been lectured over the years by people for 'not being a good friend' or 'being selfish' because if I am on deadline I won't drop everything to hold someone's hand or talk them through some inanely childish self-induced drama.

Because of course that's more important than getting my book in on time--although people never seem to think others SHOULD LEAVE WORK in the same situation.

Whatever.

Back to the spice mines.

I have to be at a panel at 10:30 this morning--yikes!

I did get work done on the book yesterday. Yay!

So, in keeping with Short Story Month (proclaimed by n8an), I decided to spend the rest of the month talking about my favorite short stories. I will undoubtedly forget some--as is my wont; I do this while drinking coffee and waking up in the morning, sue me--but today's choice is, I believe, a most excellent one, and a story I never tire of rereading.

Daphne du Maurier is primarily remembered today because she wrote the definitive Gothic romantic suspense novel of the twentieth century, which still holds up all these years after its initial publication: Rebecca, which is one of my favorite books of all time. I always have a copy of Rebecca in my house; I don't know how many copies I've gone through over the years.

Du Maurier was an amazing writer, although her novels weren't always that great, frankly. But she was always critically acclaimed, and her books were always bestsellers. She was also an extraordinary short story writer--her stories were always longer that the traditional short story--but her writing style was remarkable. I am always amazed, when rereading my favorite short stories of hers, what she was able to do in the short form; I tried to mimic that style with my story "An Arrow for Sebastian." Some of my other favorite short stories written by DuMaurier include "The Blue Lenses," "Kiss Me Again, Stranger," and "The Birds."

But my absolute favorite is( Don't Look Now )

I am ensconced in the Lost Apartment this weekend all by myself--at least for today. Paul and Amie are down at Saints and Sinners 9.5; and are staying at the Monteleone Hotel. So, I am here by myself--well, there's an incredibly needy kitty in the house with me--and the house is already clean; we did a very thorough cleaning before Amie arrived Thursday--so I really have absolutely NO excuse for not getting a lot done today, do I?

I do have to run some errands around noonish; and if I can get a lot done today I might even go to the gym and do some cardio later this evening. I have some reading to get done as well, and editing--always there's editing to do. Heavy sigh.

But what am I going to do for breaks? The house is already clean. Oh, yes--the windows.

So, keep your fingers crossed, Constant Reader--I am hopeful I can get so much done today it's scary. :)

Last night, when I got home from the S&S Anthology Book Launch party, I sat in my chair with a purring kitty in my lap and re-read a short story that I absolutely love; and decided it might not be a bad idea to occasionally discuss short stories that I love.

And this one is one of my absolute all time favorites.

( short story )