Alright what the hell I’m writing stuff again

A poem of mine was just published in Paintbucket, who’ve swiftly became my favorite aggressive lefty poetry zine after I stumbled upon them a couple months back. The title is a reference to one of my favorite places in New Orleans. Ms Mae’s is a 24-hour dive bar across the street from both a church and a library, and has a reputation for being the cheapest bar in the city. It actually sold $1 well drinks until 2014 or so.

Trying to write about New Orleans has been a minor fear of mine for a while. There’s a blog called Fleur de Leaving which collects the overwrought goodbye letters entitled transplants write after the city didn’t roll out a red carpet for their derivative business ideas. They get printed every now and then in papers or local culture rags, always framing their personal failings as the city’s fault.

The city has its faults, but most of them are things that people in positions of power (landlords, technocrat grifters, lapdog politicians) inflict on the average resident. Not surprising to anybody with an ounce of class analysis under their belt, but eh, we aren’t going to get a lot of training in that with a completely privatized school system! Hopefully the piece reads like the frustration and despondency of living under exploitative systems, rather than the petulant carpetbagger who couldn’t manage to weasel their way into them.

Also hopefully I’ll be using this blog again now that I have a few things in the pipeline.

Nocturnal Admissions: Swine & Roses

Entry number five or six in my series of shorts about a third-shift psychologist. Special guest-reference to the work of Andy Reynolds, fellow New Orleans SF writer — check his stuff out here.

 

Nocturnal Admissions: Swine & Roses

Ever since I helped that smooth guy from Cafe Envie get over his affair with a sexually-frustrated ghost, my practice has begun taking on the occasional supernatural client. A number of them, unsurprisingly, have trouble integrating into modern society.

Andy is probably the one who gave Circe got my number. Dream girl? I can’t date clients. Pixie? It was more of a Chelsea cut. But manic? That’s exactly what her appointment that night was about!

“So,” she began, “after some bro-y sailor spread gossip about me being a battleaxe just because I wouldn’t line his crew up and blow ’em all in a row like a trained seal, I had to skip town for a couple thousand years. New Orleans seemed like a fun place with the vampires and all.”

“That’s just for tourism,” I said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

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A Review, A Con, and Theatre Stories

Random updates to publishing ventures this weekend!

My short story “Steam & Hot Air” was praised in a writeup of Gallery of Curiosities on the blog Steampunk Way of Life. Thanks, folks!

I went to Bouchercon here in NOLA this weekend, got some signed Ken Wishnia books, had to snark on a guy for expressing surprise that we’re not a blight-addled swampscape a decade after Katrina, and got handed an entire pint bottle of whiskey by what I sure hope was someone officially employed on the con’s behalf. Hm.

This Sunday also marked the publication of two books I’ve contributed to! Longing is Esoterotica’s third anthology which includes a style parody of a favorite author of mine and a (rare!) actual confessional essay. Beyond Desire is a reissue of their first anthology which removes some material from performers who’ve parted ways and includes the scripts to our two Fringe shows. Our collective stories about the production of these shows could probably run longer than the scripts themselves, but I’ll share two of my favorites.

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