Meg Perry's Blog, page 19

Weird Research

Every once in a while, I like to take stock of all the weird stuff I research for upcoming books. It’s amazing. Since the Jamie Brodie mysteries are reality-based, I want to be accurate for as many of the incidentals as possible (without getting sued). Here’s a list of stuff I’ve looked up recently, all for upcoming books:

The chemical structures of heroin, cocaine, and Ritalin

Cocaine in 3D. By User:Benjah-bmm27 (Self-made with Accelrys DS Visualizer 1.5.) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

If you were going to hide a body in Pacific Palisades, CA, where would you hide it?
What percentage of Cahuilla blood you have to have to become a member of the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians (1/8, in case you’re interested)
How composting toilets work
UCLA’s academic calendar for 2017-18
Available conference space at UCLA
What other attractions are near the La Brea Tar Pits
How many copies the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy sold
What sorts of summer camps Cal Tech offers
How eminent domain works
What sports teams Santa Monica College has for men
The bylaws for the Board of Trustees of Santa Monica College

Interesting, right? I don’t end up using everything I research – but I think I’m going to use everything on this list. How? Stay tuned.

Avenged to Death now on Smashwords

Avenged to Death, Jamie Brodie Mystery #10, is now available through Smashwords! Here’s the link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/639050

It should soon be available from all of the outlets that Smashwords distributes to.

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A five-part series wherein I examine the pitfalls—both real and imagined—and difficulties—both encountered or merely anticipated—to being a gay author in the 21st Century, and attempt to discuss how said pitfalls and difficulties can be used to our advantage, thereby employing the old adage “Making lemons into lemonade.” (And, in advance of the inevitable inquiry, allow me to retreat into the naivete allowed one of my advanced years and answer simply: “What’s a Beyonce?”)

Part 4:
Devouring Sebastian Venable

or

Me and Tennessee Williams

“Is that what you think? That Skipper and me did sodomy?”

— Brick, in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

I am not a huge fan of Tennessee Williams. He, himself, described his work as dark and violent and professed hope psychiatry might help him to “write with serenity”. Either therapy disappointed him, or he tried it after writing Sweet Bird of Youth. Ugh. I do, however, like Cat on A Hot Tin Roof. Unfortunately, I didn’t find it until very late in my “association” with Williams. No, we met far too early…

I must have been older than twelve when it happened because I knew that the lady playing Elizabeth Taylor’s mother was the same one who had provided the demonic voice in the Exorcist. So I was old enough to have seen the Exorcist (junior high?) but young enough to have no idea the guy playing the handsome doctor (Montgomery Clift) was gay. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t all that familiar with the term gay. I had experimented with another boy. I know that happened no later than the beginning of junior high, because I remember him shunning me at school (he was a jock and I was a brain, so it wasn’t necessarily the fooling around that led to the shunning, but I’m sure it didn’t help).

I was already writing novels. Mostly trying to work out a sequel to Logan’s Run, because, well, it needed one. Which puts this sometime before William F. Nolan beat me to it. And it had to be summer because, even then, I did my best work after the rest of the household had retired for the evening. And it was on the late late show. This was in the days when we got three nationally broadcast stations moderately well, and maybe two locals up in the UHF, the quality of at least one of which depended on the weather. Probably it was on one of the locals as our broadcast affiliates signed off earlier (Remember that? When you could turn on the tv and there was literally nothing on?).

There I was diligently filling page after page of my spiral notebook, some old movie playing in the background, when I gradually came to realize that something strange and unique was happening in the film. That film was Suddenly Last Summer.

In case you haven’t seen it, the movie concerns the attempts of an old woman to have her niece lobotomized. Appears something went wrong on vacation, something involving the old woman’s son’s untimely death, and she doesn’t want her niece, who was along on the vacation, spilling the beans.

I know where you think this story’s going. You think there I was, the little future gay boy, slowly deciphering the clues that the deceased son was gay! Boy, you really haven’t seen the movie. I think I was in my twenties before it ever occurred to be Sebastian Venable was queer. And probably, even at that point, it took someone telling me flat out. (Actually, I kid. I may have sussed out the truth about SV that night in my tweens, it just wasn’t the strange and unique thing drawing my attention.)

That would be Katherine Hepburn. I’m sure I’d seen her before. We were a visual media family. Movies and tv shows played constantly when we were home (no sitting around taking turns reading for us, no family concertos; we talked, but mostly during the commercial breaks). But there was something about KH and that role, Violet Venable, which really struck a chord.

If you HAVE seen the movie, you probably remember the scene where she describes the time Sebastian saw God in the Galapagos. In case you haven’t:

Side note: where can I get a winged skeleton statue for my conservatory?

Hepburn was nominated for an academy award for her performance in Suddenly Last Summer (as was Taylor—neither won). Watching the flick today there’s no denying the histrionics of both the words and her reading of them. But I will argue that she somehow manages to refrain from quite going OVER the top—she just gets there, sinks in her teeth and hangs on for dear life. And keep in mind, my story is about watching that scene as a 12-ish future gay boy, feverishly scribbling away at a derivative sequel to someone else’s intellectual property…In the middle of the night.

I credit Hepburn and SLS for finally retiring my attempts to continue the adventures of Logan and Jessica. I think it actually even put me off novels for a while and made me decide playwriting was where it’s at. (OK, why is it playwriting but also playwright?) I do know that during high school I composed several plays that climaxed in overwrought confessionals voiced by either staggering spinsters or future gay boys ready to break out. (Half way through high school I accidentally picked up On Wings of Song by Thomas Disch and feel back in love with novels.)

And Hepburn and SLS (and Tennessee Williams—even though I often struggle to appreciate him—credit where credit’s due) taught me the power of dialogue. Not how to make it sound natural; I really don’t think that was Williams’ gift. But how to make it sound completely unnatural and still work. How often will people you know in real life pontificate on the cruelty of nature and seeing the face of God? How many times will you find yourself embroiled in such potent family drama as getting your niece lobotomized to cover up the fact your queer son was eaten by street urchins? Hopefully never. (I should mention that Williams’ sister was lobotomized. So, y’know, wow.)

That Williams had universal appeal is inarguable—both in the scope and longevity of his fame. So why do I struggle with him? Well, in a nutshell, he reads to me as so much self-flagellation. I know, I know, it was a different time—a time when the homosexual in America was under attack in ways he or she never truly had been before. In The Other Side of Silence, John Loughery describes the years between World War Two and Stonewall as especially dangerous for homosexuals. He doesn’t specifically tag Stonewall as the point of change, and I have only done so for expediency (I figure most people reading this will have some idea of when and where and what “Stonewall” was). The book recounts some rather horrifying anecdotes, not just of witchhunts, but of a subset of people rendered nearly powerless to resist. But gay literature did exist that pushed back against the stereotypes and preconceptions of the time—some James Baldwin for instance (1962’s Another Country rather than 1956’s Giovanni’s Room, even though the latter seems to have the sustained affection). Williams, on the other hand, always struck me as someone who sacrificed self-image (his own and that of his peers) to make a buck. (There’s a link on my website where you can send your hate mail.)

Sebastian Venable is the prototype for the fifties’ gay predator. And he doesn’t just die. He’s cannibalized. And, at the end of Sweet Bird of Youth, Chance (who, admittedly isn’t identified as a homosexual, but does trade on his sexuality) isn’t just killed, he’s castrated and thrown on a pile of garbage (I may be conflating the play and the movie here, which end slightly differently). Cat on a Hot Tin Roof doesn’t kill Brick, but Skipper’s already paid in full before the play starts. As has Blanche’s husband in Streetcar. Am I misreading his underlying theme.

Amazingly I’ve read most of Williams’ work. I blame Christopher Bram, who’s book, Eminent Outlaws is a favorite of mine. I’ve also read most of Gore Vidal’s novels, and a healthy sampling of Truman Capote. I’m still working on my Baldwin, but, after The Sound and the Fury, gave up on Faulkner. I think Williams outshines them all in name recognition and the widespread continued appreciation (and performance) of his work.

I wish I appreciated him more, if for no other reason than the way he got me to consider dialogue. It’s just not in my nature, I guess.

And Nature is cruel. Sebastian knew it all along.

Jon Wilson is the author of Cheap as Beasts, a current finalist for the Lambda Literary Award Best Gay Mystery of 2015. He’s also written a follow-up volume, Every Unworthy Thing, as well as two westerns. He lives and works in Northern California, where he looks and sees the sand all alive, all alive. As the new-hatched sea turtles make their dash to the sea, while the birds hover and swoop to attack. And hover and swoop to attack.

The Pink Lemonade Blog Tour continues tomorrow at Jon Michaelson’s Murder Blog, and, if you missed any previous entries, you can find them HERE (Part 1), HERE (Part 2), and HERE (Part 3).

I’m giving away a signed copy of both the Declan Colette books at the end of this blog tour. Just leave a semi-cogent comment (which, I suppose, means I’ll have to allow “YOU SUCK!”) to any of the five parts in the Pink Lemonade Blog Tour to enter (if you leave multiple comments or comment each day, you get entered for each comment)!

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Guest Post Tomorrow: Jon Wilson

You all are in for a treat tomorrow. Jon Wilson, author of gay mysteries Cheap as Beasts and Every Unworthy Thing, is going to be here as part of his blog tour. I’m thrilled to be included!

Cheap as Beasts is nominated this year for a Lambda Literary Award in the Gay Mystery category. I’ve read the book, and the honor is WELL deserved. It’s the first of a series (Every Unworthy Thing is #2) featuring gay private investigator Declan Colette. The action takes place just after World War II in San Francisco, and the book is the very definition of noir. If you like that sort of thing, I HIGHLY recommend the book.

Check back tomorrow to hear from Jon himself.

I’m being interviewed!

Today there’s an interview with me, by Matthew Moore, on author Jon Michaelsen’s blog. You can read the interview here. http://www.jonmichaelsen.net/?p=2631

Jamie Brodie Mystery #12

Take a look, and learn more about how Jamie came to be!

It’s release day for Filmed to Death!

Filmed to Death is finally here! *huge sigh of relief*

Filmed to Death now available for preorder!

Filmed to Death, Jamie Brodie Mystery #12, is now available for preorder on Kindle. Here’s the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01EGYZP3C?ref_=pe_2427780_160035660

The publishing date is April 29. The print version of the book should be available then, too.

Rafe Conroy, has-been actor, is filming the first episode of the TV show intended to be his big comeback. But Rafe’s comeback is cut short when he’s found dead in his swimming pool. It was murder, all right, but there are nearly too many suspects to count. Was it the network owner, a wealthy heiress who was sleeping with Rafe? Was it the jealous girlfriend? Was it the cast member who hated Rafe? Was it the scriptwriter who saw his masterpiece edited into schlock? Was it Rafe’s drug dealer? Or was it the drug dealer’s ex-wife – Abby Glenn, Kevin Brodie’s ex-girlfriend – who just happened to discover the body?

Because of Abby’s involvement, Kevin can’t work the case. It’s up to Jon Eckhoff and Jamie Brodie to figure out who would benefit most from Rafe’s death – before the killer strikes again.

Talked to Death now on Smashwords!

For you non-Kindle fans, Talked to Death is now available at Smashwords!  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/621279

Jamie Brodie Mystery #9

Librarians gone wild! It’s a typical state library association conference – presentations, networking, receptions, drinking, strangers appearing in Pete and Jamie’s room in the middle of the night… What’s atypical is murder. A lot of people hated library director Hugo Creighton, most of them librarians. Can Jamie help the police solve Creighton’s murder before the conference ends and the suspects go home?

Cover reveal: Filmed to Death!

Ta da!! The book won’t be released until late April/early May, but you can get a sneak peek at the cover now:

Jamie Brodie Mystery #12

Staff Sgt. Ammo, part 3

Tuesday, December 22

On Tuesday we were at breakfast when Andy’s phone rang. He checked the screen and said, “Uh oh.” We listened as he answered. “Jesse? God, you sound terrible. No, no. Stay home. The girls can come help out. We’ll need you more on the 26th. Right. See you then.”

Chris said, “Jesse’s sick?”

“Yeah.” Andy said to Pete and me, “Jesse’s my main stock guy. We’ve got to keep the shelves full. Business is great but the merchandise has to be available for the customers to see.”

Stephanie said, “Sam and I will help.”

“Good. Some of those boxes are heavy, though.”

I said, “I’ll help. You’ll have to show me what to do, but I’ll get to spend the day with Steph and Sam.”

Andy’s expression lightened. “That would be great. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It’ll be fun.”

Andy laughed. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still say that at the end of the day.”

 

Andy’s store billed itself as a feed and seed emporium, but in reality they had almost anything one could need for farm, ranch, country or suburban living. The only thing they didn’t sell was farm machinery.

We parked behind the store. Andy unlocked a padlock on a garage door and raised it. He and Stephanie went inside, turning on lights. I said to Sam, “You and Steph have done this before.”

“Lots of times. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.”

We had an hour and a half before the store opened. Steph showed me how to use the inventory scanner and explained the organization of the huge storeroom. We did a quick survey of the shelves, restocked a few, then disappeared into the back while Andy and his brother opened the store.

Customers trickled in at first, but by 11:00 the place was hopping. By noon I was thanking God that I’d never considered a retail career. Steph and Sam were smooth saleswomen, helping customers while also keeping an eye on the shelves. When they needed something, they’d scan the barcode on the shelf and send it to me; I’d find the right area of the storeroom and bring them whatever it was they needed.

It was hard, dusty work, and by the time we stopped for a quick bite of lunch at 1:30 I’d used my inhaler twice. Steph had caught me the second time, on our way into the break room, and she frowned. “Is the warehouse bothering your asthma?”

“A little bit. It’s fine.”

Sam said, “Steph’s applying to nursing school. She’s already playing the part.”

I reached into the fridge for a Coke and one of the sandwiches that Christine had sent for our lunch. “Nursing school at the University of Arizona?”

“Yeah. I have to take a couple more prerequisites, but I’m getting my math and English out of the way while I’m in high school. This spring I’m taking statistics, and I’ll test out of Spanish. So when I start at the university next fall I’ll have almost all science classes.”

I said, “I can’t believe this has never come up – I assume both of you are fluent in Spanish?”

Sam said, “Yeah. Mom and Dad wanted us to grow up bilingual. So Dad and his family would only speak Spanish to us, and Mom and Aunt Ruth would only speak English. It worked.”

“That’s good. I wish my Spanish was better.”

Sam grinned. “When I come to UCLA, you and I can practice.”

“What are you thinking of majoring in?”

“Geophysics. I want to study earthquakes.”

I looked at her in surprise. “No kidding. How’d you get interested in that?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been fascinated by them.”

“Well, you’re certainly coming to the right place.”

We finished eating and Steph checked her watch. “We’ve got a couple of minutes. Come on, Uncle Jamie, I want to show you the pet section.”

The girls walked me to the front corner of the store, which was a pet owner’s delight – everything from leashes to beds to books to food, plus calendars with different dog breeds, kittens, and even parrots. I said, “Wow.”

Sam laughed. Steph said, “Why don’t you take your time? Look around a little bit. See if there’s anything you like.”

I said, “Stephanie Fernandez, you are a very bad influence on me.”

She snickered. “Just trying to help Uncle Pete out.”

“Uh huh.” I grinned. “Don’t we need to be stocking shelves?”

“We can handle it for a few minutes.” She waved her hand at the shelves. “Browse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I turned to the array of dog treats in front of me. How could you possibly figure out which was the best? I supposed I’d be asking Jeff questions of that sort. If we decided to take Ammo home.

But seriously – what was my hesitation? The biggest con on my pro-con list was having a very large dog in a fairly small space. But we didn’t have a lot of furniture; we had the floor space for dog beds upstairs and down. Our neighborhood was perfect for dog walking, with sidewalks everywhere. The airport dog park was not far.

I’d checked with Ali and Mel, who couldn’t wait to meet Ammo and had already promised to keep him any time we liked and to let him swim in their pool. Mel said that she certainly would take him to work with her. Kristen had also agreed that she and Kevin could take him to her house on the weekends when we were out of town; they usually spent the weekends there anyway, rather than in the condo, and it would give Kevin some dog time that he wouldn’t get otherwise.

When I’d talked to Dad last night, he’d said that so far Ammo had stuck to his toys in terms of chewing. He hadn’t even pulled a single bath towel off a rack, something that Ralphie was renowned for.

I wandered through the shelves of supplies and stopped at the display of collars and leashes. They had camo patterns, of course; the desert camo would go well with Ammo’s fur.

A voice behind me said, “See something you like?”

I jumped, startled, and turned to see Andy’s brother, who had a knowing smile on his face. I chuckled. “What size collar do I need for an 87-pound Lab?”

He took the second-largest sized collar off the rack and handed it to me. “There you go. It’s adjustable. And this…” He took one of the leashes off its hanger. “This is the right sized leash for that collar. You like the desert camo?”

“Yeah. It matches the dog.”

He laughed. “I’ll ring you up, if you’re ready.”

I stood for a minute, looking at the collar and leash in my hands, and smiled. “I’m ready. Do you have gift wrap, by any chance?”

 

Friday, December 25

We left Tucson after breakfast on Christmas morning – Pete’s surprise gift secreted in my luggage – and got to Dad’s by dinnertime. When we came to the door Ammo woofed, but when he saw us he got excited. Dad had told him to sit and he remained seated, but he was wiggling all over, his tail a blur. When we were safely inside I called Ammo to me, and he galumphed over and leaned against my legs. Pete knelt down to scratch his ears and he licked Pete’s hand.

Ali and Mel were visiting Ali’s family for the holidays, and they came over for dinner and to meet Ammo. In a matter of minutes, Ali was on the floor playing with him. Mel said to me, “If you guys decide not to take him, maybe we’ll consider it.”

The sorrowful look on Pete’s face at Mel’s suggestion reinforced to me that I’d made the right decision.

 

Dad had brought home leftovers from Christmas dinner at Val’s, and we had turkey and dressing sandwiches for supper. As we sat down Ali said, “Where’s Barb?”

Dad’s face was perfectly neutral. “She went home after dinner at Jeff’s. She’s had her fill of dogs.”

Mel was appalled. “She doesn’t like dogs?”

Ali said, “I don’t trust people who aren’t dog people. No offense, sir.”

Dad gave her a half-grin. “None taken. Neither do I.”

Ammo stayed on his bed while we ate, although he was watching us with drooling desire. I asked, “Has he ever tried to beg at the table?”

Dad said, “Nope. He’s been trained not to.”

“Have you taken him to Jeff’s to play?”

“Yes. He and Ralphie romp together without conflict, although when they tire out they retreat to their corners. I’ve taken him to the dog park, too. He’ll play fetch for hours.”

Pete said, “How many toys do you have for him?”

“A few – a knobby ball, a can of tennis balls, the rope bone you gave him, and a thing that you can put kibble in and it spills out as he rolls it. That’s a good way to entertain him while he’s alone at home.”

 

After dinner Ali and Mel went back to the Fortners’ house, and Pete, Dad and I gathered in the living room to open gifts. Dad had our presents from Jeff and his crew as well. I’d alerted Jeff to my decision, and knew that Dad had a small package for Pete, from Jeff, that he was holding until last.

As usual we both received a towering stack of books. We had new hiking socks from Colin and Gabe, and a colorful assortment of bandanas from Ali and Mel – a joke that went back to our wedding, when Ali loaned us bandanas to fulfill our “something borrowed” requirement.

When we’d unwrapped all the gifts in his sight, Pete looked around at the piles of paper and presents. “We are so fortunate.”

Dad said, “Yes. We are. Never forget that.”

We observed a spontaneous, unofficial moment of silence. Then I said, “We’re about to get more fortunate.” I handed him the box containing the leash and collar.

He gave me a suspicious look as he tore open the paper. “What’s this?”

“You’ll see.”

He opened the box, took out the collar and leash, and held them in his hands for a minute, staring at them. I said, “It’s unanimous.”

“Oh my God! Thank you!” He lunged at me and we ended up on the floor in a pile, laughing. I untangled myself and sat up. “Ammo, come.”

Ammo trotted over, thrilled to be included in whatever fun the humans were having. I took off the collar he was wearing and adjusted the new camo collar around his neck. “There you go, buddy. Do you like it?”

Ammo shook all over then sniffed the leash. I said, “That’s yours too.”

He looked at me as if to say, “So why aren’t we using it?”

I laughed. “In a minute, buddy. Daddy Pete has another present to open.”

Pete had sat up and brushed himself off. “Another one?”

Dad produced the gift that he’d hidden under the sofa. “This one’s from Jeff.”

Pete opened it – to find a six-month supply of heartworm medicine, and a dog toothbrush and liver-flavored toothpaste. He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll brush his teeth.”

I got to my feet. “Come on. Let’s try out this new leash.”

We let Ammo out into the back yard to do his business then hooked his new leash and walked north on Tremont, looking at the Christmas lights. I said, “We should leave a bed and dishes here for him.”

Pete said, “We’ll need beds and bowls for Ali’s and Kristen’s too, if we’re not going to be transferring all that stuff around every time we go someplace.”

“It’s like having a kid, except everything won’t fit in a diaper bag.” I stopped and laid my hand on Pete’s arm. “You know that’s the biggest change. Everything we do now, everyplace we go, we have to consider Ammo.”

Ammo’s tail thumped against my leg at the sound of his name. Pete said, “I know. I finally get to use my paternal instincts.”

I didn’t let go of his arm. “And here’s the worst thing. In ten or twelve years, he’ll absolutely break our hearts.”

Pete nodded and scratched Ammo’s ears. “I’m not going to think about that yet.”

 

Saturday, December 26

The next morning Pete and I took Ammo to the back yard to do his business, then for a jog in the neighborhood. He trotted along at our heels, perfectly behaved, not stopping every few feet to sniff or lunging ahead to greet people or dogs. A very non-Lab-like Lab. The more time we spent with him, the more I appreciated his military training.

When we got back to the house Barb was there. She greeted us happily but didn’t look thrilled to see Ammo – and vice versa. Ammo ignored her. He ambled right past her, retrieved his rope bone from his bed, and settled down for a chew.

Barb said, “You’re taking him home with you, right?”

I said, “Right. He’ll be back to visit.”

She didn’t look pleased at that either. Pete said, “We didn’t know that you dislike dogs.”

Barb seemed to know that she was in trouble on this topic. “Oh, it’s not so much that I dislike them. I’m not comfortable around them. They’re so – dirty.”

Like litterboxes weren’t? I said, “No one ever got cat scratch fever from a dog.”

She frowned. “I suppose that’s true.”

Public domain photo

We took Ammo shopping to buy new beds, bowls and toys. He lingered by the rawhides, but we managed to tug him away from those and toward the nylon bones. We got a spare collar, leash and car harness, and the largest bag of his brand of food that they had. We wandered the aisles, making sure we hadn’t missed anything. Everyone we saw stopped us. “Oh, what a beautiful dog.”

Pete, already the proud parent, said, “Thank you,” over and over.

 

Monday, December 28

We drove home on Monday, Ammo securely strapped into the back seat. He was good in the car, sitting up in the center of the back seat, watching the scenery. When we got home we took him for a leisurely walk so that he could explore the immediate neighborhood, then introduced him to the house.

He was fascinated by the stairs and spent several minutes trotting up and down them. We set up his primary food and water bowls on a waterproof mat in the kitchen and installed a second water bowl in the master bathroom. We put his main bed in our room and another in the living room, since we didn’t want him on the sofa. As soon as we placed the living room bed, he flopped onto it with his rope bone and gnawed himself to sleep.

We had a dog.