Hotel zen...

I'm in a hotel near Pearson Airport, in Toronto, to get my flight at 11:40am, tomorrow. Because I did not want to   have to deal with getting up at 5am to make it here in time, from Buffalo. I'm too fucking lazy and way too much of a night person to handle that. Hell, I hate getting up at 7:30 to get over there on the shuttle.

Trip up was easy. Got dropped off at the Hilton in Niagara Falls, Canada, and it took just over an hour for the Niagara Air Bus to make it up.  Pearson's your usual confusing airport where nothing makes sense, so you just roll with it.

I was smart enough to bring a package of Nissin Chow Mein with me, because this hotel doesn't have a snack shop. Just vending with chips and sodas and candy.

So I've been able to go through part of Dair's Window, in the hotel, and broke Chapter Eight in half, so now have a Chapter Nine to work on...which will need a lot of work. As will Eight. I tell too much instead of show, and don't have it develop organically. But the end of Nine has Adam en route to Vancouver, since eastern Canada holds nothing for him, anymore.

Going into blackout, after this, till the 9th. But I have DW on a memory stick so can still work on it.

Tomorrow begins my travels, again...

I'm heading up to Toronto tomorrow because my flight to Hong Kong is in the morning, on the 1st, and I don't want to deal with driving a hundred miles, parking, checking in and making it through security before getting on a plane. This trip is already tense enough for me.

I'm not crazy about changing planes in Seoul, except maybe I'll have time for a shower to freshen up. And I'm getting into HKG just after 11pm, so will need to get through customs, get my Octopus card and make the last train by 1am...or take a taxi. Which I'm leaning towards just to make it easier.

It's been 6 years since I've done this fair, so I'm wobbly on everything. But hopefully it will be all right.

My plan is to go back through everything I've updated on Dair's Window while on the flight to Seoul, since it's really a daytime flight for me, and we'll be landing about the time I normally get ready for bed. In business class I get a power connection and more space, so that will be nice. And I hope to be able to nap on the flight between Seoul and Hong Kong.

Being paranoid, I saved everything on my laptop to an external hard drive and will dump a lot of it before departing. I've also eaten all the food that can go bad while I'm away. Got my mail on hold. And everything I've done on DW is on its own little thumb drive.

So all I need to do now is wait to find out where I fucked up...since I usually do, somewhere.

But being away from the fucking insanity of the current administration's actions will be like a vacation.

As a writer, you should read...

...But I'm finding I cannot read other modern writers' works. Their grammar or sentence structure or phrasing or concepts bother me. No idea why. I can read classics well-enough. Usually. I'm not crazy about Oscar Wilde's pomposity in The Picture of Dorian Gray, but no problem with Agatha Christie, Dumas or Tolstoy...though I did feel Dickens liked to pad his novels with extra words.

Also, if the style is simple enough, I can handle it. I like Adrian McKinty's mysteries, and my favorite modern writer is Jay McInerney, especially his short stories. Even Bright Lights, Big City's second person formatting didn't bother me.

But I did a bit of shopping today and went by Talking Leaves Book Shop in the Elmwood Village part of Buffalo, and they had a copy of A Little Life, so I read a bit of it. And I knew I could never read it through. Mainly because of one paragraph. Something like this...

"It's been years since I was kissed," he said. "I don't know what it means, anymore," he said.

In one paragraph, both spoken by the same person, jammed together like that. And my thought is, That second he said is either a typo or poor grammar because it's brutally redundant.

It was the latter. I saw it happen, again, and the narrative went from third person omniscient to first person. I don't really have a problem with that, but to have it happen within one paragraph was disconcerting.

I should add, the only novel of Faulker's I like is The Sound and the Fury, because it's one story told from four different perspectives, including that of a boy who, if I remember right, had Down's Syndrome. And I love the clean, crisp, almost minimal prose of Hemingway while Isaac Asimov's writing style is basic but acceptable, in the Foundation series.

But as I mentioned in a much earlier post, Trust drove me insane with its omniscient third-person telling me everything that's happening instead of showing me.

So I sort of fell into a funk, wondering how best to deal with DW, which was added to when I heard my youngest brother in San Antonio had a severe health emergency and is back to being dependent on people to keep him going. Even though he doesn't want to admit it.

It just reminded me of how I'm getting older and squirrelier...and really resent that.

Thanksgiving is done...

...and so am I. And that's without dealing with anyone, in person. I made a dinner of baked yam and ham, buttered corn, green salad (since all I had was lettuce) cornbread, and cranberry sauce from a can. Shot my blood sugar through the roof so I spent half the day drinking water and remaining calm.

One good thing about this trip to Hong Kong is, China don't like it when you do political things online. So I'll be doing a blackout from December 1 to December 9. My first reaction is basically to go fuck it, but I've made a commitment and can't let that be interfered with.

Of course, they might not even let me into the country. That's a concern that's been raised by some in the office, considering my FB page, Xitter account, and Instagram...not to mention the liberals and progressives I support in various emails. That would be funny; get all the way there and have to come right back. Maybe I should have a contingency plan, just in case.

It's Friday, about noon in Hong Kong. I have contacts there. If I am refused entry, maybe I could work it out to where I can hand my paperwork off to them. Not a great way to deal with it, but it's the best I can come up with.

I'm also updating my info, everywhere. Cheat sheet for my passcodes. Print out everything I can for the move-in and move-out. And at the same time dealing with serious concerns about Adam's early life in sex work being in DW...

At least, I was until I heard about a book called A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. One of its characters has a lot of horrible things happen to him, including sexual assault as a child and forced prostitution...so I cheated and read the outline in Wikipedia. Even that was rough, but nothing at all like DW.

What's even better? It was up for a Booker Award and won a Kirkus, and it's put out by Doubleday Publishing, one of the biggies.

I think this was Adam's way of letting me know I'm being too much of a worry-wart.

Dair's Window cover?

Emily Jackson, of Elite Minds, came up with this amazing image to use for Dair's Window...and I don't know how she did it but she got the essence of the story without having read any of it. Just one more reason to deal with professionals. I may ask her to design the book cover, once it's done.

If it ever does get done. I saved the opening chapter to a PDF to send to Emily, to help with future promotion...and I noticed I hadn't attributed the poem that Adam uses near the end of it, to its author. Nor did I have the title. So I went looking for it.

I was pretty sure it was written by Ranier Maria Rilke, but apparently not. It's thought of as being similar in style but not actually his. And now I'm worried I can't use it. His work is mostly in public domain, including translations from the French and German, because he wrote mainly around the beginning of the 20th Century.

But if this is a reimagining of his work in French, or an homage, that could still be under copyright and I'd need permission to use it. When I now have no idea who actually wrote it. Does anyone else?

Aucun ange 

Celui 

Qui s'est faufilé dans mon monde 

Au-delà de la peur de ceux 

Qui ne se soucient de rien. 

Aucune créature 

Celui 

Qui a l'habitude de se régaler 

D'un 

Sans armure 

Au-delà de sa connaissance 

C'est sa seule vérité. 

L'accepter 

C'est mentir à mon passé 

Sans besoin de correction 

Pour moi 

Le connaître 

C'est rejeter tout ce que j'ai 

De moi-même 

Afin de pouvoir reconstruire 

Un monde dont 

Je pourrais être plus qu'une partie. 

La terreur de tout ça 

Est exquise. 

Ma peur 

Me pousse 

À accepter 

La beauté qu'il offre. 

Pour que je puisse me reposer... 

Enfin... 

Enfin... 

Me reposer...

It's just, I really like the poem and feel it fits Adam's story, perfectly. I could offer a poor English translation, if you think that would help figure out the author...

Two steps forward, three steps back...

I'm all set to start in on reworking Chapter Seven of DW when the beginning of Chapter Four starts bugging me. It's too easy and nice and calm...so I go back in and give Adam a reason to initiate his wariness about his current situation.

He's used to the visitors being gentle with him. Some don't even want sex, just a moment of companionship with an attractive youth.

This one isn't like that. He's very nearly brutalized by a man who calls him Robert. Indicating the guy is using Adam as a stand-in for someone else...and the decent Christian man is more concerned about Adam's torn shirt than anything.

Then as he's taking hits off a bong in his room, Rory tells him men come to them so they can do things they can't do at home or in the office. And Luc refers to how he was taken out of his home because of his stepfather's abuse.

Which makes Adam grow very unsettled...and consider expanding on his drug use to deal with it.

That wound up adding about six-hundred words to the chapter, even after some cuts. It's still on the short side...2150 words...but it feels a lot more honest.

It's unsettled me, as well, however. Seems I keep working up the easy way into the story and then, just as I get all self-satisfied, Adam comes along and says, "But it needs this." So I get back to work.

I really do wonder, sometimes, if I'm a psycho.

On to Chapter Seven...

Squeegee kids at Queen and Spadina in Toronto, 1996. 

Hanging out at Future Bakery, used cd stores, goth clothing stores, all the amazing vintage clothing stores. So many old greasy spoons where one could procure a $6 pitcher of beer. Speakers Corner and Electric Circus! More clubs and live music bars that covered every genre of music you could think of all the way to Trinity Bellwoods.

Adam's in Toronto and not liking it. Too cold, thanks to the wind coming in off the lake, and too busy thanks to all the construction and people bustling about. Also, everything is in English, first, not as much French. He sets himself up in a youth hostel and works out how to get around, and is realizing he can control his life, if he's careful.

He's rebuilding his world after losing everything. Family. Friends. Home. Shelter. His books. His journal. Everything but the clothes on his back and a book in his hand that's water-damaged. But he's also finding out just how strong he is.

Some of what he lost cannot be replaced, but what matters is he no longer has anyone in control over him. He's his own person. One thing I need to keep in mind is, he's still sixteen so some things he cannot do. And I don't want him to come across as prematurely adult.

But he's also scarred by his parents and brother rejecting him, so he's lived through something few boys have to deal with. He learns early on he has only himself to rely upon. That alters you.

I think this whole part of Adam's life is to establish how feral a creature he is, and how connecting with Dair...and having Dair love him...and growing to love Dair and others surrounding them bring his back to humanity. Decency and love for others.

I guess. I'm not sure, yet. I just know it's going in the right direction, for now...

Adam now exists...

The broken beauty of this photo

Cuts deep into my soul and

Calls forth wishes and

Dreams of forever…

Doomed to nothing…

Adam's poem when I showed him this image. I don't know poetry so can't tell is this is any good or just plain crap. But he doesn't care.

No poet is born complete...and any who thinks he was, is not a poet.

He's grown something of an attitude about his poetry, Adam has. Here's another bit he wrote.

A silence covers my world

As a blanket

Complete 

Warm 

To leave me cold 

As if it were nothing 

No footstep heard 

No intake of breath 

No cry for one to respond 

To acknowledge 

To let you know 

The silence is not that of life 

Nor is it death

It is nothing... 

I love it when my characters become more real to me than anyone else I know. And I feel that way about Adam, now. 

Chapters 2 & 3

Read through them both and made some changes. Re-arranged a couple parts to help the flow of the story. Added some details to better explain things while cutting a couple others, to set up Adam's memory of the older gentleman having him read Victor Hugo's poem,

What I had before cut into that impact, but no more. He shares a couple ditties he wrote in his journal, meant as jokes, and he is introduced to Milton Acorn's work, but the poem as noted in my 11/20 post is what shifts the ground under his feet.

I snuck in Adam's deep, quiet hope his parents will come to take him home from that boys home...but he is losing that hope as the darkness in him grows...until he and Reynard fight, and he walks away. The betrayal complete.

I'll go through that, tomorrow, then get onto the next chapter. Can't remember if it's 6 or 7; I've redone the numbering and broke one in half, so no telling.

I don't want long chapters. I've heard from too many readers if the chapter is too long their eyes glaze over. I don't mind doing that. It makes the story seem more immediate. I just am wary of the table of contents. Can they go up to a hundred chapters?

Guess I'll find out.

Taking a pause...

Just for the day. I didn't want to do anything or see anyone, but the book fair in Hong Kong intruded on my peace and I grew pissy. I was polite, but wound up spending a couple hours on it then lots of paperwork to sort through about everything else. And the day's events and...and I never should have gone online but had to and shifted over and................

Now I need to reread everything I have written so I can make certain it's proceeding properly. The part leading up to Adam leaving Montréal was rather draining. It reminded me of an occasion where I damn near walked all the way from Carbondale to Scranton, at night, in boots and a mac, intent on finding a bus to the airport and leaving without a word.

I'd been tricked into traveling up there from Houston, by my close cousins...and learned I had been outed to them and they wanted to know if I was HIV positive. Couldn't do that with a phone call, no; they had to see me face-to-face.

Blindsided me. I wasn't and never have been, and told my cousin so, but that didn't seem make a real difference. And there was so much tension...I didn't want to stay.

I went for a walk to clear my head and just kept walking. Figured I'd ask them to ship my suitcase and things to me. It's about 16 miles and I was probably halfway there when I convinced myself I was overreacting and returned. 

I should have trusted my gut.

I noticed glares of outright hostility from some members of the family, had plans changed, and finally saw that people I'd considered closer to me that my own brothers and sister did not reciprocate. I was a relative, nothing more. If I'd left, I might have been able to never feel that from them.

So...I let Adam take over in DW and do it right. And it's cut deeper than I realized. But feels good.

I just needed space from it to accept that.