Chapter Three of DW is not going right...

I'm doing my usual thing of going through it and peeling back layers, slowly, slowly, very slowly...and it still doesn't feel right. I don't get a sense that the boys in that house are really inhabiting space in Adam's story. More like cyphers.

There are 7 boys between the ages of 15 and 17, with Rory always jockeying to be the alpha dog, but they're all still so bland and unreal. The thing is, I'm not 100% I need more than that because once Adam leaves the house he doesn't see them or contact them, again.

So I'll keep doing passes until I feel I've gone as deep as I can go, with them.

I've set it up like a New Orleans whorehouse, but with clients who have to make appointments and come in at different times so no one sees anyone else. If that's even possible. Another aspect of this part of the story I need to make sure about.

I dunno...maybe I'm just getting to be too anal on this. I can be. It could also be wariness about being too open about the sexual hijinks that could be going on.

Except, they have to reserve that for their visitors. And I've established that two of them have to take drugs to handle what they're doing. Which leads to problems. Which could be explored a bit more.

The only consistent thought between them all is, where they currently live is a lot better than the abusive homes, where they were. The man running the house is very careful as to which boys he chooses to live there.

Tootsie roll bites...

I was a bad boy. I had a small bowl of Tootsie Roll bites on the shelf where I keep my keys and wallet because I like to take a couple of them with me when I go out. If I have a low-blood-sugar episode, they're good for combating that. Before them, I'd kept Starlight peppermints. I should have stuck with those.

I had a wild attack of needing chocolate, this evening, so ate all the Tootsie Rolls. With a glass of milk, at least, to mitigate some of it. But now I'm feeling weird. ODing on the candy? Damn. I'm so fucking self-indulgent.

BUT...I got through two passes on Chapter Three of DW. Fleshed out the boys Adam is roomed with...well, each in his own room. Because each takes care of his male clients in his room.

Rory, Eric, Trey, Luc, Carlo and Tevean, all in the 15 to 17 year-old range. I made a note in the story that the age of consent in Canada in the middle 90s was 14, with some restrictions, but also this is violating all sorts of laws against prostitution so it's rather moot. I think the current age of consent is 16.

Nothing that happens sexually is detailed. I don't want anyone claiming this is kiddie porn. The fact is, I don't like writing about having sex with underage boys. It's just plain nasty. I lust over men, like Chris Evans. Especially since he's a daddy, now. I wouldn't mind doing some father-fucking with him.

Anyway, this is part of Adam's past and important to the story, later. This part includes him finding out he loves poetry, thanks to one visitor who just wants him to read it to him. No sex. Just companionship. So he writes about it in his journal...and it's what keeps him from becoming an uncaring beast.

Like the world around him is becoming.

On to Chapter Three...

It's Hallowe'en and I'd love to go trick or treating with Dave. Maybe trick and treating. This costume of his is just so...so enticing, to me. 

I did another pass on Chapter Two of DW, cutting it back a little bit more. But I'm now at the point of deciding if I use a or the in a sentence, so it's time to move on.

At the end of the chapter, Adam was been handed over to a foster home for boys run by a good Christian man...who pimps them out to a select clientele of married men. Hit a spot where I glossed over Adam's new associates--Rory, Eric, Trey, Luc, Carlo and Trevean--so need to address that.

Digging through the parts I've already written, I did find a couple of descriptions of Rory, Eric and Trey, but mostly it's going to be working them up from basics. So Chapter Three is going to take some work.

This is where Adam heals after being kicked out of his home and abandoned by everyone. He finally begins to understand his life is completely different now. No one will be coming to save him, so he's on his own. But he's smart and observant and develops a plan to leave on his own terms. If he'll be allowed to.

I may break this part in half. It's 17 pages and I'll be adding more in. We'll see how much larger it gets to be.

I have my website for the mainstream books all set with everything available. I'm trying to push all my books more but not doing a very good job of it. I'm blank when it comes to salesmanship. I'm going to talk to Emily Jackson about setting up another page on WordPress for my MM erotica, to give me something to refer people to. Dunno if that's possible without paying a shitload more.

And therein likes the issue -- I don't know what I can and can't do online. I guess I should work on that, some...

Short chapters mean...

"Echoes of the Path"
Yeah Wang

Careful dissection of what Adam is saying...so far. Chapter Two is 3100 words on 13 pages, and bit by bit I'm removing a lot of the superfluous commentary that's meant to soften the reading. This is not a part that should be read with comfort. Adam is talking about being thrown out of his home because he's gay, and how the judicial system in Montreal was as casually callous with him as his parents were.

So far it's going well, working like this. Not overwhelming like it sometimes was with APoS. I've gone over this chapter probably five times, not as rewrites but almost as a detective seeking to remove anything superfluous. Or even a poet digging for just the right word. 

I'm also making certain Adam's voice retains a bit of the poet as he lays out his life, up to his death...and then even his afterlife. I want the reader to know he's intelligent, creative and capable of just about anything. Even though he's a sex-worker, throughout.

I have to admit I had an odd reaction at learning a previous man I'd used as a model for Dair has an Only Fans page and posts clips of him having sex with his boyfriend or lover or whatever. It's silly of me, because he's doing exactly what is necessary for him to make a living. Like Adam does. At least, to make enough of a living to pay off student loans and still have a decent level of existence.

But I felt put off. A bit disappointed. And it's only because I saw him in one way and he turned out to be as human as anybody else. If I know from the outset you've worked in porn or on Only Fans, I got no problem with that. It's having to adjust my view of you to incorporate this new side of you that troubles me.

I'm using that silly reaction of mine to color some characters' attitudes. Others won't give a damn. Like how I feel about him, now...which, admittedly, I had to argue myself into.

Sometimes I wonder if there's still too much Presbyterian in me...

Thoughts for the day...

Since I'm brain dead, right now...

Finding my writing rhythm with DW...

I'm working on a chapter at a time, till it's ready. Keeping them at about 2800-3200 words. Blending the words as best I can into Adam's manner of speech. There will be no long chapters in this book. And even if I do no writing, I'll still be moving forward with it.

I managed to make it to my 9am appointment, today. Where my stomach got scanned in a bunch of odd poses...which brought on a headache. I've always had issues with the left side of my neck. It's where the vast majority of my headaches start, and today I think I pinched a nerve in there, or something...to where I could not focus or think.

So I took a long nap...2 hours. And would have gone longer but I set my alarm to get up. That helped enough to where I could go through Chapter Two of Adam's portion of the book. And hone it more.

He's revealing how he was outed by his brother and kicked out of his home, and how the authorities treated him like a problem so put him with a man who became his pimp.

I'm being careful in this area, because even though the legal age of consent in Canada is fourteen, and Adam's fifteen at the time, in the US that's a serious issue. I'm no pedophile; I don't like boys, I like men. But that won't keep people from claiming otherwise to suit their own agenda.

I'm fighting with myself to keep Adam's story as honest as possible...so we'll see how it goes. I'm going to do another pass on this chapter, then move to the next one...which will really be the problematic one.

I dealt with Father Damian's molestation of Danny in a very oblique way that made it clear what was going on without saying it. Don't think I can get away with that, here.

And maybe I don't want to.

Late riser...

I hate getting up in the morning, at least not before 10:30. It's hard as hell for me to go to bed before 2 so that makes for a good 8 hours of sleep, and there have been many occasions where I'd sleep till noon...usually after staying up till 4am...or even 5.

Once I lie down, I rarely have trouble dropping into slumber; it's actually making myself stop and accept that I need the rest that's the issue. I'm using this in Dair, who can get so into working on one of this stained glass projects, he neglects sleep and food and rest because he's afraid he'll lose the link or spark he's got for the piece.

Adam was good about sensing when Dair needed to be pulled back from the abyss, even when he didn't know it, himself. He'd quietly guide Dair into the real world and soothe him and keep him fed, which adds to Dair's extreme sense of loss after Adam dies. No one is watching over him, not like Adam did. Now Dair is adrift, unable to regain his center...something Wallace can't even understand, let alone help him with.

The more I get into this story, the more I see one important aspect of it is Dair's unconditional love for Adam. Because even though Adam stole from him and pushed him away, at times, and manipulated him...he didn't care. He loved Adam for being more than a partner; he was Dair's protector.

I'm not sure how I can handle that dichotomy in Adam except to watch as Wallace tears him down in every legal sense...thanks to the lawsuit brought by Adam's parents...and Dair sees the man is killing Adam all over again.

Or something like that. I dunno. It's early in the writing, yet. But it's getting me excited about the story, again.

Poetry...

Adam wrote a poem. In Quebecois. No idea if it's any good; I've never studied poetry and my French is crap...but it's at the end of chapter one, now.

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...

Translation:

No angel 

He 

Who slipped through my world 

Past fear of those 

Who care for nothing 

No creature

He

Whose wont to feast 

On one 

With no suit of armor 

Beyond his understanding 

Is his only truth 

To accept 

Him 

Is to lie to my past 

Without 

Need for correction

To know 

Him 

Is to reject all I hold 

And own 

Of myself 

So I might build anew 

A world in which I can be more 

Then a part of 

The terror of this 

Is exquisite

My fear 

Drives me 

To accept 

The beauty he offers

So I might rest... 

Finally... 

Finally... 

Rest...

Step away from the keyboard...

To an extent, I did. Just a bit of posting on FaceBook, Xitter and Instagram...while mainly staying away from the chaos. I've finally accepted the MAGAt Cult is not going to acknowledge their hypocrisy, and pointing it out to them is a waste of time. It's like trying to soothe a rabid dog. You can't; you'll just get bit.

So gazing upon this image of a meadow in Snoqualmie, Washington, helped shift me back to a version of self-control. What I found most interesting about the region was how the mountains jut up straight from the plain. No foothills leading you to the cliffs. So I'll need to change the description of the area in Dair's Window.

That led me to working with Adam to find his voice and transfer it to the page. I changed up the opening a bit and cut away a lot of chatter. Dropped a few hundred words. He's more melodious, now, so my focus will be to continue that through chapter two, when he's talking about being kicked out of his home for being gay.

I've decided to do his story through to the point of his death, then shift to Dair's. Adam's is first person; Dair's is third person, with comments from Adam sprinkled through. 

I'm wondering...the old argument about putting one space or two after a period, when typing, is back. I can go either way, so which would be easiest to read? Does it even really matter? I'm open to responses.

And obviously, I'm in a much better mood than yesterday.

Wrecked...

There was so much bullshit, today, I feel beaten to nothing. Depressed. Shaken. Melancholy even. Which used to be a medical term for women. Melancholia or something?

For a clinical explanation, melancholia is a severe form of major depressive disorder characterized by a profound loss of pleasure, a slowing of thought and activity, and feelings of despair and excessive guilt.

That's me to a fucking T, right now. I know much of it is due to the insane political situation we have, where the GOP has gone full MAGAt Cult and Democrats are barely even trying to fight back. Where Felon47 can tear down a large portion of the White House on a whim and steal money from the government with impunity. Where people are being attacked and imprisoned based on racism and hate. And there ain't jack shit I can do about that...except scream into the void.

I've been told I'm an empath, which is basically characterized by being highly attuned to the emotions and energies of others, often feeling them as if they were their own. Includes deep intuition, profound empathy, high sensitivity, and a strong drive to help others, that can lead to emotional exhaustion and stress.

Maybe. That could be why I only write stories about the rape and murder of men, and don't actually do it. I'm too connected to any pain I might cause.

But as I'm writing this, I haven't been able to re-set myself. Reboot me. Whatever. I'm half-hunched over, not sitting up straight or even comfortably. I'm in one of my lost phases and want nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep the next few years away.

Which is not an option...dammit.