Dolly Parton just save my life...

She came out with a peach cobbler and it's in the local stores!!! I'm in hog-heaven. Made it, tonight, and it is fucking glorious. OMG, you never know how much you missed something until you finally have it and it's helped you center your entire life! No other peach cobbler in Western New York. I had to make my own with Bisquik and canned peaches, and that was okay...but this blows it out of the water.

Of course, my blood sugar's going to freak out, but I don't care. I had a reading of 101 after dinner, yesterday, my lowest ever, and I felt like shit. Unfocused. Weak. Moody. Flat out unhappy. It wasn't till I went to get some pastries and scarfed them down with a glass of milk that I began to feel good, again.

I wonder if some this has to do with my Norwegian heritage? We live on milk products. Cheeses. Yoghurt. I managed to get myself down to 2% milk, but that's as low as I'll go. I also need beef. Not huge amounts, but I once did a Macrobiotic diet and nearly died. Same for Fit for Life. Both big mistakes. I have friends who are vegans and they manage fine. It's just not for me.

So I try to manage a balance...and after yesterday, that's all I'm gonna do. Veggies mixed in with meat and potatoes...and dessert. I'm gonna be 73. I'm out for quality of life as long as the MAGAt Class will let me.

Good thing is, I got a response from a library that they will take on A Place of Safety. And I'm sending out a query to the New York Public Library to see if they will, as well. I've worked up a full package of promo stuff--copies of my reviews at Kirkus and BookLife, synopses, links info--and will do that with some other libraries. Like the LAPL. And even use it for bookstores.

Powell's and Book Soup offer APoS for special order, so that may be all I can do with them unless I arrange for a signing. The Strand turned me down, in NYC.

So it goes...

Simon's both artist and poet...

He's not too full of himself. But here's a poem that ADA Dillon Warstead will try to use against him...and only make things worse.

Freddy

By

Simon Halloran

When they grabbed Freddy, they had knives. 

Which made no sense; they all had wives. 

But blindfolded, and gagged and bound 

Off he was taken, with no sound 

Down in a room, so dark and strange 

Where he received no chance to change. 

Instead his clothes were cut away 

And they took turns with him, all day. 

"We knew you'd take it up the ass 

And in your mouth, despite your sass," 

The leader said, his third release 

Inside of Freddy yet to cease. 

"The way you fit your jeans was right, 

So we'll be keeping you all night, 

Until we're done, then you will know 

We own you and won't let you go." 

This made no sense at all. The lad 

Did not know what he had done bad 

To make them hurt him. "Well, you're gay," 

One man said, "and that's why you'll stay." 

"Then so are you," our boy cried back. 

That only led them to attack 

Him harder. "Don't say we are that," 

The leader snarled. "No more chitchat. 

Since you're the one who's fucked, not us. 

So there is nothing to discuss. 

We'll keep you. Use you till we're done. 

And then we'll find another one 

Who's just like you to fuck around.” 

Then put me six feet underground? 

Is what came to Freddy’s mind. 

With two more gay men lost in kind? 

No fucking way, our Freddy thought. 

No man will treat me like I'm bought 

To be used and then merely trashed. 

I will escape. Get your lives crashed 

To stop your evil ways and means, 

And show you nothing's as it seems.

For six weeks Freddy played their boy, 

And he made sure to bring them joy 

Despite his hatred of the group. 

Till one fine night he got the scoop. 

Sometime soon he would leave this earth 

In spirit. But he had no dearth 

Of plans to get away from them 

And not surrender to their whim. 

He’d never wasted any time, 

So knowing this, he became prime. 

First, break the chain around his leg.

He’d made sure every night to beg 

Them to remove it. They would shrug 

And leave him, like he was a bug. 

But while he feigned to be so weak 

From their abuse, the little sneak 

Was working at the padlock’s clasp 

To lessen the strength of its grasp 

While doing all he could to keep 

Them wanting him. He’d cry and weep, 

Which made them laugh in ways so cruel. 

They didn’t understand the fool 

Was them. Because early one morn 

The padlock opened. Hope was born. 

So he would suffer one more rape 

Then find the best time to escape. 

That day they came, the three prepared 

To end him, but then Freddy dared 

To howl and cower...then recover 

To kick one back into another. 

Ripped the chain off, to their shock 

And beat the last one. No more talk. 

He bolted upstairs to the door. 

Burst through into a great downpour 

Of rain to cleanse him. No more kept. 

And mere days later, those men wept 

Before the courts. He told the tale 

And all of them went straight to jail. 

Then Freddy said, "I'll write a book 

And in it you can have a look 

At all the evil done to me 

Because I'm gay...but now I’m free."

Simon is a dick...

I made time to sit with Simon, nicely propped up in my bed, cozy as a kitten, and we talked. Well, sort of. He's got a real attitude, and it's rubbing me wrong...but that's good. I don't want to have to deal with anyone merely out to grow and be better or just to get revenge. I've got enough of that in my books.

Anyway, Simon is set in his ways, and I'm just going to have to work with them to build the story. Figure out what's going to happen as it happens. Meaning he's not crazy about my outline. Too restrictive.

To start, he's an artist, not a writer. Not fine arts, like Picasso or Pollock. More similar to Tom of Finland or Etienne, with their fun gay encounters and rapes. His art will have meaning and still be faggot in your face. He'll even have done some graphic novels written by someone he trusts enough to work with. 

There are Japanese artists who do serious bondage and torture work, but also do work that is just plain beautiful. Tagame is one he admires, as are Funayama, Hasegawa and Go Hirano, like this image.

Simon won't even think of trying to replicate his ability in making skin seem vibrant and alive. It had something to do with fish scales mixed into the paint. So Simon's just pen and ink line work. Coloring in is for professionals.

It's all an extension of what he did in 8th grade, which was interrupted by his time with Doyle. But now it's his go-to for settling himself. He's even doing a sketch as he watches Doyle take his last breaths before succumbing to AIDs. And smiles once it's done.

I'm also beginning to see why Simon prefers low-level jobs that provide a bare existence. He doesn't want anyone to pay attention to him. He got way too much of that with Doyle and nearly lost himself.

So now he has dozens of portfolios holding his unused work, and has it arranged for them to go to a LGBTQ+ museum in LA, when he dies. Maybe the Tom of Finland Foundation. Haven't decided, yet.

What I am doing is working up one of his sketches, now. Very NSFW.

PvSH pushing

Did a rough 1700+ words on a memory Simon's having when he thinks back on the time he was watching Doyle sleep. Struggling and fitfully, thanks to advanced AIDs. He hated the man for crushing him but is also being kind to him in many ways. He figures if Doyle hadn't been such a complete monster to him, he'd have slept around and wound up HIV+.

That memory is of when some schoolyard bullies tried to extort money from him in 8th grade, and how he refused to let them. When Simon decides no, he means NO. And even being punished by the school and harassed by other kids didn't change his mind.

I become like stone, he says. And I wait and let others keep trying to get to me, until they reveal how best to make them stop.

In this case, it was being shoved around by an obnoxious feral brat named Kenneth, who hadn't noticed Simon held a sharp #2 pencil in his hand. Kenneth yelled and called names and circled him with his pack and finally shoved him, hoping for a response...and that's when Simon rammed the pencil into his side. Hard enough to stick.

Freak outs occurred, as did blood, and Simon was threatened with assault charges, but all he said was, "He shoved me and my hand jerked. It was an accident." Which Kenneth inadvertently backed up by saying, "I didn't push him that hard."

It got shrugged off as an accident and boys being boys. But Kenneth and his pack stayed away from Simon, after that. And the next year, Simon went to a different high school from him.

Now he's facing legal bullies trying to force him to give in to their own form of blackmail...and he won't...and it's escalating beyond anyone's control...because Simon's silence is not really working to his advantage.

Cooking day, alone...

I stayed in. Didn't get dressed or anything. Made spaghetti sauce with meat and veggies for later use. A lovely blueberry/pecan coffee cake for this evening, with tea. A smoothie with Apple Brandy in it. A goulash, of sorts, for lunch. A massive chef salad for dinner, albeit without the boiled egg. I didn't think about that till I was halfway done making it. But felt good.

Not good enough to look like him, but something to aspire to...even if I am too old to change.

I did have to deal a bit with issues concerning a pickup in the UK. I didn't get to go there for it, which I really wanted to. Dammit. And now I need to work up a diagram for the handling of some folio prints so it's done right.

Also dealt with the bank being pissy about my Visa card. For some reason, a security alert that I thought I'd handled weeks ago was still on it, so they were rejecting auto charges...and dealing with those people was not pleasant. I like my credit union, but I do not like this Visa.

Oh well...on the other hand...Simon is settling down next to me. About ready to talk and lead and explain and help me plan the best way to tell PvSH. How to lead into it. And here's one possibility.

You never know what actions will wind up leading to murder. Sometimes the simplest ones can be the first steps down that path. One step after the other, never seeming like they're taking you to a deadly place until it's too late to change course. Too late to even consider turning back.

So the night Simon Holleran was arrested began as simply as any other. Aside from him being in a town he never wanted to come to, in order to do a job he'd accepted only reluctantly. He'd thought he was doing a good deed...

No, I was doing something good. For a friend. Someone I thought was a friend. He needed to have a collection of antiquarian first editions catalogued and, since I lived little more than three-hundred miles from their owner it was relatively minimal trouble for me to travel down and handle it for him.

For a price.

I like the shift from third to first person, and think this will happen throughout the story. Maybe. You never know until it's actually done. For example, Simon may wind up being an artist instead of writer. Still something to think about.

Silent world...

Sometimes silence is all that matters. Sitting with not a sound and doing nothing but letting the world whisper around you in ways that seem gentle even as they growl and threaten.

That is why I like being alone. No one to explain to. Or push aside so I can visit my quiet...quiet space whenever I want. I can seek monsters, there...and angels...and worlds I've never imagined for myself...

I don't remember the first time I visited this shadow-filled land...but I know I first used it to write HTRASG. A crude title, but of a meaning unto itself. It warned me I'd be dealing with a wounded man demanding his story be told, blunt and cold and crying for understanding.

Curt. I felt almost as if he were real. Part of me...but not. Sitting there. Waiting. In silence. Until I agreed to let him reveal his tale through me. Which I did. That book came from his world, not from mine. And it still affects people.

It wasn't until I was writing narrative fiction that I really began to understand who my people were. My angels and demons. I'd written screenplays, only with characters who were sketches to be filled in by others. I didn't know them well enough to reveal them.

Curt led me to a world I could never have visited on my own. Like wandering through a mist into a new existence, greeted by more people who welcomed me, happily. And told me things I did not want to know...but had to. Some fought with me. Others pleaded. And some merely waited until I was ready. A few were even all of these things.

I didn't like it, much of the time, but I pushed and fought to remain true. And now...no matter what anyone says about my work...my books...I did as right by them as I could.

I feel like I'm stepping into a new part of my silence. Feel like I am no longer afraid to write what I write. Meaning, I no longer have to overcome that fear. It's gone. I am who I am, and all that matters is I do not shirk my responsibility to my people.

Let it be what it is.

Blank of mind day...

I was just trying to think of what I've done, today, and aside from going into the office to drop off paperwork and expenses and get some groceries, I can't think of a thing. I considered taking a nap but didn't. Thought about reading a book...but didn't. I just wasn't here...as is not unusual for me, after finishing a writing project.

I just drifted...and let PvSH settle in around me. Let it establish its hold and filter into my creative core. Didn't do anything about it, except acknowledge Simon's wish for his story to be quiet and calm and suspenseful. Not a big order, is it...

How will I be able to make the events in the first half of his book compelling? Dunno, yet. I suppose I could work it like Shakespeare did Romeo and Juliet...

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

So tell people up front things escalate from mundane to intense to the point where Simon is murdered, and this will reveal it, step by step. Dunno how I feel about that.

It's done...

Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones is up on D2D. I'm trying to include it with my other books in the sale, but I may need to do this one separately. I still don't know all the ins and outs of D2D. It's pretty different from Smashwords.

I think it works well as a stand-alone story. The ending suggests a followup but doesn't need one. This avatar wouldn't work as a book cover but does okay as an attention grabber. 

So here's the official deal -- if this novella makes 500 sales, I will do the rest of the book to match it. Probably in parts...maybe 5 or 6 more. Each with its own derivation of the title.

Then I'd think about doing it in paperback, as a whole. But I want some reason for that to happen, so it's on the book to get it together. I'm putting it out there...

But what matters right now is, it's done and I can take a short break then get hard onto the People v. Simon Halloran. Rework the outline...maybe...or not. I tend to do better when I don't have something I feel the need to follow exactly.

Funny...I never did wind up buying any vodka so didn't even try writing DDB drunk.

Steps forward but slowly...

I'm not asking anyone to proof Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones because I need it done now, not whenever. It also gets pretty intense with the rape and death of Molinaro. He's the asshole cop who inadvertently kills Dirc, who actually says, "If he hadn't killed me, none of this would've happened." Which is true, so the dick gets blamed for everything that follows.

Not to say any of it was planned. Dyarvos was bringing Dirc back enough to life just to feed to his spacecraft, which won't eat anything dead. It noticed he was changing, within, so tested him out as its helper...and he came back fully alive with his molestation of Molinaro.

The deal Dirc and Dyarvos work out is, he will bring it men of a certain type to feed the craft, so it can effect repairs through cloning and re-energize itself. Which takes several months. Then when they're done, Dirc will be left to live his life instead of die.

It's not until section two of the story that Dyarvos returns to make another deal with Dirc--keep supplying him with men for it to use as entrees in its intergalactic truck stop. But that gets really crazy and involved, and I'm not really open to focusing on it, yet.

People v. Simon Halloran has pulled back, massively, to where it mimics occasions I've read about through the years. A gay man says the wrong thing to an undercover cop and gets arrested, then the cop lies about what happened to make the situation seem worse than it is. When it's just the cop's word against the guy who's been arrested, the cop is automatically believed. The arrested one has to prove his innocence.

It's a lot more honest and real, now, and considering the evil Felon47 and his American Fascist Party (the AFP) have unleashed on the country, it's more important that I let it be as truthful as possible.

Truncation...

I'm prepping the first section of DDB as a stand-alone ebook to go up on Smashwords, for the sale...if I can add it in. It's pretty much formatted, and Dirc is pleased with how it's turned out.

I'm doing one more pass to proof it so it'll probably go up, tomorrow, if they accept it. I've already had one run-in with D2D about a book they felt was too much...Carly's Kills, my heterosexual one. So we'll see how it goes.

I don't know if I'll do the rest of the book; this stands alone, pretty well. This is less than 20% of the total word count -- 18,742 out of over 102K. 

But PvSH is nudging me to do something with it. So I've decided, if DDB gets 500 copies sold in the month (something highly unlikely) I'll finish it up. Otherwise, I have other books to focus on.

I also want to work on Dair's Window, which I started 5 years ago...or was it 6? And shifting all of Darian's Point into book format. DDB is fun but not as important, and I've worked out a lot of may anger in it.

I'm now working with Emily Jackson, who designed the covers for the paperbacks, to promote APoS. Got a special FB page set up and am trying to have a website set up, but that's going very, very slowly. So slow, I'm beginning to wonder if he will actually do it. But I had to do something, since I'm piss-poor at promotion and the books are not selling.

This also keeps my focus away from the growing number of insane idiots and assholes on social media. Apparently, Joe Biden is responsible for the horrific flooding along the Guadalupe River. How? They have no idea. They just know this isn't normal.

They won't accept climate change but will believe our government can control the weather. Fucking lunatics.