Dallas is an afterthought...

Man, I do not like Dallas. It's an ugly city, where the streets make no sense, traffic is nonstop,  no matter where you drive you find broken roads and run down buildings, and it has the attitude of a third child who's got grievances about not being the primary kid. (Houston and San Antonio have larger populations.)

But...as a Metroplex, which includes Fort Worth and dozens of surrounding cities, it's the fourth largest in the country. It's almost like, See? Even though I'm number three, I'm number one. It depresses me.

Even Google Maps was taken aback by Dallas' ways. It was scrambling to tell me when to turn left or keep to the right, usually a moment after I needed to because even with me pulling my LA attitude I couldn't get in-between most drivers. Then it would yell at me and tell me the new route...5 times in 5 different ways.

I finished the packing job and went to drop the shipment off to be crated...but couldn't find the facility. No signage. I drove around for 5 minutes before finding a guy and asking him where the place was, and he directed me to an opening tween two warehouse buildings. Everyone was very nice and polite, but it's almost like they didn't want to be noticed or bothered or something, and I was interrupting their anonymity.

But everything is done, I made it back to my hotel, and I was so fucking exhausted I crashed. Slept. Made myself go out to a nearby Taco Cabana for an enchilada plate. 1.3 miles away only took 20 minutes to get to, and two wrong turns, thanks to rush hour traffic. Added to my depression.

At least I was smart enough not to dig into NWFO. When I'm in this kind of mood I just tear my work apart. I'm probably being too sensitive about it. Truth is, there are parts of what I've written that I'm really proud of. But that's immaterial to anyone who's in the creative arts. All it'd take is one comment to cut through the self-proclaimed joy and turn to hating your work.

Even Larry McMurtry apparently went through times where he did not like his writing.

Travelin' man

I'm reading Larry McMurtry's Books: A Memoir as I fly to Dallas and it's interesting. He's talking mainly about becoming a bookseller and the people he's dealt with along the way, many of whom I knew from my years at Heritage Book Shop. He even references Ben and Lou Weinstein, saying the shop is closed. They actually downsized, drastically, in mid 2007, while this book came out a year later.

I like McMurtry's style of writing; very casual and calm. I also enjoy his slight discussions about books he's read, making me interested in reading some of them, myself. But one point really caught me. He's talking about reading literature dealing with the first and second world wars and notes that the first world war ended a civilization. Germany, Austria-Hungary, Russia, and the Ottoman Empire collapsed at the end of it, and some books he's read detail that as it's happening, written by people who can see it. And the British, French and Belgian empires were also falling apart.

That fascinates me. But what's best is when he mentions the quarrels Churchill has with Stalin during the war. Stalin's comment was, effectively, History will judge which of us is right. To which Churchill is reputed to have replied, "Yes, and I'll write the history." Which he did. It feeds into my comments, before, that history is written by the winners. 

I think I have a copy of Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August but haven't read it. I'll need to check on that, because now I want to. I'm getting a sense that we're undergoing a seismic shift in the world, right now, what with Russia's war on the West being waged online and through propaganda, not just her terrorism of Ukraine, and Western leaders are not really paying attention.

Cyberpunk lives. William Gibson rules.

Another one bites the dust...

Newest draft finished. 142,146 words. Done before I head off on a series of jobs, next week. I've got it saved onto an external hard drive and plan to do one more read-through before sending it out. But I can do that on the road. I'll also do a spell-check, which will take hours because of all the colloquialisms I used.

The story goes from him coming back to consciousness in Houston in April 1993 to when he's about to head home because his mother is ill, in January 1981. It's become more of an emotional journey for Brendan than I'd expected, which is good. I like to think he's developing as the story goes along.

NWFO is about 2000 words more than Derry, but that's livable. And will probably change once I get feedback. If any. I posted at the beginning of May that I'd provide a free ebook of Derry to anyone willing to do a review of it. honest review. Not one person has contacted me about it.

I look at all the books I've sold and how few reviews I have over all my work. It's rather disheartening. Either they didn't like the book and don't want to say anything, or they just don't care. I don't mind a negative review; I've learned from them. I just wish I wasn't being ignored.

I'm in a mood. I don't feel good. Sinus thing I'm fighting. I've already done two Covid tests to be safe and both are negative. It's just that time of year for my nose to go nuts at the pollen and such in the air.

Perfect.

Recount...

Okay, I give up. After going back through the number of times I've reworked and restructured NWFO, and the fact that I'm doing another restructuring of a section that's becoming more demanding, no question this is draft ten. Completely. Totally. Absolutely. With no caveats. And may do an eleventh.

The word count is now below 142,000 and could go lower. Or higher. Because as I was reworking Brendan's reaction and plans after learning he is, in effect, a vague prisoner of his current situation, all hell broke loose. And made what follows even more telling about him.

He starts dating Evangelyne, effectively giving the finger to his aunt and uncle. She's Cajun but in Houston that's pretty much considered black and is frowned upon. It's beginning to mess with Uncle Sean's plans to open another bar and he's not happy about it.

Brendan's also planning to settle his immigration status himself by speaking with Jeremy's uncle, who's a well-connected lawyer in Austin and DC. The man handled bringing him in on a medical visa and got it extended, once, so he knows the basics of the situation.

But he grows close to Vangie and is thinking of asking her to marry him...until he's warned off by her father. "She's got plans, and if she's married to you, they're dead." So Brendan feels he needs to break things off with her, but before he can he's brutalized by a group of racists, and nearly dies, thanks to his weakened heart.

Then comes to find out his uncle and someone he considered a friend were involved in setting up the attack.

Once upon a time...

I bitch and complain and whine about how much rewriting I do and feel the need for, over and over and over. But every now and then I find that I'm missing a great opportunity to make the story better. It's usually something I'd only glossed over in earlier draft. And no matter how many times I come to that realization, sometimes after the book's been published, I keep making that mistake.

For example, in the Beast in the Nothing Room, Finn (the MC) learns he has a fraternal twin who was sold for adoption to a wealthy German couple, at birth. This has only a minimal effect on him, which is nonsensical.

They meet in the course of Finn's investigation of something impossible, find they have a lot in common regarding what's happening, and wind up as lovers. Sort of a sneaky roundabout way of doing some twin-cest.

But one reader pointed out that while they liked the book, they didn't believe that relationship. And thinking about it, I missed a couple of opportunities to deepen their connection and Finn's conflict. Like when they were flying to Reading on a private plane and they have a quick, almost perfunctory conversation about the situation. Necessary, but boring. It could have been a lot more intense.

Something similar happened at the end of Porno Manifesto, where Alec and Joseph wind up together...not because the story was leading to that but just because it made for a nice, quick ending. That is never a good reason for anything in a book.

Well, this time going through NWFO, I found one such moment I'd been paying little attention to...and am rectifying that. It's after Brendan realizes he's something of a prisoner of his Aunt and Uncle and wants to get away from them. But first he feels the need to contact his sister in Toronto and, hopefully, find out why he was set up like this. She's headed down to Houston with her family for a visit, in the coming July, but all I do is reference how his aunt won't give him Mairead's address so he can write her.

The fact that he just sticks around trying to figure things out on his own after learning this didn't really work...but was necessary. Then I finally saw what was so damned obvious. His sister's upcoming visit in a few months. He puts his plan to disappear on hold till he can talk to her, face to face. Also gives him time to build up some cash and expand on a couple of friendships, in case he needs them.

One of which, with Evangelyne, leads to a nightmare.

Heading home

Job is done and I'm headed home. Everything went very smoothly, except for the last leg of my return trip being half an hour late. But I had my fix of Panda Express, a surprisingly good cheese quesadilla done fajita style in Baltimore's airport, a short meander around Newport and side trip to Fort Adams--which does not even begin to compare to Fort Niagara; you have to take a guided tour--but overall it was nice.

Here's hoping the jobs next week will be as easy and on-time. 

I've trimmed more out of NWFO and feel better about how it's flowing. Brendan's pressing forward in trying to handle his situation and rebuild his life, even though there are setbacks. He's a kid who's always gone his own way, and is finding that's even harder to do, now.

I'm at the point in the story where he's joining Evangelyne and her family on a trip the New Orleans, for Mardi Gras. Which might be a problem because her brother, Lon, the one who's driving, is a cop and keeps eyeing Brendan like he suspects he's done something wrong. But it's too late to back out; they're in Lon's Oldsmobile station wagon heading down the 10 to New Orleans.

Brendan's proud of himself for going because he knows Joanna would have done so. That's his mantra -- What would Joanna do? He's trying to make something more of himself by opening himself to new experiences. Which sometimes leads to a situation where the cop brother of a young woman distrusts the Irish kid.

Okay, landing now and turbulence. Fun.

Almost halfway...

Decent trip. Both flights were on time. the only issue was having to walk from the end of Terminal C at Baltimore to the middle of Terminal B, which is about half a mile. Then in Providence, you have to walk another half mile to get to the rental cars. And tomorrow will be the reverse. I'm getting my steps in.

I got a fair amount of editing done on NWFO during the flights and now at my hotel. I had dinner at a Panda Express in a mall that was good but skimpy. Rain is expected early in the morning but should be done by the time we start loading the shipment. We'll see how it goes. 

I've cut the book back to 142,500 words. At this rate, it will be the same length as APoS-Derry, which is good. So far I haven't found anything that's really squirrelly in it. Just condensing comments Brendan says and minimizing his repetitions. I don't want readers to get sick of him referring back to Joanna, over and over and over. Or the violence between his parents. And while he usually treats people decently and with kindness, he can also be something of a dick.

That was an aspect of The Lord of the Rings trilogy that drove me nuts -- the constant referral to Aragorn as being noble and caring and pained and all that noble shite. Over and over and over. Brendan's got an asshole side, and that's good. I don't want him to be perfect. I wouldn't be able to write him, if he was perfect.

God knows, I've never been perfect.

Irritations abound

Tomorrow I'm off to oversee a pickup in Newport, RI. A quick trip, in one day and out the next. Very simple...except we don't have all the paperwork needed for the job, yet, so I might get there and be able to do nothing. Been trying to get it for a couple weeks.

Same for another job in Dallas, that's not until Monday, next week. And I'm the one expected to get everything settled. Which I guess makes sense because I've been dealing with both for a while even though I'm not really working for the company full time, anymore.

I'm caught in this in-between phase. I want to focus on my writing and getting my books sold, finding out how to get them visible and noticed and all that crap without spending much money. But I need the extra cash since helping out my youngest brother's near bankrupted me. Maybe I should start a Go-fund me.

At least the Dallas one might be settled, which is good, but the one tomorrow? I may wind up spending an extra day in Newport.

Much of today was spent dealing with the upcoming jobs so only 70 pages gone through with NWFO. I'm taking my Mac with me instead of the PC, so if I do wind up cooling my heels in a hotel, I can keep working on it.

Going through it, this time, I'm back to thinking I may get rid of the subplot with the doctor's nurse messing with Brendan. It really serves no purpose in the story except to be prurient and indulgent. Just get rid of her, completely...or cut her back to just toying with him. Nothing more. I dunno.

I don't even know why I put that in, to start with, except to show how people manipulate and misuse others, when they can.

Divin' in...

Fuck it. I'm doing another read-through. I'm over 100 pages in and have found I spelled Charlie and McGabbhinn two different ways, as well as a couple more typos. So my instinct was right. I'm also trimming back a bit more, so I'm under 143,000 words, now.

This really does count as draft number ten. My red pen edit was draft eight. When I input it into Word, I made a lot of changes from that and some serious restructuring, so that's draft nine. And I have reworked the sequence of a couple moments in this draft, so it fits.

I was debating cutting one bit about Brendan being molested by a nurse in a doctor's office, while he was catatonic, because it didn't really seem to go anywhere. But I got lots of kickback over that, from Brendan, so added in another point with her. And I'm thinking of a third...meaning this draft is going to be different enough.

Ask anyone who knows me and they will acknowledge I do so much rewriting on everything, it's almost a parody of the above quote. A couple of them have told me they can't tell the difference between one draft and the next, but I always can. And any changes I make are very important to me and the story and characters.

I know I could work on this beast till I'm dead, but I do need to get on to volume three, so we'll see how things go with this pass.

Done with draft 8 or 9 or whatever.,..

I'm done with inputting the red pen changes to NWFO and feel a bit numb. It's down to 143,200 words from nearly 146,000. Cleaner. Sharper. Almost there. But I've got this niggling feeling I should do one last read-through to make sure before I send it off for proofing and editing. Crap. I don't know if I can face it, again.

I doubt I'll make my July 31st plan for publishing. And volume three, Home Not Home, won't be out by the end of the year. It's going to need at least as much work as this one did, and I'm only on draft 3 of it. There's much to add. Much to work out, still. So I'm not going to sweat it.

Something that happened mainly in this latest draft was changing locations and events. Like putting a conversation between Brendan and Jeremy at a shooting range instead of a pool, where it almost seems like Jeremy is upset with Brendan because Everett is obsessed with him. Jeremy was his second choice because he resembles Brendan.

And adding in an actual interview Brendan has with the FBI and a British agent gives a bit more heft to his belief he cannot return to Derry except through subterfuge. The British are still looking for him to interrogate about that bombing 8 years earlier. It's as if someone keeps stirring the pot to keep them thinking about him, even though most Catholics believe he's dead.

I also worked out a better way for him to find his motorcycle key years after he was kidnapped and brutalized in a playground. He's gone searching for the location and recalls the basic directions he was taken. He finally comes to a spot that seems right but he's leery because of the playground.

There's a knothole in one of the oak trees close by that's child-height and holds a number of things--cars molded from plastic, crayons, marbles, and the key. A child found it and is keeping it as part of their treasure. That way, he knows this is the place and it sends him careening into an attitude of Fuck everybody.