And here we go...

The first chapter of MQM is redone, and I've cut 600 words already. Lots of it chitter-chatter, but too much background had been loaded in, too. And something else...I am writing this whole story to the end before I do any more rewriting. So now this part is done till I am done.

Of course, I know I'm rewriting the parts I have already written, but there are blank areas between the disparate chapters and I want those completed. Meaning I'm rewriting and then writing and then rewriting to fit all the writing and what I've rewritten. Makes sense...sort of...

So...it still starts with Simon being talked into going to Barrington, Ohio, to pack a collection of 100 titles for a book dealer he knows in London. It's an easy job, and they'll be going to the dealer's NYC shop, so no need for extra paperwork or special care beyond the basics.

But a voice in his head is warning him not to go. That it will not turn out well. He's in his 70s and getting too old for this work. However, he needs the money and can think of no logical reason not to accept the job. And so begins the end of his life.

I wonder if I should write a pamphlet about the proper packing of antiquarian books for shipping. I started to, once, then got sidetracked. I even did illustrations...god, way back when...whenever. I may go through that, again, since I'm getting to the point I really cannot continue with this.

Doesn't need to be extensive...just careful in its explanations...

Simon returns to lead...

It's funny I say that, because what I worked on today is the ending third of the book. Which takes ReShawn's pov as he begins to figure out what happened. Again, it's from his immediate viewpoint, like with Brendan, but this is what Simon wants.

I can indicate what's happening around him as he marches to his fate. And maybe set up aspects that ReShawn doesn't see which might lead to the punishment of those who killed him. 

But now that we have an understanding, Simon and I, I feel more optimistic about the story. I can see the blocks fitting into place.

As of this moment, I have 61,500 words total. Maybe 10% will be cut because they no longer fit, but I have a lot to add to the story. So it may wind up as about 75K. Which is livable.

The meaning behind the story seems to be, The universe is what it is, and has no moral center. Only humans do, and far too many people ignore that in themselves in exchange for momentary comfort or satisfaction...and shrug justice off onto some vague notion of karma.

Simon is at an age where he can see that now, and reacts accordingly when he's taken into the woods. And everything needs to lead up to that...as I already knew. But now I can see how to do it.

I'll still whine and complain, but suddenly I can see the end of this project when I couldn't before.

And I hope it will resonate.

Am I dishonest?

Or am I full of shit? I have to wonder, sometimes. I can think of nothing I've done where I truly feel I did my best. It's always done just enough....and that is not good.

Even with APoS, I think I avoided digging deeper into the story and characters by limiting it to Brendan's immediate awareness. Which also limited the scope of the story. Much is seen, but so much more is hidden.

That's not to say I'm not proud of the book; I am, very. It's an achievement I hold on to when I'm careening into my moments of self-loathing. And sense of worthlessness. And just plain anger at myself for not being fully present in my work.

If that makes any sense.

Anyway, until just after noon, I was feeling completely lost, unable to focus on either MQM or DW or anything. Really just bouncing off walls. But then a potential job in LA snapped me back into gear. Just a couple hundred books but of high value...

...Just like what Simon is doing. And I saw what I needed to focus on.

So I worked up an estimate for me to go there...and FWIW, air fares are insane and the schedules offered are ludicrous. Now they'll submit it, and we'll see how it goes. But at least it gave me a kick in the ass from the MQM side.

Simon is ready to work. I was close to junking the whole structure, but doing so would have collapsed the story into chaos and trying to make that work was affecting me and that's where my freak-out began...and he simply said, It's my story; shut up and let me tell it.

He wants me to keep the storyline I'd started and work off that. Make it fit in as smooth a way as possible. And he has provided the beginning of the meaning behind the story.

There is evil in the world, and it works in ways so soft and quiet you never notice it until you're trapped by it...and you have to become it to fight back. If you can.

Or something like that.

Trying to understand...

Simon came knocking at my brain, today, with a little dittie he wrote.

You live your life with care and grace

And in the end you have to face

The fact it never was a race

And soon you’re gone without a trace.

Then we chatted a bit, and the subject of preferences came up. He pointed out that while Dillon was a very attractive man, Simon wasn't interested in him. And used Michael Yerger as an example.

Very good-looking. In great shape. Available under the right circumstances. Probably even circumcised, which is important to him (and me). BUT...neither he nor I are the least bit attracted to the guy.

It's something that just happens. There have been many instances where I see a gorgeous man but have zero interest in getting to even know him let alone want to have sex with him. And I don't know the reason for that feeling. It's just...automatic.

And it's usually visceral. There are certain actors I don't like the second I see a photo of them. Jonathan Rhys-Myers is one. Robert Pattinson is another, and his bit in Harry Potter... was hard to get past. I just automatically want nothing to do with either of them...and that includes watching any program they're in. Same for Kristen Stewart.

I don't know why that happens; it just does. Simon doesn't dislike Dillon because he's the assistant prosecutor. He flat out does not trust him from the second he meets him. Doesn't want to turn his back on him. He feels warmer to Paley, who lied and busted him over nothing.

I don't even begin to understand why...but it's the reason he refuses to take the deal Dillon offers.

Which may be leading MQM in a whole new direction...

Tim Curry, too?

Jesus Christ, who's next? Michael Caine? Robert De Niro? Judy Dench? This nonstop loss is hurting me.

I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show in San Antonio while at Trinity University. 1977. There was an ad in the school paper, showing Frankie in full corset and fishnets, and I had to go. If I remember right, it was at the Northwest Theatre, off Loop 410 and I-10. Six screens.

I was at the first midnight screening and it was full but not all that participatory, yet. I got to hear the whole film without the crowd's responses. Those started up within a few weeks. I brought a water pistol and bought popcorn and a Hershey's chocolate bar with a soda by the third time I saw it.

Fifty years later and I can still quote it...probably because I've seen it dozens of times. And I still love the message: Don't dream it, be it...no matter what the consequences.

That was Tim...and I had such a crush on him. So lean and frisky and just plain out there. He had no duplicate. No shadow worth noting. He is, was, and always will be one of a kind.

I got to meet him when I was working at Book Soup, handling the newsstand. The moment I saw him, I choked up. Couldn't speak. He was so very gracious and smiled and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you," in his melodious purring voice. Even though we hadn't actually officially met. And all I could do is nod like an idiot.

I know he's been ill for well over a decade, but still...him leaving on the same day as Dolly is so fucking hard to bear.

Dolly Parton 1946-2026

 Why do the good ones leave too soon?

I stole this from John Helfgott...

Dolly Parton is dead at 80, and her video announcing it she asked her own nephew to record years in advance. Bryan Seaver, Parton's nephew and her head of security for more than two decades, said she died peacefully Tuesday in Nashville. Then he passed along a request she had left with him. 

"Dolly called me and said she wants to rest in a beautiful bed of plush cotton because after a life wearing heavy rhinestones, she finally deserves to be comfortable and have some rest." 

Five days before she died, Parton said publicly that she had been dealing with health issues she "didn't pay attention to when I was watching over Carl," her husband Carl Dean, who died in March 2025 after 58 years of marriage. Earlier this month she pulled out of a Dollywood appearance, saying her Nashville doctor had "kinda clipped my wings." 

In 2023, as Tennessee lawmakers pushed through a stack of anti-trans laws and tried to ban drag performances in public, Parton said trans people cannot help being trans "any more than I can help being Dolly Parton." "I just want everybody to be treated good," she said. 

To the Christians who came after her for it, she had already answered: "If you're the fine Christian that you think you are, why are you judging people? That's God's job." 

When Austin drag performer Brigitte Bandit spent that same year fighting Texas's anti-drag law in court, in full drag, Parton sent her a signed, bejeweled guitar. 

In April 2020 she gave $1 million to coronavirus research at Vanderbilt. Dr. Naji Abumrad, the friend who told her what the lab was working on, said her money made the research go "10 times faster." She took the Moderna shot on camera and told the holdouts not to be "such a chicken squat." 

Her Imagination Library has mailed more than 300 million free books to children. She built it for her father, Robert Lee Parton, who could not read or write. "He got to live long enough to hear the kids call me the Book Lady."

😭😭😭😭😭

Have I gone as far as I can?

I'm a bit down, right now, because today I fell into looking back over my life and having one of those brutal moments of clarity at just how stupid I've been, over and over and over. I've never really thought things through before doing them, and never really understood their implications until years later.

Seriously, I bounced between one event and another without any plan or a clue as to what I'm doing. That helped fuck up a movie project in Houston. Helped me decide to go to college for film instead of just moving out to LA and learning it from scratch, when I was young enough to be able to do so and could have lived with my folks.

I used to think a lot of this was due to fear, but it wasn't really. It was usually just the easier path, and I always knew I could retreat if things got to be too bad. Like they did in NYC after I was accepted to NYU's Graduate School of Film. Like what happened the first time I moved to LA, years later. 

Both of those would have been work, and while I claimed I had an attack of ego over NYU, then swore part of it was due to fear...it was really just a blank inability in my brain to consider ways to make it come together for me. Either time. I had no real plan. I'd just gone feet-first into it and not liked how it didn't gel for me so paddled my ass back to shore.

On top of this, I've been an asshole so damn much, I should use it as my middle name...or my title. Asshole Kyle M Sullivan. How would you abbreviate that? As? Ash? Aho? Instead of Mr.

I never know when I'm being one. I just look back and wonder, Why the fuck did I do that or say that or act like that?

And now I'm old and in pain and cranky and cannot figure out what the fuck I was doing with my life except just tumbling from one moment to another. And hurting people as I go. Half the reason I prefer to live alone is so I can't hurt anyone or anything, anymore.

That's not a legacy to be proud of.

A nothing day...

Got to bed at 4:30am. Slept till after 1pm. And the whole of today was nothing. Just...I dunno. Nothing. 

I did manage to make myself go out and get milk, at least, since I wanted tea and didn't have enough for it. 

Right now, I'm watching episodes of Murder, She Wrote from 1985...which are mindless entertainment.

I also read more of Second Foundation...and I can sense some decisions being made in the back of my brain about what project to fall into, next. Nothing definite, yet...just me waiting for me to tell me what I am going to do until I decide not to, again.

I read an interesting comment in a post on someone's Facebook page -- Technical perfection can impress the mind, but emotional purity alters the soul. It hit me that in my head I keep trying for the best English grammar and story structure possible, thinking that will mean I'm doing right as a writer. But deep within I want to affect the reader emotionally. I wonder if those are mutually exclusive within me.

I try to paint images with words. Use words to lead to emotions. And sometimes I get carried away in the argument between them. Because it is an argument. I've read books that are of "great meaning" and demand you understand glorious point they are making. Things like Carl Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy and John Fowles' The Collector. I can acknowledge the precise language but find them emotionally inert. They're so intent on telling you what to think, you can't.

I like to believe the chapter in Bobby Carapisi, where the title character reveals he's about to kill himself and is begging forgiveness for it, hits better because it's not great English; it's a man at the end of his rope and in chaos.

And when Jake finds out what happened to his uncle in The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, and all he can do is sit in a hotel room and sketch image after image of himself, in a mirror, in order not to have to think about it...the absence of me explaining his emotional state hits harder than if I spent paragraphs detailing it.

So is that what I was trying to do with The Murder of a Quiet Man? Find the emotion before knowing the story? It's possible.

En route home...

I'm writing this on the plane that's taking me from Denver to Buffalo. It's 3 hours late. The flight from Little Rock to Denver was fine and on time, but then Southwest got all Southwest-y and started bumping my connecting flight by an hour at a time.

So I won't get home till after 3am. Lovely. I should have known better than to think everything was going well. Now I'm done with Southwest. I'm looking into another airline to take me to Seattle at the end of October.

The one good thing about this flight, since we are currently experiencing turbulence, is I chatted a bit with a man who is amazingly good-looking and would be on the same flight. But he's in the cheap seats and I'm in extra legroom. I lucked out and got a row to myself so would have offered it to him, but soon as we were airborne he went to sleep.

I could sleep, as well...but I'm not really feeling the need, at the moment. It's still nearly 2 hours to landing so I might catch a short nap, but I want my OJ, first.

I'd forgotten how much I enjoy reading a good book, and Asimov's Foundation Trilogy is most excellent. I know how it goes but still forgot some parts and it's fun to rediscover them. I'm into Second Foundation, now, and feel no need to push myself to work on anything of my own. It's all still percolating.

And now I'm zoning, a bit...

Staying in Buffalo...

Today I built the boxes into Gaylord containers, on pallets, and it was work. The storage boxes are 10" deep and I stack them up three level, but the Gaylords are 36" deep and I don't want to deal with having to fill the blank space...so I cut them down. They're heavy-duty double-walled cardboard which was not easy to adjust. Between that and maneuvering everything into place, I think I sweated off 10 pounds.

I actually drank water. I don't usually drink water. My fluids come from DPZ and tea. But today, I polished off a bottle of SmartWater.

At least it all got done before noon, and it was only 96 degrees out. Hence my determination to stick with Buffalo and its much milder summers. Little Rock reminded me too damn much of Houston heat and humidity, something I never liked.

Something else? I am not at all impressed with the selection of food in this town. I found a deli...that was like a light shorthand version of Cantor's...and they couldn't work out how to make a regular Reuben a Turkey one. So I got a BLT that was small but tasty and a cup of broccoli cheese soup that they said was made from a veggie base.

I'm still not thinking about writing anything. I continued reading Asimov's book when I got back to the hotel and nuked a light dinner and am very relaxed. Took another nap in that recliner.

Tomorrow I head home on a 3pm flight, by way of Denver. I'll decide what next to do once I'm back in my abode. This job went far smoother than I expected...but it still wore me out. I'm just too old to keep doing this.

I hate saying that...