Thick head unthickened...

I finally understand why I was having such trouble with The Murder of a Quiet Man. Simon was going to wind up a sad dead faggot...and I hate that in all forms. Movies. Books. Music. TV. Plays. Any form of entertainment. That or being a killer queer. And I was trying like hell to ignore that reality because...

Shit, because I don't really know why. I'd blinded myself to that reality of it. I've read books that have gay men and women killing themselves or others because they can't handle life in a disparaging society...or they're self-loathing...or someone kills them because they are self-loathing...and it always rankles me.

Yet here I was writing one just like it. How fucking ridiculous of me.

What kicked the blinders off was seeing the uproar over a British series called Tip Toe. I started getting ads for it on Facebook, like crazy, focused on the lead being Alan Cumming, an older gay man who runs or owns a gay bar in Manchester and is having issues with his straight neighbor...and something about it put me off.

I don't know why. I didn't know much more about it than that. And I would have had to sign up for Starz to get it, so that wasn't going to happen. But the ads kept coming and snippets of scenes and my wariness grew to where I needed to find out more about it. Because I had to know if there was going to be somebody dead in that thing.

Finally, I tracked down a treatment for the series...and sure enough, it's got a murdered faggot at its center. Lynched by a mob in Manchester. Which angered me.

So for certain I was not going to watch the damned thing...but that got me to thinking and realizing I was going to do that to Simon. He's an old gay man who refuses to back down and winds up in a grave in the woods. And I was trying to find some way to work it out so it wasn't the same fucking thing. Which was stupid.

Oh, God, sometimes I can't believe how myopic I can be...

Slow motion...

I feel like I'm a bit underwater, here, because I'm not pushing this draft to come together too quickly. I can see the surface and head towards it, but without the urgency to breathe, yet.

I want it to build naturally and steadily, and considering all that I have already written, completely. So I may not have this ready to even begin to consider publishing it for another year.

Which might be pessimistic of me. I have the characters set. The locations. The basic structure. I'm adjusting the time period, a bit, and will be including another couple of characters, but overall it's in solid shape. It's just too...well, too busy.

And by busy I mean lots of info and details that are neither important nor interesting. Conversations that help me clarify the characters and situations in my head but add nothing to the story and won't be missed if removed.

I am also working in more of Adam's references to various poets he loves...and some of his own poetry. Like...

Into my room, came he.

The silence as his key.

No dream allowed, you see,

Or life still said to be...

My own

That one just sort of popped up out of nowhere. I know it refers to his time in a foster home where he had his own room but was used by older men, in it.

I'm also a bit uncertain as to how to handle the sexual molestation of underage boys in this. It's important to explain Adam's development and he would not shy away from discussing it, but I have to be wary of laws against it being too graphically discussed. Maybe I should talk to an attorney.

Guess we'll see how that goes...

Jenga writing...

While working on DW I decided to add more to the beginning of the story--when Dair and Adam first meet...and where. First, I had Adam describe the town and then had him working at Dair's mother's lodge when Dair returns from living in Europe for three years.

Adam's shirtless, gleaming with sweat from replacing some siding on the building, and knows he looks damn good. He also knows the second he sees Dair that he's gay. But to his surprise, Dair pays him zero attention. No gaze of appreciation or reaction. Which irritates Adam...to his surprise.

Then Marion introduces them and Adam realizes Dair wasn't ignoring him; he was just so focused on seeing his mother, again, he had blinders on. And Adam understands he could manipulate Dair into giving him anything...and plans to do so.

Which segues into him revealing what his life had been like and how he has become the type of person who uses others to take care of himself.

It made so much sense to do it this way, I'm embarrassed I didn't think of it earlier.

I'm using a gay porn star, Jarec Wentworth, as my image for Adam. Partly because he's attractive but mainly because of a certain wariness in his eyes. He's also the near opposite of Derrick Davenport, whose image I'm using for Dair. Not just in looks but in feel and attitude.

Now comes the fun part, trimming down Adam's story about how he became a sex worker...something he still does, even while working for Marion.

You never know where ideas come from...

Monday I was driving around the Kitsap Peninsula looking for a seafood restaurant when I went down a side road that led nowhere...until I saw this tree loaded with moss and ivy shooting straight up from a mass of bushes and shrubs.

It almost seemed magical. So I stopped and took some photos of it all...none of which really do justice to it...and what hit me was how Dair would love to see it.

He's at home in mountains of Western Washington. The thick masses of trees and the back roads. Leaves changing colors and blanketing the ground. Snow soon coming to soften everything, even if it's via a blizzard. It's where he grew up and became who he is...

Became someone Adam could come to love and trust and want to protect. Not a man who's perfect, but who is decent.

Adam is not, at first. He knows the world too damned well. Knows how people can be...and often are. And he has a journey to undertake, both in this life and the next.

That's when I finally realized that telling the story gives the the title a secondary meaning.

Dair will still build a window for his grandfather's church. But there is also the window Adam will now find into Dair's heart and soul, before he dies. Which will lead him back to being human.

He had become something feral and selfish, thanks to how he was treated by others. And he starts out to misuse Dair's trust and decency...but slowly finds that he cannot betray them. It won't be a conscious decision on his part. It's just one that will happen, and his mind will take a bit of time to catch up to his new understanding.

So today I dug through the folder I have of past drafts, information, images and ideas. Streamlined it down to a manageable level. I still have more to go through, but it's begun to make sense to me. Thanks in no small part fto finding Dair's tree...

If that makes sense.

"Dair's Window" returns...

Dair slipped up to walk beside me, today, letting my mind drift over his story. I'm using Derrick Davenport as my visualization of him, and he likes that.

Strong but not overpowering. Right age. Cuddly, even. A bear cub, really. Maybe a bit big for an otter. And caring....

I could see a man like him comforting Adam out of his shell. See him help Adam past the pain of his life and bring back to alive and caring, again...adding to the tragedy of him being taken away so suddenly.

I'm going to finish Adam's story, first...everything that is seen through his POV, even after he's dead and his parents are suing Dair for half his estate.

Then I will dig into Dair's story from the point where he's about to join Wallace in a commitment ceremony to where he's tried for attempted murder and finally has to acknowledge the support he thought he had from certain members of his family does not exist.

I'm unsure about having him track down Joseph, Wallace's former lover, and reconnect. That story seems a bit too pat, now. I'm also uncertain about him shifting his studio from his home to a warehouse in Seattle's warehouse district. That area is really desolate, and I can't see Dair being happy or creative there.

I have a lot of research left to do in many ways, but a plan for the story seems to be coming together in my head. Write it and consider shifting scenes about to make it more like stream of consciousness, at times, as well as work in what that window is, of Dair's.

That part is very important...

Brain dead...

I'm back home after a lot of rushing around and adjusting things on the fly...as is normal. The job in LA wound up being larger than expected, of course, but I still got it done and it's set for delivery on Friday.

Met with friends in LA, which took a lot of work...but was worth it. Got those relationships back on track. I don't have many friends, mainly because I don't really try. I've known these for more than 40 years.

Then came Seattle, which was actually pleasant...and where I did some research for Dair's Window. The book fair took up Sunday, but my flight home wasn't till after midnight Tuesday morning, so I got a car on points to get mobile all day Monday.

Hit a Barnes & Noble to find a couple books on Seattle, then ran over to Gig Harbor, scoured a couple of bookstores for more on the city, hopped a ferry across from Bremerton to downtown and checked out the train station and bus terminal for part of Adam's story...

Which I'm glad I did, because the Greyhound terminal is like a prefab building stuck under the freeway not far from the Seahawks' stadium in a very industrial area. Really depressing. However, the train station is really nice if a bit awkward to deal with.

But overall, I took a break from thinking about The Murder of a Quiet Man...and I think I'm done with it. At least for now. This visit to Seattle has nudged me back to DW.

So arrived home at nearly noon, slept in a while, then worked out my expenses to take in, tomorrow, with the paperwork from everything.

And then it will be back to DW.

Off on another roundabout...

Heading for LA, tomorrow, then to Seattle...and then maybe NYC. The last bit depends on what happens while I'm in the air. Such perfect timing, since I'm dealing with some lovely indigestion and acid reflux and shit.

Seems I need to step back a little from the spicee that make life worth living. So far the only foods I've eaten that aren't trying to tear a new hole in my stomach are cantaloupe and buttered toast. I did do okay with some cream of mushroom soup, but my quiche was not conducive to a gentle evening. Even tea with milk and honey is being snotty.

Anyway, today was taken up with laundry and packing and trying to plan out what to do if the NYC thing comes through, and none of it really makes me happy. I'd be staying at a hotel by LaGuardia, which is treated like an unwanted cousin by the city. No restaurants. No easy way to get around. It's absurd.

My brain is still twisting and turning in all directions regarding MQM, Same for my pamphlet on book packing. And getting myself to just hunker down and work through them is like asking to win a million bucks in the lottery. Ain't happening...probably because I don't play the lottery.

I'm taking Barbara Tuchman's A Distant Mirror with me to read on the flights. Go into forced solitude. Let everything go chaotic in the back of my head. Remind myself of how horrible mankind has always been to itself.

And will always be...

My so-called brain...

Twisting. Turning. Fighting. Arguing. Cajoling. Laughing. And not one step closer to anything about MQM making any sense, to me. And this is with me trying to not deal with it.

I almost feel like a spectator at my own nervous breakdown. Bouncing back and forth between extremes while insisting I'm not involved. And the current fight isn't even over Simon's character; it's trying to figure out the motivations for Chris Walstead and Ivan Jensen to push through the legal case against him.

Included is me wondering if trying to keep the book completely in Simon's POV without using first person will even work. Meaning I wonder if I should go omniscient. I'm not really crazy about that. I think it entails a lot more expertise in using it than I have, as shown with Carli's Kills and The Alice '65.

I am more comfortable in first person. I become the character and can fill in the blanks...or ignore them as the situation determines. It worked really well with APoS and with The Vanishing of Owen Taylor...hell, with all but those two I mentioned.

I know I'm being repetitious in my whining and confusion over MQM, but everything I'm dealing with concerning it seems very immediate to me while I'm so incompletely connected to myself in so many ways I'm amazed I remember what I did yesterday, let alone what I wrote a week ago.

So I sit and speak and watch my thoughts drift away into nothingness and hope I can pull it together before I slip into senility.

Intrusive thought...

What is my intention with The Murder of a Quiet Man?

What do I mean for Simon to be? Because Simon is coming from within me...and yet I don’t seem to know who he really is or why this story should matter.

1. What do I want people to think about him?
2. To feel about him?
3. How should he see himself? Feel about himself?
4. How do I find a way to make that fill the story without it being reticent in any way? With no wall between him and the reader?

That’s what this boils down to. I jumped into the story not knowing what it’s all about and just hoped it would reveal itself and come together like other books I’ve written have, but in doing so it’s become far more complex and confusing than I can figure out, at the moment.

The plotline is there, from beginning to end in a timeframe of six months. Maybe even shorter. I've thought of making it three months. I’m not sure yet. And that’s why I’m having such trouble...

Or is it? Could it just be me recognizing my attitude towards Simon and his life is too much on the flippant side? The writing method of I need this here and something to happen here...which is anything but organic to the story...and I don’t know why I’d think that.

It never was with Brendan, in A Place of Safety. That story had an historical setting that was important enough to get me past any confusion about it. Once I finally settled in and listened to it. Which only took 20 years to happen.

Well, I ain’t got 20 years to work on MQM. I need to have more than the spine to build the story onto. I need to know and understand Simon...and figure out how best to tell his story in a way that is beyond simple existence.

Is that what I’m after? An everyman caught in events out of his control? Something existential? Mixed with nihilism?

Nopne of which makes sense...not even to those of scrambled brain.

Well, this is weird...

I'm trying to work up a booklet on how I do my packing jobs. Prepare for them, get what information is needed, and how to allow for contingencies...and it's hurting my head.

I've laid out the details I need to ask for to start working up a game plan, which has always seemed simple and straightforward. Where are the books located? Where are they going? How many are there? Is there a list? Are there photos of the books on the shelves? All very A-B-C.

But then I tried to factor in aspects that are just second nature to me, much of which depends on me being very adaptable. I can go into a house and work out a space to use, build a workstation without a thought, and start rocking along. But having to write all that into the instructions means I have to think about it and explain what's instinctive to me.

For example: I did a job recently where all of the books were on the second floor (which was really the first floor but up half a level) except there were three shelves of books on the second floor...which was more like floor 2.5. And had some heavy little monsters.

So...do I bring them down to pack with the lower level ones? Which would mean going up and down a staircase that's one of those twisty/turny things guaranteed to make me take a tumble, and I did not want to risk dropping one of the books.

Instead, I made a secondary workspace up there, packed them into boxes, and hired a couple of guys through UHaul moving help to bring them down to the main landing...because they were heavy and I'm a wuss.

Seems simple enough to explain...but that just ain't the case. So many variables to keep in mind and put in order to prevent confusion in the reader. And that's not even getting into how best to pack boxes into a reusable container or the back of a Chrysler Pacifica.

What's funny is, I've been doing this for so long, half of it I don't even think about before I determine my next move. I just run with it...and then tell the people in the office it's really easy.

Who'd have thought I could be a book-packin' maven.