Working on it...

First British notes back on The Alice '65 and a lot to go through. Nothing major, it seems, just details mixed in with the bits and pieces of the story. I'll have to read through it to find them all, however, because he input them into a Word copy, in red. Like hide and seek.

One embarrassing bit is someone pointing out my misspelling of dummkopf. If I'm going to use words from a foreign language, I should verify they're correctly spelled. That's another step in the process, now.

Something that's interesting is when a correction is suggested because the reader misunderstood what I was getting at. That means I need to find a better way to lay it out so it's not confusing. Clarity is the essence of condescending obnoxiousness...but sometimes it's what is needed in an off-beat story like A65.

I had another reader so identify with Adam, she never was able to see the humor of what was happening. Maybe I should stop calling this a romantic comedy and just a romance...of a sort. It doesn't really fall under those parameters. Romantic farce, maybe? Dramatic farce? Hell, I don't know; I just hope it's readable and sells well.

Tomorrow I'm off to San Francisco for a couple days and then Miami and New York City. A whirlwind 8 days of book fair move ins and map fair move outs and collections of archives and all that jazz. So I'll read the notes on the plane. I'm too backed up from work to do anything more. I was there till after 7 getting things settled before I go.

Now my brain is drained and ready for bed...

That was quick...

I sent in an application to be allowed to apply for a Library of Congress number, yesterday, and I already got the OK! Didn't expect it for a week. So I sent one in on behalf of The Alice '65. And got a notice back they had "The alive '65" under review. I nearly fell over. I checked every part of that application before I hit send, and I'd have sworn I had everything correct. But I can't find out till they issue the number; then I supposedly can make changes.

I'm finding my typing and ability to catch my errors is getting worse. Like I have minimal control over my fingers and my brain doesn't connect with my eyes, sometimes. I like to blame some of it on this laptop's slim keyboard, and that is part of the issue...but I do still have some of the same trouble on a regular keyboard, at work. I have to proof my emails three times to make sure they're right, and sometimes I still miss things.

I had myself checked for Alzheimer's and dementia, since those run in my family. But I didn't score anywhere near what they say indicates either illness. I also asked about dyslexia becoming more pronounced as you age, but the doctor shrugged that off with, "You either are or aren't, and since you've never been diagnosed with it..."

I dunno...maybe I just need to stop pushing so hard and kick back a little. Maybe I'm just more hyper-critical of my work so more aware of the errors I'm making. This is why I now use editors for my work; they can catch most of my fuck-ups...but then again, they don't catch all of them.

Just glancing over A65 to add in a change I wanted to make about Adam's stylish redo, I found a couple of inconsistencies -- noting he's not supposed to have a belt, for example, then a paragraph later, he's slipping a belt on. It was like that two drafts ago.

Oopsie...

I should have reposted this, yesterday...

This is from when I was in Munich and went to Dachau, on July 25th, 2013 in the middle of a vicious heat wave. I'm reposting in honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day.
-----------------
So…yesterday I went to Dachau Concentration Camp. It’s only about 20 minutes northwest of Munich, on the S-Bahn #2. Then you hop the 726 bus to pass through a pleasant little town and around to the main entrance.  It’s not a very large bus and has no AC or even decent air flow, and mine was crammed with American students chattering about where they’ve been, so far, and how awful or lax airport security is, and yap, yap, yap. Irritating…but it’s Europe in the summer.

Right by the entrance is the well-kept information center and cafeteria, then comes a short stroll down a gravel pathway of lovely foliage and neat benches, all very innocuous...until you get to...

...a couple of rails left from where the trains used to stop. Then across a little creek is a plain-looking building with a simple iron gate. Beyond that is a massive parade ground. Acres of smooth, white gravel, with tiny buildings to the left and the museum to the right.

In front of this building is a wrought-iron sculpture symbolizing the pain and suffering of what happened at this camp.

I entered the museum first, winding my way down polished floors and clean white walls and perfectly laminated posters with well-crafted explanations of the events from 1933-1945. Some of the photos are very intense, and a sign at the main entrance even suggests the museum is not appropriate for children under 12. People were mostly quiet and reading and thinking, some chattering to each other, some being led by tour guides...like this was the latest collection at a gallery.

It used to be the processing center, where prisoners were stripped and forced to take showers, then were shaved of their hair…each step done in the most humiliating manner possible.

When you exit the building, to the right are guard towers and trenches and electrified fences.

Across the wide expanse of blinding white gravel are two barracks that neatly show the living conditions...

...and beyond those are line after line of gravel rectangles elegantly symbolizing the 72 other barracks that made up this part of the camp…each precisely numbered.

There’s a beautiful promenade between tall, whispering trees that leads to a Christian memorial to the dead; the Jewish one is smaller and to the right of it. To its left is a building that deals with racism of all kinds.

People stroll about and chatter and talk on their phones and German students sound just like American students, except for the actual words, and I heard this Daft Punk song I loathe blasting off someone’s iPod and dogs are led about on leads, sniffing and pissing as their owners complain about god knows what and it’s all so wrong, wrong, wrong.

You don’t smell anything there. All you hear is nonsense and the noise of idiots. The gravel is kept perfectly in place. The floors are so clean you can eat off them. The walls are painted white or are polished wood. Behind the Christian memorial is a Carmelite convent established on what was a playground built by slave labor for the camp commandant’s children. It all looks really, really nice, but it’s all so antiseptic and clean, it’s not real, anymore. It’s just a thought.

What clarified everything was when I was walking down the promenade towards the memorial and a woman passed me with her happy, sniffing dog as she chatted to a friend. I actually got so fucking angry when I saw that fucking dog and that stupid fucking woman chattering in what I think was German, I had to walk away from her. All of a sudden I was weeping…not crying, just tears streaming down my face at the blithe disregard for how vile and animalistic humanity has been and can still be. Granted, hers wasn’t the only dog there, but it drove the point home.

This was a park, now. A playground for puppies to play and piss and poop, and for people to stroll around on a warm summer day. The exquisite symmetry of it all has minimized the hell this place became for god knows how many men, women and children. It’s all just history, now. All just a memory...if even that.

Humans have been practicing genocide since we began developing separate civilizations. “Mine is always better while yours is unworthy.” Even the US was built on genocide and slavery, and around the world hate and fear are, as usual, being used to solidify political power in Russia and Afghanistan and countries in Africa...hell, it’s still happening in America.

We always do everything we can to minimize the true atrocities that can be unleashed by human beings – not just at Dachau, but against Armenians in Turkey, and Kurds in Iraq, and Native Americans in the US and on and on and on. It’s always "them" being the worst and only barely ever "us" when it comes to the horror that's part of nature; not human nature, just nature in general.

The planet don't give a damn about our ideas of morality, one way or the other. It does what it does. We, as humans, claim we want to rise above that…but we always drop back to the slime pits the second we have the excuse.

Because we never remember; we deliberately forget. And clean, beautiful, antiseptic memorials like Dachau will always be there to help us do exactly that.
---------
It's nearly 5 years later, and the world is racing to another catastrophe, just like this one...and that motherfucking son-of-a-bitch in the White house is leading the charge.

God damn him and every one of his cult-like followers.

Getting it right...

Interesting...but when I finally got my cover down, the book began to seem like it's going to get done. I'm still waiting for feedback on the archival and British aspects of the story -- I've gently asked if that would be coming anytime soon and only been told by one she's having fun working on it -- but the jacket and synopsis are set.

It's amazing how the slightest shift in position can make or break the artwork for a cover. I think I shifted Adam's position a half-dozen times before it was right. Same for the title. I lowered my name a bit, along with Gertrude, the book and Casey, and that extra bit of space seems to make it real, for me.

I've also contacted the Library of Congress about getting an LoC designation for the copyright page. That's needed for libraries to know who to categorize the book, but I have to ask permission to ask for it, first. So I did. Supposedly, I'll get the answer in a few days.

There's also the synopsis, which will be on the front flyleaf of the cover. I've redone it and polished it and adjusted it so much, I may have edged all the life out of it. If anyone wants to comment, I'm open to suggestions --

One of the rarest books in existence is the 1865 printing of Lewis Carroll’s Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Sir John Tenniel, the illustrator, so disliked how they turned out they were recalled to be replaced by a new printing. All but around 50 were returned and destroyed, and of those...fewer than half survive.

Adam Verlain knows all about this; he’s a library archivist for a university in London, and books are his life. But when that library acquires a newly discovered copy of The Alice ‘65, he declines the opportunity to travel to Los Angeles to pick it up. He has sworn never to leave his careful, cloistered world because his father was robbed and killed on a similar trip. He only agrees to go when he is told the book will be brought to him at the airport, meaning he will be surrounded by security.

However, from the moment he boards the plane, things start to go wrong. Then he meets the amazingly beautiful, amazingly persuasive Casey Blanchard, a movie star who inherited The Alice '65, and the worst happens -- she will not let him have the book unless he accompanies her to a premier of her latest film for reasons that...well, seem quite odd.

The university wants that book, so Adam is forced to go along...sending him careening into a chaotic world of too-cool artists, drill-sergeant stylists, mistaken identity, hysterical fans, Hollywood royalty, their courtiers and minions, maniacal LA drivers, an outlandish party, a drowning pool, a love-struck wild animal on a homemade veldt, 25 cans of salmon...and the horrible realization he’s fallen head-over-heels in love with a woman every man in the world desires, but who he knows could never love him back.

Or could she?

A bit of A65...

This is when Adam's trying to sneak back into Lando's party, after having been kicked out --

---

Adam grimaced and berated himself for not being more like James Bond than Tarzan. That beam of light danced through the leaves, again. He crouched in a shadow and meowed like a cat.

Sort of.

The guard chuckled and said, "Hey, kitty cat, you don't wanna be near that yard, trust me."

Which caused Adam to meow a question mark. What could the man mean? He looked around at the big, beautiful pool that was too close for comfort, and the thickness of bushes around the rocks, and the massive trees in their center, their branches trimmed away from the fencing, and the arced wire along the rooftop and — wait, even on top of the house there was a fence? What — did the paparazzi climb onto his roof and rappel down to the ground to take photos in a bedroom window? Like where two people were, right now?

Two people named Casey and Lando.

Holding each other and kissing.

Very intense kissing.

Hands everywhere kissing!

She wasn't in trouble; she was back in Lando's arms!

"Bloody hell," popped out before Adam could even think to censor it.

He heard the guard cry, "Okay, that wasn't no cat. Tito, we got an intruder in the back yard."

Then he heard Tito's voice laugh on a walkie-talkie as he said, "Don't worry, he'll come out soon as he meets Gertrude."

Gertrude?

"Don't we want him alive?" the guard asked.

Alive? What the devil were they talking about?

Then he heard something growling. A deep rumbling growling. Stronger than any dog or cat he'd ever known. More like a motorcycle revving. He looked around. Searched the bushes. Searched the yard. Searched the trees and found nothing —

Except a pair of cool, yellow eyes in the shadows of the trees. He looked harder and finally saw the form of a big, beautiful black panther lounging on a branch. Watching him. Curious. Almost sad.

Until it hissed and howled at him!

He jolted back against the fence and that damned wire jabbed him in the rear. He jumped forward, crying, "SCHEISSE. Nein! Nein!" Grabbed at the tree but lost his grip and fell onto a branch that bounced him onto a diving board that bounced him off into the deep end of the massive pool.

Where he promptly sank.

He thrashed and swallowed water and choked and was barely able to kick himself back to the surface to cry, "Help!" before he sank, again, and had to fight his way back up to the surface to choke out a more feeble "Help..."

He heard Casey's voice cry, "Adam?" then sank, again and —

Something bumped against him and grabbed him by the collar to drag him into the shallow end so he could stand and cough and wipe water off his face, as best he could.

"Adam? Adam, are you all right?" It was Casey's voice.

His eyes burned like fire and he was retching, but he was finally able to look around and see her at the edge of the pool, watching him, fear in her eyes.

Lando sat in a window, drink in hand, chuckling, "See? All he had to do was stand up."

"He was in the deep end, idiot," Casey snapped. "Gertrude pulled him over."

"From the shallow end."

Veronica joined Lando, saying, "What's Gertrude up to?"

“She went fishin'," said Lando. “Caught a minnow.”

A sudden rain cascaded onto Adam. He looked around to find the panther shaking the water off herself. She then stretched out on the grass near the pool to watch him. Beyond her, he saw the partygoers had noticed the commotion in the back yard and were pressed against the windows, fascinated, masks still on.

"Gertrude, have you been a good little guard cat?" Veronica asked, slipping an arm around Lando.

"She earned her Kibble, tonight," he responded.

Adam realized his trousers were around his hips, his shirt clung to him and he was missing a boot. And a sock. He wiped his face with the glittery briefs to clear away the last of the water.

That's when he heard Veronica say, "Oh, cute, his hankie got sparkles."

"They're — briefs," Adam choked out.

Lando burst into laughter. "Damn, Case, you got him out of his pants, already? I had more control, than that."

To which Veronica said, "You better or it's off with your head."

Adam looked around, asking, "Where are my glasses?" In German. He found half the frame caught in his trousers, snapped at the nose. He put it on and saw the panther, whom he supposed was named Gertrude, playing with the other half and, "Oh, this isn’t good," burst from him. In German.

Gertrude looked at him and gave a soft purr.

Casey walked over to the steps from the pool, saying, "Adam, come on out; she won't hurt you."

"Naw, better not, Andrew," Lando laughed. "Gertrude don't like gay undies."

Adam headed for some steps built into one end of the pond, finally beyond caring, so snapped back at him, "Tell me, Lando, were you born to be such an ass? Or is it just because your Mum and Da named you after a secondary character in a derivative science fiction film?"

Lando climbed out through the window, snarling, "Hey, book-boy, Lando Calrissian was the coolest guy in the whole series."

"Who doesn't appear until chapter five," Adam snarled back. "Hardly in the same caliber as Luke or Han."

"It's not how much you do; it's what you do with it."

"Spoken like a man who knows the true limits of his capacities."

"Yeah, come on out of my pool. Maybe I'll tell Gertrude your ass is steak."

Adam hesitated. He had just noticed Gertrude was pacing him, her eyes locked on him, the other half of his glasses over her nose. But then he remembered it was this panther who had saved him so continued on to the steps, one hand gripping his trousers so they would remain around his waist and not his ankles.

"Lando, send her away,” Casey snapped. “Adam, are you all right?"

"Brilliant," Adam said. "But I seriously doubt Orisi will want his outfit back."

Lando laughed. "Those're his briefs? Dude, for that, you get my sympathy."

That's when Tito appeared at Lando's side, saying, "Want me to call the cops?"

"Naw, I'm gonna have Gertrude chase him around. She needs the exercise." Then he broke into a sing-song as he said, "Gertrude, jag de fleiss."

The panther let out a soft growl.

"Do you know how to run, Andrew?" Veronica asked, happy as a lark.

"My name is ADAM," he snarled.

Casey was almost beside herself. "Oh, for god's sake — Gertrude. House. HOUSE."

The panther looked at her but did nothing.

Lando did his sing-song, again, as he called, "Gertrude, hou de vater."

This was too much for Adam to bear. "It's wasser, dumpkoff, and you’re making no bloody sense!"

Then he saw Gertrude slide into the pool with a happy little growl. He bolted up the steps, startled. Barely able to keep his pants up. The cut over his eye was bleeding, again. That is when he saw one of his boots at the bottom of the deep end, his sock next to it. Now he understood the need for a pedicure; one never knew when one's toes might be exposed.

Casey brought a towel over to him, asking, "What're you doing out here? Nobody comes in the back yard."

He pushed the towel away. He could not look at her. "You knew about Gertrude," he said, his voice cracking. Barely able to control his shaking.

"He's had her for a couple years. Why didn't you just wait in the limo?"

"Like a good dog?" he snapped. "I — I thought I forgot something. My mistake."

He pushed away from her. His head pounded. The bottom of his stomach churned. He limped thanks to the boot still on his foot. First he picked up the mangled half of his glasses to put on with the other lens — which made him look very cock-eyed — then he stormed for the house. Tito stood between him and it and Adam was contemplating the best tackle to use on the lumbering ox when he realized, "Oh, no mistake," spun around and headed for the wall.

"What did you forget?" Veronica called.

"His brain," said Lando, "just like that tin-man guy."

Adam shook his head in awe. "Oh, Lando, you should never try to speak without a script. You only reveal your inadequate knowledge of English literature, let alone her language." Then he climbed the tree to retrieve the coat. When he hopped back down, he saw Gertrude watching from the pool.

"Wow," said Lando. "Who knew you could climb so good? Beef up a little, add six inches to your height, I could use you as a double."

Adam headed back to the house, saying, "Thanks, but I’ve no wish to play the ass, in your stead."

Lando blinked and said, "What’d you just say?"

Veronica chimed in with, "Huh?"

Adam cast a harsh laugh. "Oh, dear God, a bite of cabbage has more intelligence than the two of you, combined!"

Tito was about to jump Adam, but got a glare of fury and a hurling snarl of, "Step away from the madman!"

He stepped.

Adam limped inside, slammed past the partygoers and, in a fit of fury, ripped the boot off his foot and slung it aside. Then he grabbed a stick of burning incense from the Earth mother. "You're right,” he snarled, “I need cleansing."

Then he bolted out the front door.

Time to think and contemplate...

Without rereading the story, I'm coming up with little moments I missed in my writing of The Alice '65. Little ways of enriching and expanding on the characters without much in the way of addition. For example, Adam learns his associate, Elizabeth, has never read any of Henry James' novels even though her specialization is 19th and 20th century literature. She becomes quite defensive about it...but then near the end of the story, Adam points out to her that reading some of his books could have prevented her from getting into a situation that will hurt her.

That's one of several subtexts running through the story -- that reading can prepare you for the world. Of course, Adam is a voracious reader but he still hides himself away until dragged from the safety of his self-made cocoon and confronts life in all its messiness. Yet he also embodies his father's attitude -- that because he reads, he's a better person and more open to different experiences than one who's closed himself off from anything deemed unimportant.

Reading kept me alive and going, for years. My mother was the type who'd give you all sorts of toys at Christmas but if you wanted a paperback murder mystery, it was, "See if they have it at the library." At least she made sure I had a library card, and I used it. Read everything I could, from Earl Stanley Gardner to Agatha Christie to Ellery Queen to Grace Metalious to Jacqueline Susann to Isaac Asimov to Arthur C. Clark to Clifford D. Simak to...well, you get the picture.

I didn't get into the classics until I was out of college, which was both the right way to go and the wrong way. I couldn't stand Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye and felt Dickens was just too melodramatic and episodic, but I loved the Russian writers and French and Japanese and South American...and even Henry James. I finally understood that certain books are best read at certain times in one's development, and if you come to them at the wrong point in your life, they will not share themselves with you.

I just hope A65 winds up being a book for all ages, not one for a specific time and place.

Once upon a time busses ran on a schedule...

I thought I'd be cheap and ride the bus to work, this morning. One's due at the stop in front of my building at 8:25am and it would get me to where I needed in time to be there a bit early. So I go out to the bus stop, where a couple other people are waiting...and nothing. Nothing. Finally, 10 minutes after the bus was due a passenger called to find out when it would come and was told it had passed, already. At 8:27. A lie. A flat out lie.He told the person on the phone so, and the only answer he got was, "Next one's due at 8:55."

I called Lyft. Cost me $12 but I made it to work on time, and that was with a guy who was driving very, very carefully. Then, this evening, I decided to see how long it would take me to walk back to my place. According to Google Maps I live 3.8 miles from where I work, and it should take me 1 hour and 21 minutes to walk. So I set off, even though I knew a bus was due at the stop I needed at around 5:35, according to the bus company.

It was 8 minutes early. I watched it drive by and checked my watch. Couldn't believe it. Either the schedule was changed and no one at the bus company was told, or the drivers just do their own thing, up and down and back and forth. Can't trust a company that lets that happen.

I'm not a speed walker, but neither am I slow, still it took me just over an hour and a half to do...which I guess isn't that far off the mark. Of course, it was cold and windy, but I had gloves, a hood and an umbrella to use as a walking stick. It worked out okay.

I even had dinner, en route, at a Boston Market (and deducted the time I spent eating from the tally). Their food's on the bland side, but they had BBQ sauce; slathering that over roast turkey actually worked out good. The meal is still a bit overpriced, but I was hungry and it filled me. And now I'm ready to soak in a tub for a while and read Adrian McKinty's Falling Glass, one of his Northern Irish crime novels.

Tomorrow my car should be ready, so I'll be out late, again. I'll be using Lyft to get there...and I think I'll use it to get to work, too. It's cheaper than renting a car, by 3/4, and works better than Uber.

Now tired be I...

Lovely day...

Worked non-stop getting ready for next week's book fairs, then on the way home my car started rumbling, loud. Muffler trouble. So I took it to the dealership I use and they said I needed to replace a pipe that had been rusted through, in spots. Apparently it's an original pipe...they let me go under the car to see it. But it's costing $850 bucks...and I've already learned the hard way that to go to a muffler shop means I may spend less now but will have trouble, again, next year.

They didn't have the parts, yet, so I set up a time to bring the car back...then as I was driving home the fucking muffler fell apart and was dragging on the pavement. I made it into a Ted's Hot Dogs and called AAA and had the car towed back to the dealership, then had dinner and walked home. It was only a few miles and not all that cold...and I saved myself about $15 over calling a cab or Uber. Tomorrow, I'm on the bus to work, and same for home. And I'm not loving this, at all.

It seems as soon as I start to gain some traction in handling my debt, something happens to kick me right back to where I started.  Rent goes up. Insurance goes up. Phone and internet go up. Cost of food goes up. Salary stays the same. It's infuriating.

What added to my irritation was, my phone was close to going dead and I had no way to plug it in, anywhere. I had my laptop with me, but it won't let me attach the phone without a special cable, and I'd left that at home. Nor would my battery extender work with the phone. The one time I figure I don't need anything extra in my backpack is the one time I needed everything.

The only good thing was, I got some work done on A65, while waiting. I polished up the synopsis and changed some of the interaction between Adam and Elizabeth at the end...and now I'm wondering if the ending works as it currently stands. If it isn't just a bit too pat. Too simple. Something in me is saying I should end it at another point and I'm unable to find an honest reason not to.

Guess I'll ask for some feedback about that...

Ideas keep coming for A65...

I know the book will never be completed in my head, but while The Alice '65 is still working it, I'm open to any additions till I finalize the pages and send them off to Ingram Spark. Tonight I realized I was missing an interesting back and forth between Adam and Elizabeth near the end, that shades her character more and give him a finer dusting of adult humanity.

She calls him a Hobbit, thanks to Jeremy repeating a comment she made some time ago. Only Adam's brother, Connor, calls him that. I had no idea Elizabeth was trying to let me know something about her and her ways. Adam needs to let her know he knows...and warn her against Connor. Just to show he's over her. One of those things that you never see until you do, and then you wonder why you never did.

I now see Daniel Radcliffe as Adam. Right age. Right intellectual scruffiness. But good-looking enough to believe as both a nerd and a romantic lead.

I'm so intensely shallow about such things. I'm always using actors as my visuals, and those do change, especially once the character starts talking to me. Then he settles his own appearance for me.

I liked using Russell Tovey when I first started writing the story; he has an off-beat attractiveness and the camera loves him. I also liked Matthew Lewis as an alternative, but once Adam took command, neither of them would work, in my head.

I do still see Eliza Dushku as Casey, even though she's now too old for the part; Casey's around 30 while Eliza's closing in on forty. When she was in Dollhouse, she was exactly right. As for Lando, it was Chris Hemsworth just because it's so obvious.

Like I said, I'm shallow...

Low key day...

Didn't feel so hot so spent the day piddling and reading. I was trying really hard to get into A Confederacy of Dunce by John Kennedy Toole, but I finally gave up. It's not often I can't become part of a book's world, but this one drove me insane. Ignatius Reilly is a character I despise because he's nothing but a characature of a man. Not real or human. I made it to page 89 before his comments about his valve being an issue and his laziness and selfishness and childishness and on and on and on drove me to the brink.

I can only think of two other books that pushed me away like this -- Continental Drift by Russell Banks and Light in August by William Faulkner. I'd never read anything else by Banks, and that book made me never want to, it was so relentlessly down-beat and programmed for what I knew would be a tragic ending. I gave up at page 100.

With Faulkner, I'd been okay with The Hamlet and actually liked The Sound and the Fury -- I was taking a college course in him, for English credit -- but when I started in on Light in August...it may sound weird, but I don't think the book wanted me to read it. It refused to let me in, and truth is, I wasn't all that interested in pushing it. Unfortunately, the class was being taught by a Faulkner aficionado and he did not take kindly to my comments about the book...so I dropped the class.

Oh...and Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt. Jesus, God, this was anything but the life-affirming auto-biography I'd been told it was. Three children are dead by page 50, thanks to a childish, selfish man's alcoholism and laziness. I actually asked someone who had read it if things get better, and she said, "No." Since I wanted to slit my wrists by page 60, I chose the better option of not continuing the book.

I did make some similar mistakes in tone with Bobby Carapisi -- focusing on Eric's slide into depression and prostitution after he's raped by three men, counterpointed with Bobby's struggle to regain his balance after the same men attack him in the first 2/3 of the book. The last third focuses on Eric trying to get Alan, one of the rapists, to admit what he and his buddies did to Bobby by letting him tell his side, much of which is told like pornography and is revealed to be a lie...but which does lead him to finally take responsibility for his actions while Eric regains his sense of compassion and humanity enough to pen up to a future of possibilities.

Of course, these could be merely my justifications for a book that is as brutal and downbeat as the ones I didn't like. Maybe that's why I did The Lyons' Den next. Its chaotic farce mitigates the deep horror of Daniel's past with a present that is ludicrous in the extreme. And The Vanishing of Owen Taylor has Jake snarling and snapping his way through the book like a pissed off Jack Russell terrier, but has a fair amount of humor and love and even moments of tenderness and quiet. And now comes The Alice '65, more chaos, drama, farce and...I hope...hope.

Next comes the trick of Place of Safety...taking a horror of a time and not letting it obscure the humanity of people or their hope and insistence that life be lived on their own terms and no one else's. Brendan is my proto-Candide...journeying through the world with little more than hope and determination to keep him going. Even in the face of people's hate and stupidity. And make it...hopeful...maybe.

Who knows -- one of these days I may actually turn into a real writer.

Brendan's come knocking, again...

Seems he's taking me at my word, that I'll finish Place of Safety with him, and he's given me a bit more of his life in Houston. He'll be there from not long before he turns seventeen until just before he turns twenty-five. The longest part of the story, and what was proving to be the least interesting, to me. And yet...it's necessary, I know it is.

I've long given up trying to understand why some aspects of my scripts or books are required. It's just, when I'm right about something in them, no amount of criticism can change that. I finally got it hammered into my thick skull when I tried to put aside all my ownership of a story I'd been hired to write and do what others told me to with it...and it worked for a while because I was able to make the story stronger in ways that still satisfied those running the show. But they kept coming back with more and more requests for changes until they went one step too far.

They asked me to get rid of a character. Combine her with the hero. And that is when I stopped. Didn't even think about it. The very idea was so completely wrong for the story, I refused to even consider it. I saw it as an insult to the characters and their world. So it was taken away from me. Given to another writer. After all my fucking work on it. And here we are, ten years later, and nothing more has been done with it.

Something else I learned was, no matter how perfect a screenplay is, someone will want to change it. Not to make it better; just to make it theirs, and never mind it's at the expense of your blood and flesh. Making a film requires compromise, they say. Only if you want to turn out shit, is my response to that.

Now I'm getting back to Place of Safety and wondering why Brendan goes to live in Houston for so long. Why it's so important to the story aside from taking him away from his world in Derry and letting him know a form of peace...that proves not to be...and forces him to return home, a man now too aware of the world. Too aware of humanity's failings.

Then this evening, he showed me to a door that will help me understand...and I'm shaking as I write this. Having to go back, over and over, and correct typos because my fingers aren't sure about our new direction. I have a feeling that when I finally do dig into Brendan's journey through Texas, it will be as illuminating to me as I hope it will be to a reader.

But you never know until the story is told, if you've told it well.

A writer's temptations are like no one else's...

I got another dealer to read A65 and let me know how the antiquarian aspects work...and the Britishness of Adam. This guy should be fun; he likes to talk and I'm open to listening if it will make my book as good as it can be. No ego here, can't afford it.

The temptation stems from me wanting to ask a dealer I have a hugh crush on to read it, too. He's tall, dark-haired and buff...or, as the English would say, fit. Damn fit. And surprisingly even-tempered for an antiquarian book person. I've got a nickname for him, and it's all I can do to keep from using it around him. That...would be embarrassing, especially since I'm old enough to be his father. And he's married. And his wife is very sweet.

Dammit.

I hate it when that happens. Makes me feel like a dirty old man...though when that happens, I smirk, within, and contemplate the possibilities. There's a part of me that's very strongly inclined to being bad just enough to see what would happen in a situation like this if I pushed it. It's not like I've never been with a married man. I connected with this one older guy back when I was in college, who had five daughters. He said his wife knew about his need to be with a dick, now and then, but all I had was his word for it...and I didn't quite believe him.

Of course, I also connected with someone who wound up committing murder. He killed a convenience store clerk because the guy was making homophobic comments. Beat him to death, according to the cops, something I never would have thought him capable of. I met up with him after the arrest and before the trial, while he was out on bail, and he swore he didn't do it...but something told me he was lying. And he was found guilty. Of course, now my disinclination to believe the prosecution or cops in anything unless they have concrete proof makes me wonder...

My inner bad-boy has gotten me into a few situations that could have turned very wrong. Like one asshole who was a lot of fun...so long as he was happy with you. He wasn't gorgeous but he was very charismatic. I pulled some real shit with him -- shit I should not admit to because it was a bit too close to illegal.

Then the asshole exploded into fury, one night in a bar, when I misdialed a number on a public phone and he hit me. I shoved him against a wall and grabbed a beer bottle to smash him, and for a moment I wanted to kill him. Instead, I walked away. He did a lot of yelling in very foul language...but he didn't come after me. Maybe the look on my face gave him pause. Doesn't matter; I never saw him, again.

I think that's when I started shifting my inner bad to screenplays...and then books. Use them as a safety valve. And I started getting older and less interested in proving myself. Not dis-interested; I still had a need for approval and success; just not as willing to put up with all the bullshit that some people give. And now?

Now I welcome the bullshit because sometimes you find diamonds in it. (NOTE: I changed the heading because a lot of polish people were coming in to read it, like they thought it's a porn site.)

Time to push on getting A65 done...

I've contacted another Englishman in the antiquarian book world to see if he'll read A65 and let me know if it works. Can't get any response from the ones I've asked...not that I'm surprised. It's book fair season so I should have asked about this during the Christmas lull. This guy's more free-lance but has a strong background in both the retail and private library aspects of it.

I want to get the book done and out there. I've got my cover and now just need to make certain I don't need to do any major rewriting or changing of the number of pages before I settle in on the cover size...especially since I can already see moments where I'd like to make the sentence structure smoother.

I guess that means I'll be rewriting this thing until it's gone to the printers. And even then I may want to make changes. Mary Shelley rewrote Frankenstein in 1831 after first publishing it 13 years earlier. This is from Wikipedia --

Shelley completed her writing in April/May 1817, and Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus was published on 1 January 1818[24] by the small London publishing house Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, & Jones.[25][26] It was issued anonymously, with a preface written for Mary by Percy Bysshe Shelley and with a dedication to philosopher William Godwin, her father. It was published in an edition of just 500 copies in three volumes, the standard "triple-decker" format for 19th-century first editions.

The second edition of Frankenstein was published on 11 August 1822 in two volumes (by G. and W. B. Whittaker) following the success of the stage play Presumption; or, the Fate of Frankenstein by Richard Brinsley Peake.[27] This edition credited Mary Shelley as the book's author on its title page.

On 31 October 1831, the first "popular" edition in one-volume appeared, published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley.[28] This edition was heavily revised by Mary Shelley, partially to make the story less radical. It included a lengthy new preface by the author, presenting a somewhat embellished version of the genesis of the story. This edition is the one most widely published and read now, although a few editions follow the 1818 text.[29] Some scholars prefer the original version, arguing that it preserves the spirit of Mary Shelley's vision (see Anne K. Mellor's "Choosing a Text of Frankenstein to Teach" in the W. W. Norton Critical edition).

John Fowles did it, too, with The Magus, if I remember right. So I'm following in hallowed footsteps, if I do. But reality is, it would be silly for me to do that. Once the book's published, it's done. I can go back through anything I've written and find ways to change it because I'm different now from who I was then. But I think...well, it's almost an insult to the story and characters, like you pushed them out into the world before they were really ready...and I'd hate to do that to Adam and Casey.

But that don't mean I won't.

Zeroing in...

Okay...here we go...

I'm liking this layout for A65 more and more. I tried it with the book at an angle and Casey more upright, but it was hard to read the title on the real Alice's spine. This version just feels better, though it still needs cleaning up and maybe a bit of adjustment in the spacing. I also think I may have a bit too much room at the top...but I'll think about that tomorrow.

This work took most of the evening. Doesn't help I'm working on my old Mac Mini. It's a good little computer but it's struggling to handle a file this size. Right now, in Photoshop psd, the image is just under 200 megs...which isn't all that big, these days. But I've had this little beast for 12 years, so...

I was thinking of asking another antiquarian book dealer to read the story and give me feedback on the archivist aspect, to make sure Adam's right and proper, but it's getting into book fair season. We start picking dealers up for the San Francisco Fair and Miami Map Fair, next week, then comes the big boy -- Pasadena -- the following week. No one will be able to focus.

I just don't want to send the story out thinking I know everything I  need to know about archiving and researching rare volumes only to find I made a stupid assumption and everyone thinks I'm an idiot. That would hurt the book and I want anything but that, right now. I've worked too hard on it.

This may well prove something I always say about myself -- that I know just enough about something to get me into trouble.

I've been thinking, again...

After I'm done with A65, UG and P/S, I may shift The Cowboy King of Texas into a romantic comedy novel, just to see what happens. I could also do it with Find Ray T, though that has more adventure  and suspense in it than romance and comedy. I guess it all depends on if A65 is a hit.

I'd like to make enough money to live on from my books, something nowhere near possible, right now. I guess another possibility is turning Blood Angel into an erotic horror piece and Carli's Kills into something damn close to torture porn. Then there's Darian's Point's three stages to write. That's another direction to go.

I guess this means I'm close to being done with A65. The more I look at the mock-cover I did, the more I like it. I can start pulling that together, now. In fact, I like it more than the artwork I paid for. That now seems garish and not really suited for the book...not even the paperback. My mistake for asking it be done too soon...though I thought at the time I was close to being completed.

It's funny, but I now can't picture anyone else playing Adam but Daniel Radcliffe...if it ever gets made into a movie. Big if...but still, fun to think about. Dream about. Picture in my mind's eye. I think that's what influenced my choice of model to use on the cover. I don't know his actual name but he's got a nice mix of cute and nerdy going.

There are some dark aspects of the story...but I don't think they overshadow the fun. I hope they don't. Of course, it's not like I'm going to reign them in. They're there to enhance the positive aspects and fun parts. Counterpoint to emphasize. Shakespeare liked to do that, albeit in his tragedies, mainly; put in comedy to give the audience a break.

Hmm...another step in my writer's ego -- comparing myself to Shakespeare...damn, I can be arrogant.

Took all weekend to get to this point...

I think I finally have the basis for The Alice '65's dust jacket. After trying a number of sketches in various media and poses and re-workings, I surrendered to the reality of my artistic limitations and went to Shutterstock to build up a new possibility...and this is what I came up with. It's a rough mock-up but I like it.

I was already using this model for Adam's face in my sketches; I just didn't have a photo of him with the right expression and pose...nor was this guy in anything but that plaid shirt. Then I tried a composite -- shifting his head from another pose onto this one -- and it worked well. So well, it changed my mind about the shirt. This could be what he wears on the plane and during the final confrontation, once he's back in his own clothes. It is a rather Adam shirt.

Casey -- I'd looked at a number of female poses and found one I could sketch in the right way but not a face...until I looked this time. I like this woman's off-beat prettiness and like how her hair is, but I had to go through 12 pages of her before finding one I could use that didn't have the top of her head chopped off...and I still had to flip the image to get her doing it the right way.

Gertrude was easy; I just had to make do with a black jaguar to find one on a white background. You can still make out the spots. I'd need to adjust that...but that's an easy fix, as well.

What matters is, it gives the cover a playfulness I wanted. One friend suggested tilting the image of the book...and I may try that. I also need something brighter with the font; right now it just sits there. Still, I'd like to hear if anyone else has anything to suggest about it.

By the time I was done, I had a nice little headache and eye strain from the computer screen, so I removed my glasses and watched Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and realized something about the first two films I hadn't noticed -- not once in them is Harry ever held like a child should be...with love and care and attention. Not until Sirius Black does just before he leaves. Granted his aunt and uncle are vile people, and truth is they should have been reported for child abuse, but no one else holds him or comforts him or anything along those lines as a parent would their child.

Son-of-a-bitch, that broke my heart.

Color changes everything...

I worked on getting Adam's pose set for the cover and got reminded that just because something looks good in outline, once you add color it all changes. A leg that was just the way I wanted it suddenly became fat and bloated. And him grabbing a branch while reaching for another became comical in the wrong way...as did making him a bit pigeon-toed.

Of course, reality is it's been years and years since I've done a full figure in color. I've done faces and torsos, but I think the last full frame person I sketched or painted in color was decades ago, and that was in acrylics, not pencil. So I'm relearning things I used to know. I'd share the image but it's too big for my scanner and the lighting would throw everything off in a photo.

At least it's opening up new possibilities in composition and medium. I'm pretty sure some of the ideas I had won't work because they'll wind up being too busy for the cover. But others are maybes...including one done in pen and India ink...

Still no word back from the Brits, regarding A65. I guess that means they didn't like the book and are trying to find some nice way of letting me know. Oh well, it's good to know now and not later.

I keep telling myself.

Updating time...

I spent this evening updating Bowker's site with information on what I have published and what is upcoming. That's where I get ISBNs from, for my books, and by doing this my books are listed in their system for reference. I've also asked the Library of Congress about what is needed for a designation of theirs. I sort of have an idea of how to build a reference number but am not sure about its classification.

I'm amazed I got that much done. I started sinking into a black hole of self-flagellation about A65 while waiting at Boston airport and during the flight home, since none of the people in England I asked to proof it for me have gotten back to me. I managed to break out of it by grabbing a piece of scrap paper and using a ball-point pen to do a couple of studies of the face I plan to use for Adam. Not necessarily this expression but similar.

The darker one I did first and had more time with. His face wound up a bit too thin, though, and eyes too small and close, so I started on the second one and this is as far as I got before we were on approach for landing. Not great but I did them in the back of a jumpy, half-empty Embraer 190 jet, so I'm not going to snarl about them. And they did quiet the whirlpool I was sinking into.

I could blame my emotional near-collapse on eating poorly and not much sleep and a rough few days with too many fuckups, and I'm sure none of those things helped, but they're just the symptoms of my ennui. I just haven't been able to battle it back like I used to. And that doctor who looks like Charley...reality is, this crap pretty much grabbed a solid hold on me about then. Too many fucking memories got dredged up...for too many people lost in too horrible a time...

I'm still searching for a way out of it and now I'm pretty sure the only thing to do is focus on nothing but artwork, over the weekend. Get Adam, Casey and Gertrude set and ready for the cover. Get my head out of this loop of uncertainty and back into something concrete. Keep working on the bits until it all comes together and satisfies me. Even it I have to redo them a dozen times each.

Hell, that's just like my writing...rework and rework and rework...

Potential synopsis for "The Alice '65"

In Boston waitin' on a plane so thought I'd share this. If anyone wants to comment, I'm open to it.

------

Lewis Carroll’s Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was first printed in late 1865, but the illustrator so disliked how they turned out they were recalled to be replaced by a new printing. All but around 50 were returned and destroyed, and of those 50 fewer than half are still in existence.

Adam Verlain knows all about this because he’s a library archivist for a university in London, and books are his life. But when that library acquires a newly discovered copy of The Alice ‘65, he declines the opportunity to travel to Los Angeles to pick it up. He has sworn never to leave his careful, cloistered world because his father was robbed and killed on a similar business trip. He only agrees to go when he is told the book will be brought to him at the airport and he can return, straightaway...meaning he will be surrounded by security.

However, from the moment he boards the plane things start to go wrong...and then he meets the amazingly beautiful Casey Blanchard, the movie star who inherited The Alice '65. She will not let him have the book unless he accompanies her to a premier of her latest film for reasons that seem...well, quite odd.

But Adam has to go along with whatever Casey wants in order to get the book and keep his job...even as his world crashes into a chaotic mix of a too-cool artist, a protective mother, a drill-sergeant stylist,  questionable edibles, mistaken identity, hysterical fans, Hollywood royalty, their courtiers and minions, maniacal LA drivers, an outlandish party, a drowning pool in the middle of Beverly Hills, a love-struck wild animal on a homemade veldt, 25 cans of salmon...and the horrible realization he’s falling heal over heels in love with a woman every man in the world desires but who he knows could never love him back.

Or could she?

Driving in New York City...

If you can help it, do NOT drive in this city. OMG, today was so insane, I was glad I wasn't carrying a gun because I'd have killed some people. This is from a guy who's used to LA's nastiness and bumper-to-bumper freeways and still can pull out his own attitude when driving, if it will help him get someplace faster. But New Yorkers are fucking devils behind the wheel.

I'm talking about forcing their way into your lane ahead of you even though no one is behind you. They can't follow, they have to be in front. So they can stop. Put on their flashers. And make a delivery. While holding you up.

And there there's the chaos at La Guardia. I've never dealt with that airport before and never want to, again. I arrived in Terminal B...but to get a shuttle to the rental car facility, you have to be bussed to Terminal A. Right past your rent a car agency. And they won't let you off. And what's even better? Terminal A is so backwards an airport building, even Bangladesh would be embarrassed. Now I know why people refer to that airport as being Third World...though I do think that's being insulting to Third World nations who have actual functioning airports.

It took me a solid hour and a half to get off the plane, get my checked bag, get my rental car and start away from the airport. And I got honked at a dozen times for not breaking the law when there was a cop right there -- as in Run that red light; maybe he won't stop you and give you a ticket. Of course, reality is he might not have, because two of them ignored drivers turning left from a right turn only lane.

But I got the job done and grabbed a bite to eat, since I hadn't had lunch, then headed to Hartford, where I'm spending the night before job 3 in Boston. It was also nightmarish, but that was typical rush hour traffic and I only wound up screaming obscenities four times. At least I was able to avoid the worst of the 95 and zing up to connect with the 84. Out there, you just have to deal with the idiots who think the left lane is for cruising at the speed limit and will not get out of your way to let you pass. That kind, you find everywhere.

But I'm here. Trying to correct some mistakes I made on the first two jobs -- like forgetting to leave address labels for the one in Houston and not putting documents in with the one today. I've had myself a nice cup of tea and indulged in a Boston Cream donut. I almost feel human, again.

Just almost.

Some research for "Place of Safety"

The middle section of Place of Safety takes place in Houston from 1973 to 1981, so I did some driving around to verify things I sort of remembered. I lived here from 1985 to 1993 and still have a sense of the city -- I didn't need navigation to get anywhere except the house where the job was; that was in a gated community and they had Fox News on their big-assed TV, so I didn't want to know anything except to get there and get gone.

Anyway, Brendan's staying with his aunt in the Shepherd/Kirby area and working at his uncle's bar (under the table) in a place just below the Heights, which is up Shepherd. So he and I drove up and down the street, and as I recalled it's one-way for part of it...but I think that started later in the 70s. I'll need to check it out.

We also went roaming through some of the neighborhoods and found a house that could be his aunt's. I passed it by, looking to see if there was another that might be more exact, but Brendan wouldn't let me. He'd settled on this red brick place that was simple in a post-colonial style, with an open yard and a couple of oak trees in front. The driveway's on the wrong side and in back is a garage apartment instead of a pool house, but it works for me, and he likes it.

So he had me circle around...not an easy thing to do when rush hour's beginning and your exit is onto a backed-up Shepherd...and we had to hunt for it, again, because those streets are twisty and turny and not all of them have street signs...but we found it and that was that. Now he knows where he's going to live while in Houston.

I had some damn good barbecue turkey at Rudy's -- a chain, I know, but I love their sauce. I'd take some home with me if I was flying Southwest all the way back instead of just to NYC, but Jet Blue already screwed us out of a $100 change fee so I'll be damned if I'll pay to check a bag if I don't have to.

Oh well...1 of 3 jobs down, now.

In Houston.

Pouring rain.

Watched the Golden Globes during my flight.

Worked a little on the synopsis...and now have 4 versions...

Had Jack in the Box Tacos as I drove to my hotel by the Galleria.

Damn, they ruined the park by the Transco Tower.

Starbucks closed early.

Sleepy. 'Night.

Took all day, but...

Getting the right position and feel for Adam to be used on the dust jacket of A65 took all day. Literally. I think I reworked it two dozen times, just to get it right -- shifting his legs a bit and then his feet and then how the suit coat flows and his face and which hand to have grasping the vine and on and on. I'm still not completely happy with the coat's empty arm and may play with that more, but this is pretty much what it is.

I re-roughed the full layout, coming up with a good set-up for Casey's positioning -- her being a bit in front of him -- and Gertrude stays where she is and works even better there. But it's just in rough pencil. I did this in ink because I'll be using it to set the colors on the artwork. I'm not going to outline in black, like a graphic novel. I want it more raw than that.

I think I'll also rotate him a little bit counter-clockwise. Give him more of a Tarzan swinging in the vines feel. I thought for a bit about having the vine run between his legs, but I tried it and that was just too much. Giving a hint of being pigeon-toed was enough.

Off to Houston, tomorrow, so won't get more art done till I'm back on Thursday...after NYC and Boston. The life of a travellin' man.

And now, after looking at this sketch while I type, I can see where the right panel of the suit coat should flow a bit differently...give it more the feel of a cape...so diminish the left coat arm...

Jeez, I wonder how many times I'll redo the color art before I'm satisfied?

So much for a day off...

I did some scrambling, today, to rearrange the return from my trip to Houston. I'm now headed to NYC from there and up to Boston then returning to Buffalo. A lot of dancing about to get it all settled, but I finally did, even though it's a tight schedule. I hate things like that.

I also had an eye exam at three so piddled out in the 4 degree cold to get there before dropping by the office to pick up some things I'll need for next week. So I didn't get started on A65 till nearly 5. It would've been faster for me to be at the office all day and leave for the ophthalmologist from there. Good thing is, I've still got 20/20 vision.

At least some decisions have been made. The hardcover edition of The Alice '65 will be 196 pages long in a 5.5x8.5 inch size, costing $23.95.  The paperback will be 260 pages in a 5x7 size, costing $11.95. Ebooks will be $1.95, as usual.

I've pretty much settled on this basic layout for the hardcover's dust jacket. I'll work on the synopsis and details to go into the front pages during the trip. Won't have a lot of free time, but I'll be getting there. My next travel plans are not till the end of January, so there's all those days to work.

Of course, I also want to see a proof to make sure it's coming out right, so that adds time. And a lot also depends on when I get some kind of idea from the antiquarians whether or not I did them right. As I've said, before, I know just enough to make me dangerously certain I  know just enough...

...and their silence equals discontent...

Referencing a good movie...

Got nothing to say, but this review is just what I needed...and I do like the move a LOT more than the David Suchet one...plus I can't even think about watching that version with Kenneth Brannagh and his ludicrous mustache.

It's glam fun and even Agatha Christie liked it...

Closer...

I did another soft polish on The Alice '65, including changing the last line because it felt wrong. Tacked on. Going through it, this time, I realized I'd been missing a great moment between Adam and his father that I could tie back into, about Adam eventually finding someone he loved while his older brother, Connor, would not. Connor's too locked into superficial things while Adam uses reading to open windows into new worlds for himself.

I also removed a couple more moments of unnecessary repetition, which tends to make things stronger. Right now, the book is 65,500 words, still, but when put into Times New Roman type it's under 200 pages, even when there's 1.5 spaces between lines. It should wind up being a nice light book to read, quick and easy...I hope.

I learned today that Louis Collins, who had a book shop in Seattle and ran the Seattle Book Fair, was hit by a heart attack, yesterday, while walking his dog. He died before he go to the hospital. This is rough. He's the guy I always dealt with when in Seattle, very calm and even keeled. He loved books and getting them into the right people's hands, and he'd been consolidating his shop with the assistance of Bill Wolfe, whom we've used to do some packing jobs in Seattle. Louis will be much missed.

Several members of the antiquarian trade have died, recently -- Bill Daily, Charlie Cox, Fred Bass...I guess it should be expected since all were well up in age, but it's still not easy to deal with. The only positive thing about it is, it makes me want to work harder to meet my goals. Louis seemed to be in good shape...better shape than me. You never know when you're leaving this world, so stop dilly-dallying.

Words to kick you in the ass by.

Got back A65's edit...

It turned out fairly good. I had a couple dozen typos, found two typos my editor didn't notice, had questions raised about three points, but everything else was intact. There were also a couple of points where I deliberately misused a word -- like having Adam say, "A bit of sleeps sounds lovely." That's him speaking, not incorrect. But there were a couple other spots where it was just a bit too precious, so I changed it to the correct grammar or use of word.

I've gone through and updated my current draft; now I just need to hear back from one of the British dealers to fill me in on how close I am to reality for them. I don't want to put this book out into the world and have them laugh at me for thinking I knew what I was talking about...because reality is, I only know enough to be dangerous.

I also want to send a copy over to Publisher's Weekly to see if they will do a review, and prep some publicity in advance of the actual publication. Right now, I'm aiming for mid-late February, depending on how long it takes to get everything in order...including the cover art.

I guess this means putting UG aside, for the time being. A65 is of paramount importance, and I have UG a lot closer to completion, now, so I can come back to it fairly easily. From this point, it's time to start in on the covers and formatting.

I just hope I'll be doing completely right by this one...

First post of 2018...I know, very original...

More done on UG, today. I connected two sections near the end and added more to them. There's still a lot more work to smooth them out and I have some repetition in them, but that goes away as I do rewrites...normally. We shall see. I have one final chapter to add to the end, then comes building the bridge between where I left Dev and Kenneth and where Dev finally figures it all out.

Also did some pimping of my published books on Tumbler. Start the new year off right, for them. A bit more cleaning done, too. Not as much as is needed, but I honestly don't care. I have A65 and UG to concern me, right now, and will worry about vacuuming and sorting through paperwork after I'm done.

I did iron and watch Miracle on 34th Street, after dinner. Colorized. Sacrilege, I know, but it was interesting to see how inept the colorization was. Maureen O'Hara's red hair kept going brown, and it seemed everyone was in monochromatic tones -- all blue or all aqua or all brown or all gray. The story and acting are still so strong it didn't matter; it was just a different way of looking at the movie.

I'm trying to get into A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole and I do not like much of it. It's one of those books you feel like you need to read...but I absolutely despise Ignatius Reilly and his extreme selfishness and bad manners. Maybe it'll get better -- I normally give books I don't care for 100 pages to get me -- but I doubt it.

I will say some of the other characters are interesting -- an old white man who accidentally gets arrested, a black guy who's arrested for nothing and winds up working at a bar for next to nothing -- but the main character and his mother are grating on my nerves, and that Italian cop is just ludicrous.

If this is what it takes to win a Pulitzer, I'll never get one.