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.)
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.)
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