Chicago...

Driving back from dropping off my first shipment, yesterday, I took a moment to find a nice spot on Lakeshore Drive to get a photo of downtown Chicago. It wasn't easy. Seems Saturdays in the summer are for all sorts of events where the parking costs $25 and roads are blocked (but no one told Siri, this) and you can only turn left, not right (legally). I think I used a good quarter tank trying to get around that was not going to be got around...until I got around it, but that moment turned into a good 2 hours.

This has been too tightly-scheduled a set of jobs for me to do any real exploring of the town. I flew in on Friday morning, picked up my first job, spent the rest of the day in my room packing it, then dropped it off before noon to make its flight. After that, I built boxes for today's job...and yes, I was working on a Sunday. It's the only way we could schedule it in.

This was a higher-end rush-rush job so I also had to pack more carefully...meaning I also built the boxes to be much sturdier...and did even more on-site, especially since the client suddenly included a flat piece I wasn't expecting. I think I protected it...but you never know till it's at its new home.

So right now I'm beat. I did some reading for PS but that was a mistake, because it led me into thinking I'm out of my mind trying to write a book set in a part of the world I've only barely visited. This guy's referencing all the people he knew who lived on Nailors Row and Friel Terrace andI'm so damned unsure about this, now, I think I better hold off for a few days to get past it.

But talk about biting off more than you can chew...

Another fight with Brendan...

Actually more of a serious disagreement. I don't like repeating actions. My weakest scripts were those where I had the characters doing the same thing more than once, just to get through the story. But there are moments of repetition in Place of Safety and I want to avoid it but the actions are too damn important so I'm worried they will look like lazy writing. And that is the last thing I want in this book.

But...they do advance the story. And Brendan is insistent they happen when they happen in the way they happen, so I'm fighting like crazy to figure out how to make them dissimilar while still being similar...if that's even possible. And right now, I don't think it is.

Something else I have to keep in mind is, as horrible as The Troubles were, they did not affect a large part of the population of Derry. Yes, lots of people were killed and probably everyone knew someone who'd been burned out of a job or lost a relative or friend to a bomb or sectarian murder, but there was a lot of There but for the grace of God go I kind of thinking, too. And the farther away you were from the city center, the more likely it was you wouldn't be touched.

I'm not sure if that would figure into the story...or even how. Brendan's first love, Joanna, comes from a background of middle-class Protestant privilege so doesn't see the world in the same way as Brendan. She can't. Hell, he doesn't even see the world the same way his brother, Eamonn, does, and he's only six years younger and raised under the same conditions. He's an anomaly in his little section of life, which causes him a lot of conflict with his mother and even his friends, at times.

But is it so important to have that many viewpoints in a story being told in first person by one particular boy as he grows into a man? Is that too wide a net to cast in order to make the points I know need making? Or am I worrying too much about nothing?

Brendan thinks I'm an idiot to even consider thinking about this, now...and he's right. I'll be rewriting the story for some time in order to find its purest essence, and I think, for some stupid reason, worrying about this now means I won't have to deal with it later. Must be the anal side of me forcing its way forth in an attempt to hijack my forward movement.

Or...is it a new character?

Weird day...

Sometimes I think the only reason I'm still alive is because of all the characters who've come to visit me, in my head. Knocking gently and asking me to tell their story. Keeping me focused on them instead of my own selfish objections to this world. Some were gentle, some were harsh, some were fun, some were difficult, but all came and turned me away from building too much of a hate against humanity...or letting the animal in me take over.

It's odd to think I can be animalistic...but I've caught glimpses that could easily have become the defining factor in my world. I speak in a couple of my books about a beast inside that invades you and becomes your drug...and I know that came from me and my own creature. I use a wolf as my avatar on Facebook not because it looks cool but because it's what I almost became -- a hunter-killer out for itself.

With Curt in HTRASG, he saw himself as a lion prowling the streets...but he was really a jackal. With Alec in PM, a panther took over after he was gay-bashed and led him into committing some serious crimes. And in RIHC6, Antony talks about how complete control of someone else can be a drug that you feed upon and grows more and more demanding. He even seduces Matthew, an innocent...for the most part...into understanding it, and nearly joining him in it. The only reason Antony doesn't go deeper with it is Jake, who's in control of himself and is able to pull him back.

My scripts always tended to be careful. I tried to be as honest as I could with them, but I skirted the reality of the characters much more in them than in my books. I wanted them to sell...but wound up no selling them, anyway. That's a good aspect to my screenwriting failure -- it helped me see that you can't work for others when being creative; you can only work for yourself.

Of course, I also started writing books when I was adult enough to know that all people have a beast inside them. Every one of us. Some have it under control. Others do not...and this hideous exercise in tearing children away from families has brought home just how easy it is for that thing to take over. I've referenced it, before, and discussed it and pointed it out...but it's still unsettling to see it in true action. It makes you wonder about the whole idea of evil being banal when, in truth, it's cold and cruel and vicious and simple. And joyous to those who now wallow in it.

So is this what it's all about, Brendan? Is this why we've taken so long to build your story? No comparisons to Nazi Germany are needed to put across your point. No genocides in Armenia or North America. Just a simple brutal truth that too many men do not want to live in a decent society, but prefer the jungle to civilization. And always have. And always will.

And that motherfucking son-of-a-bitch in the White House is the epitome of that attitude.

Maybe not so bad...

Doesn't look like a full five weeks coming up. We sent off a quote to one last-minute job that has to be done now-now-now...and catalogued, by the way, as you pack, something we may not have mentioned until today (which they didn't)...but I doubt they'll go for it. I halfway think they were just shopping around for a deal and I wasn't in the mood to give one. So there it stands.

Another job I thought was settled may not be; the client hasn't actually agreed to it, yet. They talk like they have, but no official OK has been forthcoming...and there's a sneaking suspicion they're trying to fish information from us on how to do this then go off and do it for themselves, cutting us out. Which would be cheap-assed, cheesy and stupid, but some people are.

So I spent the rest of the day finalizing the 4 jobs I do have and making sure I have the paperwork needed for them. Then I spent half of this evening howling on Facebook and Twitter about the GOP and their diseased actions towards immigrants seeking asylum...tearing children away from their parents and putting them in concentration camps. It's horrific how many so-called Americans think this is fine and good. Sickening.

I've been using this quote from the King James Bible against these people, who claim to be Christians; it's Matthew 25:31-45 (emphasis added):

31 When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory:

32 And before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats:

33 And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.

34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:

35 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:

36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

41 Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels:

42 For I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink:

43 I was a stranger, and ye took me not in: naked, and ye clothed me not: sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not.

44 Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?

45 Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.

I've read the Bible from cover to cover. I'm not a scholar, but I know it well enough to call hypocrisy on those who wrap themselves in it to excuse their hate, fear and prejudice, and the Republican party is the epitome of this. That anyone supports their diseased actions shows how depraved some people can become.

It's times like this I wish I believed in hell so I know they'd burn in it.

Well...that's life...

In three days I may leave for what could easily turn into another 5 week stretch of work, from Chicago to London to York to New York City to Oakland to Indianapolis. I'm torn between liking the fact that I've got lots to do and wondering how I'll be able to work on PS...which is nonsense. I have my laptop. I've got lots of info in a folder on it. I can keep working.

In fact, I could sort through a lot of the files I have on PS, trying to find some I was sure I'd written but cannot seem to locate. I may take some old thumb drives with me, as well, just to check. Oh, it's been fun trying to keep track of what's happening with me...but it does sort of feed into how Brendan feels when he's in Houston and then back to Derry. He hasn't a clue as to the reality of the US and makes mistakes that hurt him -- like winding up involved with a black girl in a town that had one of the biggest chapters of the KKK in it. It may still; I don't know, for sure.

He's also going to be into drugs and drinking and all sorts of things. The 70s were pretty wide open when it came to a lot of lifestyles and choices and experimentation. We'd just finished a war that took more than 50,000 American lives and probably a million Vietnamese, so we were being very hedonistic. Life's short so have fun was the main attitude.

Of course, that ushered in Reagan and the immorally moral majority, who set about crushing any kind of joy...and AIDS, which was assigned to the gay community but was mainly a straight disease around the world...but that's after Brendan's story concludes, so I don't have to worry about it. He leaves the US shortly after Reagan's inaugurated...only to face a community that was in chaos, when he left, but had been climbing out of it...slowly...slowly...until the hunger strikes send it crashing back in. Years of peace work undone by a group of fanatics.

I think the older I get the more I realize how stupid, short-sighted and selfish most people are. We don't learn from our mistakes. We want to live in the past without knowing what it really was. And we fear the future because we know how bad it can be. It's amazing we haven't extincted ourselves long before this. Now we're in a nation where nearly 30% of the population is scared of brown babies and has no problem tearing them away from their parents and locking them into cages, as if they're all the reincarnation of Chucky. It's so fucking stupid.

Have they forgotten -- Cages can't hold Chucky...

Old words...

I have 3 big green ring-binders filled with printouts from earlier writing I did on Place of Safety, so I read through those, tonight, to see just what I'd once thought and see if I'd written in ideas that could still be used. Man, I did a lot of jumping around. I'd also inserted handwritten pages to indicate what still needed to be written. And I can see how the story's already begun to shift in shape and meaning from my initial work.

And how it hasn't. How the basis for the book was there from the beginning. My earlier work is simple...more like place-holding to give me time to pull the full spine together...but some parts are still brutal and warm. Overwritten because I'm exploring what needs to be there, yet easily readable and flowing. For as long as it goes.

I've also added chapters since these were written, like a secret meeting between Brendan and Colm at the circle fort after Brendan's returned to Derry and been beaten, and the manner in which another character comes back from the dead. But that's how it should be. I've got the known vertebrae lined up; what's left is inserting the remaining bones to finalize the spine.

I do think Brendan natters on a bit...but I'm not sure that's bad. He's telling the story and giving his impressions of everything that happens...his interpretations. Sometimes, they aren't correct and the action shows this. Other times, they're too precise and on-the-nose, which I don't like but can be corrected. And other times he talks of details that someone like him wouldn't even think of mentioning...which I may cut out and which may work out well for me, since I'm not from that part of the world.

But still, the honesty of his voice keeps moving through everything. The reality of his world gives him foundation for his thoughts. The truths he's forced to face show him lies surround him...as does love...

He's going to be a difficult contradictory character, our Brendan, and I hope he is accepted for it.

Today is my last nothing day...

All I did, today, was laundry and cooking meals...well, I also sent out 9 post cards to politicians about the hideous situation where ICE is ripping children away from their parents because they dared to come here seeking asylum. I sent post cards because they're harder to ignore than letters or emails, and I used Norman Rockwell's Southern Justice to send home the message -- that the right wing is taking us back to a time when people got killed just for registering others to vote.

I sent one to Jeff Sessions, since he apparently approves of this shit. Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell are too full of their hypocrisy to give a damn, but they got one, as well...as did Czar Snowflake, his chief ass-kisser-Pence and Sarah Huckabee Sanders along with Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer for not doing enough to end this.

But it's come to me that I have a lot of things I need to do and I'm wasting too damn much time on the internet just coasting. Doing nothing but wandering. It's not acceptable. I have not only Place of Safety to write but I want to rework the Cowboy King of Texas into a romantic-comedy novel, and Carli's Kills and Blood Angel into erotic horror and even do 5 Dates as a YA novel.

But what really brought it home is Imagine Dragons. They wrote a powerhouse song -- Demons -- that yanks me into an old script/play/rock musical I was going to write based on Aristophanes' The Birds.

Set in the future, it involves cyber-punks fighting against the overlord who own the internet. Two men from the overlords find them, wanting to escape the rigid enforcement of their life. One's straight, one's gay...even though his DNA was supposedly adjusted in the womb so he would come out straight...but didn't work. His name is Arden, and he is tortured by how he's been treated by his world. One of the punks, Olney, falls for him...and this could have been their duet as Olney fights to get Arden to see things will be all right if he lets himself love and be loved...

Olney:
When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood’s run stale

Arden

I want to hide the truth

Olney

I want to shelter you

Arden

But with the beast inside
There’s nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come

Olney

This is my kingdom come
When you feel my heat

Arden

Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close

Olney
It’s dark inside

Arden
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Olney

When the curtain’s call
Is the last of all
When the lights fade out
All the sinners crawl
So they dug your grave
And the masquerade
Will come calling out
At the mess you made

Arden

Don’t want to let you down
But I am hell bound
Though this is all for you
Don’t want to hide the truth
No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed

Olney and Arden

This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

Olney

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes

Arden
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close

Olney

It’s dark inside

Arden

It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

Olney

They say it's what you make
I say it's up to fate

Arden

It's woven in my soul
I need to let you go

Olney

Your eyes, they shine so bright
I want to save their light

Arden

I can't escape this now
Unless you show me how

Arden and Olney

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide
Don’t get too close
It’s dark inside
It’s where my demons hide
It’s where my demons hide

My plan was to use this (and some songs by Muse) as a template to write the play, with this as the end of act 1. Grandiose, true, since I can't write music...but dammit...I want it to be done...

So, Kyle, stop wasting time and start asking yourself, Why the hell not?

I know where Brendan gets his pack-rattiness...

Cleaning my desk has shown me I'm a ludicrous pack-rat. I found nubs of pencils and dirty paperclips and a fountain pen whose reservoir had burst -- when I opened it, some dripped onto my leg and I now have a black spot just above my knee -- and a nice layer of dust. But I can see my workspace, again.

But what this leads to is Brendan's penchant for taking things he finds that have been discarded and fixing them. Making them useful, again. I'm not sure what this means as a metaphor in the story, because so far none of that is happening, but it makes sense for him. And I think it comes from me not having bought a new piece of furniture in years.

My workspace is a card table set up next to a drawing table I've had for more than half my life. Not a real desk with drawers, and certainly not solid or completely stable. Next to it is a TV dinner table where I pile all kinds of books and papers and other shit.

An uncle of mine told me, back when I was just into my 20s, that I was always going to be a student. Nothing more. I took offense...but he was right. The thing is, it's not an offensive thing to be. I haven't closed myself off to new information or experiences...just whined a lot, but still went with it.

As I wandered along, I shifted from art to directing movies to writing screenplays to writing books. I haven't had much financial or critical success from any of it, but I feel like what I'm doing needs to be done, for me and the characters who come to me...and for all my bitching, I can't imagine not doing it.

I picked up my car from the shop, today (clutch linkage needed replacing) and stopped at a Wegman's grocery store to have lunch (NOT a good idea; it made me ill) and as I was buying some groceries for the week, I heard Imagine Dragons' It's Time...

...and this song is so tied to The Alice '65 in my head, I was imaging scenes from it. Like it was a movie. It's the song that first gave me the feel for the story. The chirpy little background chords. The vaguely dark lyrics. The build and the meaning of it. If I wasn't still a student, I think I'd have missed that. It would have been just a nice song...and not become Adam's theme, to me.

Like the Johnston's Banks of Claudy is Brendan's...and his pack-rattiness is part and parcel of that...

I may be done with prepping A65...

I got the pdf proof for A65 and it looked good, so I set up to get a hardcopy and arranged for the book to be available next Friday, the 22nd. Then all I need to do is figure out some way to promote it that doesn't take an arm and a leg in cost.

I spent a bit of money to get it placed at a recent librarians' conference in NYC, at the end of May...in hardcover. I know it was there; here's a photo. It stands out, too. But so far as I can tell, no one picked it up or even considered it. But...it's only been 2 weeks; let's see if anything more happens.

I'm cleaning my work space, tomorrow, and getting myself into a semblance of order. I want to make better use of my time and focus, and digging through all this crap to find things is nonsense. I also plan to start working at least once a week with an organization that's fighting the diseased actions of ICE as regards people crossing the border into the US without permission. Tearing children away from their parents is vile and satanic, in practice, and I can't just snarl about it on Facebook, Twitter and the comments sections of articles I read. It has to be faced down, now. This is what the Gestapo did to Jews in concentration camps, and I'll be damned if I sit quietly while they start that shit here.

My one problem with doing this is the amount I travel. It's hard to work in a steady schedule of any form of volunteer or political work. The last campaign I worked on for a long period was Ann Richards for Governor of Texas, against Clayton Williams...which she won. I was working at Sam Houston Books and would go in, twice a week, to make lawn signs and stuff envelopes. No phone calls; I suck at that. No door-to-door, either. But grunt work like this, I can do without issue.

But something has to be done about the evil being perpetrated by the GOP...and I don't care if people "don't agree with all of their policies," if you support that criminal organization in any way, you support everything they do. Even tacitly.

And you should be ashamed.

A65 Paperback is uploaded...

I just sent the paperback edition of The Alice '65 off to Ingram Spark and now await a PDF proof to see how it's going to look. Hopefully, there will be no issues...but the way things have gone, this month, I ain't holdin' my breath. I can easily see this becoming another ordeal...this time over the cover. They're whining about that having ICC color profiles, but when I got the details, they were all in the trim area, so if there is an issue, they'll be cut off.

I didn't do a lot to the cover. I really like how it turned out so just subtle changes, adding a frame for emphasis, and a couple more reviews on the back...and a little tag line on top. Kind of cutesy but I needed something to fill in a bit of the yellow and it worked. Now it's a 5x8 book, 246 pages, $11.95.

That was my evening, though -- finishing this up. Something I tried to do was take the header off the first page of each chapter be breaking them into their own sections, but in order to achieve the blank header I had to use the "different first page" option and that killed the page number, at the bottom.

I considered making each chapter's first page its own section, but that messed with the header and footer even more, so I let it be. Big publishers use off-set printing for their books, and that's a lot better for this. It also enables them to use word breaks instead of "justify text" and "no widow/orphan control." POD self-publishing is limited unless you have a major program to do all of this, but I'm not getting into that. To me, it's more important the stories get read, not that they're pretty.

So maybe now I can return to the center of my universe and begin the agony, again...Brendan...

Got jinxed...

I currently have 2 packing jobs in Chicago, starting a week from Friday, then a straight shot to the UK where I have 2 packing jobs spread over 3 parts of the country -- Sussex, York and London. What's more, I had to turn down a job packing a lovely library in NYC because they needed it done now, now, now and I couldn't figure out how to do it short of working 21 days straight since we've also got a major fair going in London for which I have to work up some export licenses before I leave. And to think I was told it should be a quiet summer...

Frazzled is now my middle name. My car's in the shop for transmission repair. My credit cards are close to their limits, thanks to the travel expenses I've already racked up and am in the process of racking up. A book I ordered in the middle of April from Amazon still hasn't shown up, and they're being completely uncaring about it. I'm trying to get A65 set up as a paperback, but the cover's going to be more difficult than I thought. And that's on top of being at work and having to do 47 things at one time, something I've never been good at.

I envy people who can multi-task and keep track of themselves. I've always been very chaotic in my filing and cleaning and arrangements, in general. Right now my desk has headphones I haven't used in weeks, on it, along with a piece of string, an old handkerchief, an external hard drive and cable, a half-used dispenser of Scotch tape, my checkbook, three paper clips, a calculator, a stack of scratch paper, a container of thumb drives, a small ruler atop them, some business cards, a white out strip dispenser, a couple of coupons to CVS, a nearly empty box of toothpicks, Strunk & White's "Elements of Style", a black bandana, a back scratcher, a nearly empty jar of alcohol, a stapler, three pens of varying shapes and colors, a tube of Ben Gay, tweezers, an upright row of file folders holding my life over the last year, a flat file holder with copyright docs in it along with my bills and budget and stamps and such, and a red ribbon curled in a corner by my desk lamp.

Does this make me a packrat?

Odd review for "The Alice '65"

Someone read the story and posted this review on Amazon -- I found this to be a strange story--essentially protagonist finds he's been used as a puppet, but it seemed to have gotten him out of his rut and comfy, foibled existence and broadened his horizons, ending up in a much better situation. That's it, and I don't know what to make of it. Positive? Negative? Big shrug? I mean, they gave it 4 stars so I guess that's good...but the words chosen are...well...less than cheerful, to me.

It's wild what some people read into your work. I wrote a teen romance based on Beauty and the Beast, some years back, where the girl (Charl) is motherless and the boy (Mitch) is severely deaf with a protective mother. Charl's brother and sister are selfish and spoiled and her father is overwhelmed by the failure of his business, so she takes on the role of mom.

Mitch's mom is wary of her, at first, knowing about said brother and sister, but warms to her and gives her some motherly advice -- that it's okay to let yourself be in love. A simple conversation in the kitchen as they're making hot cocoa.

Some woman read it and accused me of having Mitch's mom pimping Charl for him, thanks to that scene. Her comment made absolutely no sense to me, so I went back over the dialogue to see if I'd screwed up in some way, and I couldn't even begin to see what would give anyone that idea...but it's how she saw it.

That was the beginning of me deciding I'm not going to tell anyone how they should view my work. They see in it what they see. And sometimes I've been ripped...especially over HTRASG...though usually by people who obviously have not read the book but only been offended by the title. I've also had silly negative reviews -- like the guy who hated LD because I had a character use the wrong conjugation for to lay -- as well as silly positive ones -- like the one referring to BC as a great love story. Um...thanks, but...really?

Of course, if someone likes my work, I thank them...and I do try to thank those who dump all over it, just because they read it...and because sometimes the non-stop negative comments pop up with an honest critique that helps make you more aware and improves your writing, even if only a little.

Negatives still hurt, but at least they aren't devastating like they used to be, for me...and that's a major improvement.

Chili dogs...

When I was in San Francisco, I got an urge for a chili dog but couldn't find a place that looked good. I had my traditional In-N-Out burger and fries. I had a decent fish dinner. I even tried some California Mexican food before catching my flight home (which was good, because it was heavy and my flight out of SFO was delayed so long...AFTER we boarded...that I barely had time to make my connection to Buffalo, let alone grab anything to eat for dinner). So today I had one and ate it with a knife and fork and thoroughly enjoyed it.

There's a place in Buffalo called Louie's Texas Red Hots (why, I have no idea, because there's nothing spicy about any of it) but they have decent chili. I've tried a couple of places in town and I'm kind of picky about it. No beans. An interesting sauce. Not thick and no Chipotle crap, which everyone seems to love in just about everything, these days (you listening Ted's Hot Dogs?). So I went there before running about town on errands. Cost me $5 and held me till din-din.

The best chili dogs, however, were Tommy's in LA, at their place on Beverly at Rampart. Pinks was OK, and I preferred the Chicagoan hot dog at Carneys up on Sunset, but when my mother lived with me we'd hit Tommy's about once a week. Stand around outside and make a huge mess. Cheese and onions on 'em (one of the rare times I like raw onions)...but they didn't have relish, and I find it makes the meal a bit better. Still...slop mustard and ketchup on, and you're well on your way to pure enjoyment.

Their fries were average (unless you put chili and cheese on them; then they were heaven), and they only sold sodas in cans, but it was cheap and filling and damn good. I halfway hope to have a job in LA so I can hop back by there for dinner, sometime.

But...my next jobs are in Chicago (which is a possibility for a good chili dog) and London (I cannot think of anyplace in the UK that would do a decent dog), so...so yeah, maybe they are a heart attack waiting to happen, but damn they're good. And filling.

I think half the reason my mother died when she did was because this uptight absolutist of a nutritionist cut out 90% of the food she loved in favor of a healthier but very bland diet. She was 83, for cryin' out loud. By that age, you should be allowed to eat anything you damn well want...in measure. I mean, if she'd been fat, like me, I'd have understood that attitude...but I think she weighed just over 100 lbs when I moved to Buffalo.

Sometimes it's better to relax and just enjoy yourself...and let others do the same...

New ideas for PS

Today's pickup of books went so smoothly and quickly, I had a couple hours to kill before going to the warehouse to finalize the shipment...so I hit a Starbucks, nearby, and got to thinking about Place of Safety. There's one character who seems to be shaping up as a true villain, in the story...and while I didn't have any trouble with him causing trouble, he now is getting people killed. Why? I don't know, yet...but I do think another character decides to fake his own death in order to get away from him.

I managed to finish the basic outline for the full book...so I think that's why this background story came up. I was looking for ways to flesh out the spine and realized I'd lost track of this one bad boy...which made sense, in a way; a lot of his crap comes out second and third hand because Brendan's in Houston and, effectively, banned from the Derry family. Only his sisters keep in contact and bring him up to date on what's happening.

It's going to be fun still giving a sense of the chaos and horror of that time while the character telling the story is living a new life in a new country...and finding it's not really so very different from his old one. He even winds up in a relationship with an older woman...just like his brother, Eamonn, did...with tragic consequences.

This one odd little bit popped up. Brendan's working at his uncle's bar in The Heights section of Houston. So one night he's on his way back to his room when he's offered a ride to a party by a couple of guys he barely knows...who turn out to be Elmer Wayne Henley and David Brooks. They hunted for boys to take to Dean Corll, to be raped and murdered...all for money. There was a huge uproar when it was found out, the summer of '73...and it's become important to the story. I know why but still...the importance of it took me by surprise.

And yet, that's what I like -- surprises...so long as they're good for the tale being told...

The joys of travel...

A five hour flight was made to seem like ten hours thanks to a squalling baby in the row of seats behind me, who would not be silenced. And she had one of those piercing cries that cuts right through earbuds. I may invest in a pair of sound-muffling headphones, because this is the second time it's happened, this month. Fortunately, they got off in Vegas.

Can't blame the parents, for this; they looked shell-shocked, they were so tired. Some babies are just screamers. My grandmother could have shut the kid up, I'm almost certain. She was a nurse in the newborn wing of Nix Hospital in San Antonio for 30 years and learned all kinds of tricks on how to settle a cranky infant.

She would go home with new mothers, on her days off or vacation, to make extra money...and it seemed all the kids she took care of that way turned out fine and easy to handle. I told her on many occasions she ought to write a book about it, but she shrugged me off. I thought for a while she was making up how good she was, but when she died over a hundred people she'd taken care of showed up to pay respects at her memorial...and some were actually in mourning. They'd been maintaining light contact with her, for years. It was the loveliest tribute she could have had.

She didn't have a funeral; she donated her body to science as a way to cheat the undertaker, and her ashes were given to us once they were done. She's buried near her sister by the San Antonio River on the south side of town. We were able to get a plot not far from her for my mother's burial spot...27 years later.

Me, when I die I want my ashes mixed into a cement block and put in the ocean for coral to grow on. That way I'll feel like I finally did a good deed for the planet.

If there still is one when I hit that point.

Miami is weird...

It's not my favorite city, and even though parts of it are amazing lovely...with Florida Oaks twisting their branches out and moss dripping from the trees as you drive past...it's difficult to deal with. Traffic either goes 90 or nothing. I've actually seen cars stay in place while waiting for a light, even though the cars ahead of them have moved up and there's space for 3 vehicles between them. But when they're moving, stay the hell out of the way.

It's hot and humid and has so many micro climates, it's hard to figure out what to expect, weather-wise. In my hotel room, I was able to see the downtown skyline, and the other evening I watched a massive storm roll in off the Atlantic and completely envelop the high-rises. I figured it would swoop all the way up to my hotel...only 4 miles inland...but no. Didn't even try. Instead, it spit out a weak rainbow then vanished.

I'm up by Ft. Lauderdale, right now, and when I went to grab a bite to eat I got rained on even though there were no rain clouds around me. Big drops, too. Just enough to dampen the asphalt and make the grass smell clean, and drop the temperature by a few degrees. Ten minutes later, it's back to how it was...and there are clouds filling the sky.

The people tend to be very casual about everything and yet pissy. You can call a company and arrange to drop by to talk about a future job for them, but you get there no one will let you into the office because they think you're a salesman...and tell you to go make an appointment...until someone remembers and runs up to say it's okay, that you can come in. And then they do nothing to show they want the business.

No matter where you go in the city, you find heavy emphasis on Cuban and Latin cultures. I don't mind that -- San Antonio was so focused on Mexico it was like Texas was an afterthought that was never really thought about -- but at the same time, you see bumper stickers everywhere in cars being driven by people who are obviously Latino praising that idiot in the White House, who wants to run them all out. And Fox News plays everywhere. The dichotomy is not dichotomizing...if that's a word...

So you can keep Miami...hell, all of Florida; I'm still a California boy...

Pleasant day...if hot...

One of the joys of packing books is seeing and handling some that are just plain lovely to look at. I did that a lot, today, with an elegant collection of books illustrated by Arthur Rackham. He's England's version of N.C. Wyeth, who followed him only by a few years and who worked up images for some American classics.

Rackham's work is amazing and so detailed and yet picaresque in feel, even when painting Brunhilde kissing Siegfried's ring -- romantic and yet a bit quirky. His trees were never simply there; they drew attention to themselves in how they twisted about, adding to the raw melancholy of the image.

Wyeth's work is more romanticized and active in a classic, sweeping sort of way. Almost tender, even in a horrific situation. It also feels a bit posed. I like it, but it doesn't involve me so much as inspire appreciation of his use of color, setting, intent and shadow.

I think my favorite Rackham is of Titania, Queen of the Fairies, from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Simple. Elegant and sweeping, but still picaresque in the little characters attending her.

I like.

Getting old...

I got to the airport with time to spare, today, patted myself on the back and was about to pull out my laptop to answer some emails...when I found I'd left it at home. Sitting on my desk. Waiting to be packed. I'd looked around and not noticed it before I left. So I ran back outside, grabbed a cab and did a round trip back to my apartment in 45 minutes flat. Cost me $110...but I got my laptop. Which I need. And I'm pissed as hell at myself for letting it happen.

But I do that, now and then -- just don't notice things until they're pointed out to me. I can look at a section of soup for 10 minutes trying to find one particular brand and not see it till I ask a grocery store clerk and they hand it over to me. Same for typos in one of my books -- I'll look and check and inspect and get anal...and I'll still find them, after everything is done.

At least the flight down was easy and on time. Took forever to get my bag, and Avis' Ft. Lauderdale people were not pleasant to deal with. I wanted a different car (I don't like Nissans) and, since I'm a Preferred Customer, I'm supposed to be able to just grab another one and have it changed at the exit booth. Nope. "That ain't the you're supposed to get. Wanna change it? Go to the desk." Where there's a line 10 people long. I wound up taking the Nissan just so I could get out and grab a bite to eat.

I found a McDonald's close by...but it's one that uses those damned kiosks to order and it took 5 minutes for me to find what I wanted on it because apparently you're supposed to already know how things are labeled on the menu. Then its chip reader malfunctioned and I had to start over. After I was done, I went to the restroom to clean up and prep for the drive to Miami...and it was disgusting. Made me very unhappy I'd eaten there. I should have just crossed the lot and gone to Taco Bell.

Now I'm in a Best Western in Miami in a room that has a loud AC and charges for parking. And tomorrow is the beginning of a tough job. But...the initial plan was for me to get up at 3:30 am, Monday, to get to the airport by 4:30 (since I'm checking a bag) and come down on a 5:30 flight, arriving at 8:30, then drive down to Miami in morning traffic and hope to reach the location by 10 am when the packing materials might be delivered. I'd have been a nervous wreck. So I made the decision to do it this way and handle the trip separately from the packing.

I'm glad I did; imagine if I'd left my laptop at home, tomorrow morning...

All reformatting done...

I uploaded new ebook editions of The Alice '65 and Porno Manifesto to Smashwords, with A65 also going to Kindle -- typos corrected and all that. It's funny, but I can see this being my version of what happened with the first printing of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. There are about 25 copies of the A65 hardcover with the mistakes in them, and from now on the copies sold will be good. Same for the paperback, which is next on the agenda.

Hmph, I just remembered a bit from The Big Sleep, where Humphrey Bogart as Philip Marlowe goes into a book shop (that's a front for pornography) asking about books that don't exist.

Ben Hur wasn't published until 1880 and the Chevalier Audubon set wasn't completed till 1844.

As for me...well, I may still correct all the ebooks, but I want to get A65's paperback done, next. It's time for it to be available and that will clear everything out of my way for Place of Safety. The other e-books...all I'd do is clean up the grammar and spell check them, so that can wait.

A job in the UK might come through, to go along with the one I'm already set for. If it does...and if it happens after the already-booked job, I'll have a couple of days to make it over to Belfast and visit the prison museum on Crumlin Road as well as the Castleragh neighborhood. And what's great is, I'd be hopping over from London instead of the northern wilds of England. Nice and easy, relatively speaking, and cheaper.

In fact...there's a service out of City Airport the other side of Canary Wharf, a tiny prop plane, I think. But if I can work the scheduling right, I might be able to make it a day trip. Just have to see. It's for a university so nothing's definite...hell, that might take forever to finally be approved.

Anyway...life just keeps on moving forward...

A week gone by before it's come...

I'm headed to Miami for 3 days then San Francisco for 2 days, then Chicago for 2 days, the following week, so I stayed late to make sure all my paperwork was in order and everything prepped that could be. It's not going to be the easiest set of jobs; the one in Miami has already changed shape half a dozen times, most of which was completely unnecessary...but when you're dealing with people who like to see the worst possible scenario, there's not much you can do but ride the wave they send your way.

I think it's all settled now and everyone has calmed down, but you never know until the job is done. And I can't get into detail about it due to the sensitive nature of the shipment. All I can say is, had we done what I'd initially suggested, we'd never have this problem. But such is life in the big city.

The job in San Francisco is far more fun -- a collection of Japanese books from the 17th - 19th century. I've seen the collection and it is amazing. Most of them are illustrated in either the Kyoto style or Japanese Traditional style, sort of like precursors to Manga and Yaoi, but with more detail and delicacy. I'm looking forward to working up this shipment.

I'm trying to update the electronic editions of Porno Manifesto and A65, before I go, since I found and corrected typos in them when I did their reformatting. Pretty damned embarrassing...but even JK Rowling keeps finding typos in her work after checking it 19 times, so she and I are kinsmen, in that...

Wish I had her sales...