China in Print Fair

Move-in is done and the fair underway. I went about 6pm on Friday and they had a good turnout.

What you can't see from this vantage point...and since it's night, outside...is how spectacular the venue is. It's right on Victoria Harbor and has a view of the east  that is breathtaking. The books are high-end stuff with an Asian bent and the dealers seem happy to be there.

I'm okay about it. This is my 8th trip to Hong Kong and I think I've seen and done all the touristy things one can. What's nice about this year's fair is it's later so the Christmas decorations are up in the city. There are a lot of Catholics here as well as Buddhists, Baptists and Bahai.

My hotel in North Point isn't on a scale as the one I stayed at in Shueng Wan, but I'm finding it's a lot more convenient and there is access to a better selection of restaurants.

So here's a taste of Christmas in Hong Kong...and a link to a video showing the lights at their best...both taken from in front of the Hong Kong Maritime Museum, where the book fair is underway. 

I did it for Dair's Window...

Don't believe it, but a 15 hour plane ride two seats away from a brat that would not settle helped me slam through DW. 50,098 words, the last of which were written while listening to bad Pet Shop Boys albums on the plane's entertainment service. It was that, K-pop or Opera.

The story's a mess...it needs a full restructuring and I'm sure I have some repetition in it...but I'm aiming for something deliberate there -- a moment seen from two viewpoints showing how differently each person sees the same event -- but it's also a start...for another time. Now I need to finish up Underground Guy and get at least a first draft of APoS completed.

A madman's work is never done...

In Toronto waitin' on a plane

And it's been delayed nearly 2 hours. We're not leaving till 3am. Ugh. BUT...it's giving me time to work on DW and keep it moving. I sent out a plea to the characters for help on adding to it...and they provided me with a nice little bit between Adam and Marion, Dair's mother, where she effectively gives her blessing to him being with her son and showing how she feels about her daughter-in-law. Got rather colorful.

Of course, the issue is I'm listening to Christmas hymns and carols...grr...but I'm feeling a lot better about the story. I may still miss it by a few hundred but the fact that it's still building in me shows there's something there. And I'll have a 15 hour flight where I can't do anything else. I didn't bring a book or anything to do so maybe I'll get it done while en route. The story ends with Dair flying to Tokyo...

Dammit, having the plane be this late's made me hungry. I'm gonna find a Starbuck's or Timmy Ho's and get some tea and crumpets.

Gotta feed the beast within.

7200 to go...

I'm closing in on 50K with Dair's Window but it's going to be close. I'm at the point where the wedding is about to take place and haven't got much story left to build upon -- about 5000 words left to add the 7200 to. The 42,800 includes the full script I shifted to narrative format so the story is basically written to the end, but it's not really written yet, if that makes sense. I'm going through and filling in the bits that need more description to make sense. So we'll see how it goes.

I still need to add more about Dair's trial for beating up the guy who firebombed his house. And there is that incessant antagonism between him and a local punk. But overall it's a more interior book than I thought it would be. Might be why it's not a very good script; I haven't really dug into it as much as I should have.

So this is kind of a light story, action-wise. It's more about emotions and feelings and contemplations and explanations and it's not very interesting, right now. Once I come back to it, I'll do what I can to make it better...starting with coherence and consistency. My two big bugaboos...

I'm also changing some names. I don't like Caroline as the name of the villain so will shift it to Sarah. And I gave Bobby and Nelda a last name -- Szebeniec...which is Poilish-ish for madman.

I couldn't do a lot on it today due to having to get ready for my trip to Hong Kong. I've already found I have an issue with my check-in with the Airline. I didn't use my full name when I made the reservation and now they require the name on the ticket match exactly what's on your passport. I'll have to do a manual check in when I get to Toronto's airport, so will need to leave earlier than I expected. Good thing is, the flight's not till 1:20am Tuesday.

I'm feeling a bit paranoid, right now, after the debacle with that shipment from DC. Turns out the damage was done in the delivery truck, so at least no paperwork was lost. But now I'm freaky about everything so am taking extra information with me to Hong Kong to make sure I'm covered.

Also feeding into my paranoia is learning a friend from Heritage Book Shop is in Hong Kong. I sent him a message saying I'd be there and maybe we could get together and got a "Sorry, I'm leaving that day." It reminded me he's never been very chatty on Facebook, just polite. Guess he's not really a friend, just an acquaintance, now.

Sometimes it takes me a while to get the hint...

Still at it...

Dair's Window is threatening to actually make it to 50K in wordage, to my shock. I won't make it before I head to Hong Kong on Monday night, but I'll have a 15 hour flight to work on it...hopefully with power. Sometimes the seat plugs work and sometimes they don't. We'll just have to see.

But today was a good day for the story. I guess my whining made the characters realize I needed their help here...and so they stepped up. I worked on a long tender discussion between Dair and Adam that Adam's telling. He starts out intending to seduce Dair and make him a client; he's made money as a rent boy. But as they talk and he gets to know Dair, his feelings shift. He may be a few years younger but he's lived on the street and has a realistic view of the world and the people in it...and he sees Dair is still caught in the idea that you should trust people.

During the talk, Adam learns Dair has anger issues and had them pretty much under control, thanks to being away from certain situations for a couple years. But his sister-in-law knows exactly the right buttons to push to send him over the edge then feign innocence when he explodes...and she's still at her old tricks.

Dair hosts a birthday party for himself and invites friends from Seattle and Tacoma, and some bring their kids. The sister-in-law calls child protective services on them and they show up during the party. Adam is there, sees Dair is about to explode so steps in and pretends he invited the women, then he and Marion, Dair's mother, show them around the house. By the time they leave they're kissing Dair's cheek for good luck. All nicely handled.

Now Dair's torn. He knows what happened and is fighting himself over it. Anything he does will cause a massive rift with his brother and disrupt his relationship with his nieces. It might even affect his mother's relationship with them. But he has always stood up for himself and can't let it go. That's when Adam comes in and talks with him...and they share secrets...and Dair finally makes a move on Adam...and things progress from there.

As mentioned, Adam has a very questionable background. There are a lot of things he had to do to survive after being kicked out of his parents' home...and Dair winds up being his salvation as much as he is Dair's. I'm not sure how to handle this, yet, but something I want to keep in mind is...not only was Adam ripped away from Dair but Dair was also ripped away from him. He's a dead man telling his part of the story...so can he feel sorrow about this? Pain? Anger? Like Dair feels?

The question I asked myself for this story was, How do you move on when your soul mate dies? Guess I'm wondering if that's also a question in the afterlife.

I'm not gonna make it...

I've run out of story on Dair's Window and I'm at 38,300 words. I'm digging and going through what I've written and a lot of it's whiny and tedious...so this may be a story that's not ready to be told or just plain isn't novel material. More like novella. No padding allowed in those.

I really do get the sense the story's only partially prepped in my head. The characters can't decide who they are, yet; they keep shifting back and forth as to what the story's about. One character has decided to take on a more powerful role as villain and is proving to be interesting but is worthy of a lot more care than I can give at the moment.

I suppose I could cheat and say I made 50K...but I'm the only one I'd be cheating, nobody else. Kind of silly to do that, I think. Just self-defeating. I'll keep at it, but I don't expect to achieve my goal on this.

I got some artwork I'd commissioned to use as the cover of Underground Guy...and it didn't turn out like I wanted. It's good and polished, but it's not right. It's...nice...a bit on the cartoonish side...no, really more like Yaoi or Manga than anything. Not the least bit raw, and that story is not nice. It would be completely wrong to use. So I'm back to square one -- using my own photo worked over in Photoshop.

This is the second time I've asked for artwork and gotten what I asked for and it's turned out wrong. I must be bad at explaining what I really want. That or I'm choosing the wrong artists for the project...which is probably more likely. I have a habit of grabbing the wrong thing at the wrong time.

That's my way -- going right when I should go left...

Hitting over 37,300 words on DW

I had a decent early dinner and worked on DW and managed to reach 37,300 words, so far. I'm still not sure what the story's about because I know some of the stuff I'm working on is tedious and unreadable, but it's a beginning.

The turkey make me sleepy so I took a nap, too. I still managed slam through 2300 words. Late Monday night I'm headed for Hong Kong hoping I don't fuck up, again, but you never know till you do it what's going to happen.

I'm forcing myself to keep writing despite the last couple days. What little confidence I had in myself got shattered thanks to that job in DC. I got down there, got the collection and archives packed in about the amount of time I said I would, got it picked up even though our trucker didn't show up and got it packed into containers to protect the shipment during transit, all on schedule. I was proud...and tired.

But...because I didn't do one last step -- have plastic banding put around these nice solid containers to hold the lids in place -- somehow along the way a 700 pound 48x40x45 inch container got dumped on its side and the top popped off...and the collection got messed up, inside. Some of it wound up caught between the clear shrink wrap on the container and the container, itself. Items may be missing; they won't know till they've gone through everything.

I got sick. Seriously. A blinding headache and depression like I've never felt. It was a lovely collection of books and photos and papers from Eastern Europe under Communism...and it may be ruined. It brought out memories of every stupid thing I've ever done in my life, and there are a lot of them, and jolted me down to the point where I actually was suggesting to Brendan he find someone else to write his story because I would just fuck it up. He ignored me.

I'm better now...but still upset. And shaky. And nothing pleases me. Nothing. I should never write when I feel like this...but if I don't I don't meet the challenge for NaNoWriMo. So I put down bland and boring and figure I'll come back to it later.

Maybe.

Some of today's work on DW...

I've had two hideous days at work so worked on a moment of tenderness between Dair and Adam to cleanse myself...and I have no idea where this goes in the story, yet...
-------
Sometimes I would watch Dair as he worked. Always quietly. Always in a way that would cause him no disturbance.

The first time I did this was by accident. I returned from repairing the door to a shed to find him seated on an old lounging chair he kept in his studio, hunched over and his legs crossed. It was late and dark so I thought he was resting, but as I approached and before I called to him I noticed he was focused on two pieces of glass -- his left hand held one that was a red as deep as blood and gleaming like a ruby; his right hand held one that was pale and shifted between a soft blue and a clearness as clean as a freshly cut diamond. His face was caught in a frown as his eyes shifted from one to the other, holding each at slightly different angles so their colors changed with the light.

I stopped. Almost held my breath for fear I would startle him.

He held them side by side, then one atop the other, then switching them around, using the light from a lamp beside him to shine through them, then the harsh overhead light. I saw he wore the gloves I had found for him. I had thought he did this only to silence my concerns...but this time I began to believe he did not want his blood to mar the beauty of the pieces he so lovingly gazed upon.

He reminded me of the youngest children in my skiing classes. So focused on doing everything just right. Turning their feet just so. Holding their poles at the proper angle while drifting down the beginner slopes. Even on snowboards, they held this sort of focus. A focus only someone innocent can manage. Blocking out the world and all its distractions.

He was so beautiful there. Just sitting there. Shadows behind him. His dark eyes searching for something. Inspiration? Agreement? Acknowledgement? I wanted to know but dared not break the spell.

Finally, he shifted and slowly rose to his feet to climb off the recliner to head back to his workbench. I silently moved closer to keep him in view and found him crouched before a small mound of shattered glass that gleamed in shades of amber. He would pick one up to look through then place it back on the pile, never toss, never drop. Over and over he did this...until he found the one he wanted. Then he stood up and turned on a strong lamp above his bench and, from what I could tell, looked at all three resting side by side in the palms of his hands.

I had been hungry when I arrived home, and somewhere in the back of my mind I still was, but to see him like this cast aside all other concerns. I felt as if I were seeing him fresh and new.

I silently maneuvered to the lounger and sat to watch as he laid the pieces together and turned to another small pile of red glass to go through the same process. Then he did this with the blue, each time placing another sliver of glass with the others.

I was so focused on watching him it took me several moments to realize there were a dozen sketches of me tacked to the walls, each from a different angle catching a different expression of my face. Exactly right and well-detailed. I could not remember him ever doing them. Had he taken photographs of me without my knowing?

I saw him weave a little and take in a deep breath. His whole being still focused on the glass spread atop his bench, he backed up to the lounger. I could see he was planning to sit so I straddled it to let him glide down at its foot. He shifted back and felt my leg and looked around at me...and his face became a smile. His dark eyes grew lighter and open. All without the least bit of shock or surprise.

His voice was a whisper of reverence as he said, “I’m trying something new. Dunno if it’ll work, but why not?”

I replied in the same tone, “Do you wish to tell me of it?”

“Let’s how it goes, first. ‘Kay?”

I smiled and nodded and drew him into my embrace, running my hands softly over his arms and chest.

“Your muscles are tight,” I said. “And I think I hear your tummy saying it wishes to be fed. Have you eaten anything, today?”

He took in a deep breath and gave me a gentle shrug.

I nodded. “Then it is good I took a steak from the freezer and brought with me some of that potato salad you like. And we can begin with a nice mushroom soup. Would that be satisfactory, monsieur?”

“I would love it,” purred from him.

“Then as you take a nice hot shower...” He looked at me, feigning insult, so I added, “To remove the dustings of glass I see on you. Very hot. Very careful. By the time you are done, dinner will be served. No need to dress; we are very informal.”

He chuckled and caressed the line of my chin with the backs of his left fingers as his right hand wound itself in with mine. He was almost back into my world.

Lost...

Just when I think I've found the thread I need to make DW a coherent story with meaning instead of just a character study of a man trying to rebuild his life...it breaks. The only consistency I've found, so far, is Dair and Adam loved each other, deeply, madly, truly. And that was taken away from Dair. And Adam knows of his turmoil and pain but can't do anything to stop it from where he is.

Something that seems to be building in this is Dair becoming aware of how vile people can be while seeming to be on your side. His sister-in-law is one; she testifies on behalf of Adam's parents when they sue Dair then purrs some hideous things about Adam as an apology after the fact...and nearly gets her head ripped off. Of course, then she plays victim to his irrational behavior.

I can see anger building in Dair even in this fractured story. Adam dies in an avalanche while protecting his skiing students. One dies with him but the rest are saved. He's only allowed to be a hero until someone informs the press he slept with men or women for money. That starts the anger building.

Then Adam's parents won't even let Dair say goodbye to his body but cut him off...even after having disowned Adam. Then comes the lawsuit and Dair being forced to leave his home by a homophobic judge...hmm...it almost seems like too much is being heaped on him...and probably is in order to make up for a lack of knowing how to handle the story. I'm slinging everything at it to see what sticks.

I guess I'll keep doing that till I hit 50K in wordage or the end of the month cuts me off.

Broke 30,000 word on DW...

I've got the full book pretty much blocked in, but there are sections that aren't fleshed out yet...like Dair's assault trial and more remembrances of Adam's. Still...it's going to be a lot of work to break 50,000. What's helping is finding this impish photo that could be Adam.

This is what he becomes after meeting Dair -- like a happy kitten or puppy. Dair becomes his raison d'etre and he loves having someone who is strong for him but also needs him at times. Which Dair does when he's working. Right now I don't mention any tattoos, but I think he should have some. And maybe piercings. Things he uses to remind himself he's alive.

And this is Dair in the main part of the story -- dark and lost and moody. I have to be careful with this because he's starting to come across as something of a weak asshole. Him beating up a little homophobe named Bobby in front of Reverend Samuels' church and congregation needs to come as a shock to him. He falls into a animalistic rage at comments made by the little shit, something he never does.

I like the physical looks of Kyle Krieger...but no tatts or piercings for Dair. He's got his art and scars on his fingers from working with shards of glass; he doesn't need ink to make him feel alive.

God...I have so much left to do...

Yesterday was not a good day...

Well...on top of everything else that happened on Friday, my flight was delayed an hour. I didn't get back to Buffalo till nearly 1am. Then I did something I don't usually do...at least, haven't since I worked at Book Soup. Back then I'd get off at midnight and walk down La Cienega to my apartment near Wilshire so would occasionally stop at Norm's and have an early morning breakfast of eggs, hash-browns, bacon and toast with hot tea. Theirs were perfection.

The only place open 24 hours in Buffalo, it seems, is Dennys...and they aren't up to Norm's. Not in the slightest. It was okay, and I'm sure I had too high of expectations, but still...how hard is it to deliver eggs hot instead of warm? And give you a pot of hot water for tea instead of having to take your cup away to pour more water into it?

Of course it didn't help that I was in a foul mood, so I got home and settled down by 3:30 and slept almost till noon. And worked some on DW but not as much as intended. I'm going through UG to clean it up one last time, then I'm prepping it in e-book for Smashwords and Kindle...and maybe Kobo, since they now had an adult line they offer. I'll set up the paperback for December, sometime.

The story works well...but I'm still finding typos to correct...and I'm cutting back on my use of commas. I am very antiquated when it comes to those. I'm also thinking of going into A65 and removing them, there...but that would be a bit much. I wrote it like it needed and my old-style grammar was right for it when I did it.

I'm going to use Thanksgiving to slam through DW. It won't be a coherent story when I'm done but it will have the basics, and I do prefer rewriting to writing. Much easier and creative, to my mind.

At least...what mind I have left...

Scrambled...

I thought I'd have a few hours to work on DW at the airport, this evening...but the trucker who was supposed to pick up the shipment I packed, yesterday, not only didn't show but told me it wasn't even booked. It was. I called and spoke with two different people, this week, to verify it.Got a big shrug over the phone.

So I located a UHaul close to the site, went there...and it doesn't exist, anymore. Found another and got a cargo van...and some of the slowest service ever...then parked my car in an underground lot since they don't offer a place for me to leave it, picked up the shipment, took it from DC to Baltimore, unloaded it for transport to New Haven, drove back to DC in traffic fit for the 405 on a Friday night, turned the van in, got my car, had dinner (since I'd skipped lunch) and drove back to Baltimore's airport...to find TSA Precheck wasn't open and I had to go through a massively long line and get myself verified despite having all the documents I needed to prove I really was Precheck.

I just sat down and my flight boards in 45 minutes. Not enough time to get back into the story.
Dammit. I did have some ideas while driving...and driving...and driving. I'll work on all those tomorrow. Right now I'm savoring a mango-a-go-go smoothie from Jamba Juice, with vitamins, and letting myself catch up with myself.

I did realize I was having the wrong person being the fighter in this story. Dair's stubborn and won't back down if pushed, but he doesn't let petty things bug him; he refuses to hand that kind of control over. Adam is the one taking offense at slights, and Dair keeps him in check. Then Adam dies and Dair's world is shattered. He doesn't know how to rebuild it so settles in to letting Wallace control things...which makes Wallace perfectly happy.

Wow...by the time I'm done with this first draft, I might actually know what the story is.

Workin' it...

Job done. Pickup tomorrow. I could not live in DC. Parts of it are really pretty but the attitude of people and the drivers brings out the worst of my LA beast behind the wheel. And so much of it is tight. Seriously...San Francisco tight. Not my idea of a great place to spend your life.

My hotel is...odd. Comfortable but very motel in style. I'm on the second floor so had to carry my bags up steps that were made for size-fives. And it's got a Keurig coffee maker (that I use to make tea) and which I do NOT like. The water comes out tepid, and I've found the same in other Keurigs I've had to use. I wind up having to nuke my tea for a minute to make it drinkably hot. But it does have a microwave, iron and board, free parking...and it was available.

I didn't do a lot of writing on DW when I got back; I was beat. On my feet six straight hours shifting and building boxes and packing and moving things around, but I did have an interesting thought about why I can't figure Dair out. I think I'm hitting at it from the wrong direction. I wanted him flawed or tormented in some way and finding Adam to be his saving grace...and that just wasn't working. It's SOOOOOOO typical. So Screenwriting 101. Two damaged people meet and make each other whole, again. UGH.

So while I'm working I'm thinking and wondering what I'm missing and then realized I wrote it last night. Dair's decent and kind. He's loving. He sees Adam as a wounded creature and connects with him and saves him...and is torn up when he loses him. He doesn't need the melodramatic crap of being damaged, himself, to be worthy of having his story told. He's been kicked overboard into an ocean of doubt and hate and is fighting to get back to shore.

That's what finally came out tonight. I began to write the bit when he calls off the wedding and to my shock he said Wallace killed Adam in his fight to protect Dair. Not physically but psychically. He's the reason Dair can't see Adam in his mind's eye, anymore. He's the reason Dair can't create wonders with his art, anymore. In order to fight off the legal maneuverings of Adam's parents, he destroyed Adam...and the fight Wallace and Dair have is cold and harsh and brutal...and Wallace is finally shown to be a manipulative political machine, not a man.

It seems Dair's story is about Dair regaining control of his life and rebuilding his ability to not give a shit what other people think.

Some of DW...

I worked on this on the plane and once I was in the hotel. Adam and Dair have been together about a year, maybe less, when he gets a letter from home and vanishes. Dair finds him crying in the basement and they argue before Adam rushes out of the house. This is immediately following that --
----
I sat on the bench he let me build for him. I know it was cold but I felt nothing, only emptiness. I know I had thoughts in my head but cannot think of what they were. I know the beauty of the waterfall just up the hill tried to soothe me but it achieved nothing. It was only a pretty image, no longer real to me. I was alone in the world, no chance of return to my life, no more with a family, and I could not feel even the cement upon which I sat.

I felt something cover my shoulders and managed to make myself look around. It was Dair. He had brought me my parka. I barely acknowledged him. Then he knelt before me, took one hand and slipped a glove onto it. I let him. He did the same with the other hand...and I still let him. Then he picked a piece of paper off the snow, looked at it and looked at me confused.

“Your letter?” he asked.

I could only nod.

He folded it to put in my parka’s pocket so I said, “You may read it.”

He hesitated then said, “My French isn’t very good.”

I nodded. I had forgotten, for the moment.

“I have learned from a friend...my father is dying. Cancer. I try to call but the number has been changed. Not registered. So I wrote to him, asking to come see him. My phone number...my address are in the letter. Today I receive a response from my mother. She returned it. Asks why I bother them. They have no son by my name.”

“...Adam...”

“I am orphaned. Because of what I am.”

“No...no...mon ange...mon mere est son mere...”

I chuckled. “You are right -- your French is...is not so good...” Then I began to shake and sob and he drew me close and held me as I wept. No. No...I cried as a baby cries. Knowing something is wrong and not able to understand and giving in fully to his emotions in a way that is completely out of his control. My body shook with sobs and I let him keep his arms around me. I let him see me weak and broken. And still he held me. My losses and pains and desolation poured onto his shirt and molded it to him. My breath grew harsh and difficult to grasp. My head began to scream from pain and my heart throbbed as if I had run a hundred miles. And when I finally took back control, still he held me. Still he caressed my back, with nothing more than tenderness. Still he leaned his head against mine to give me support.

When finally I pulled away, I was no longer beautiful, but flush and swollen and scoured by my loss, but still he held my face and looked at me with kindness. He produced a cloth...one of the clean, white, cotton diapers he used for everything...and let me clear my nose and wipe my eyes. And he said nothing.

He guided me to my feet and led me inside through his studio. Across to the bathroom. Into the shower I had built. A hundred colors of clear and opaque tiles supported by soft molding and gray grout. Glass doors folded open to let us enter. He leaned me against the wall and undressed me there. Slowly, like one does a child. And I let him. His own shirt and pants, he shrugged them off and let them stay on the floor of the shower. His briefs he did not remove, nor mine, his quiet way of letting me know that was not the intention of this moment. He turned on the hot with a bit of cold mingled in and guided me around to it. Held me, face to face, his arms wrapped around me, letting the water pound on my neck and shoulders as the steam filled my soul with life and wonder. Nothing...nothing...nothing had ever felt so perfect.

He dried me as I dried him, both slow and gentle, but as I began to dress he stopped me and gave to me a pair of his jeans. His waist was a bit larger than mine, and the jeans would bunch around his ankles, but on me they looked casual and had only the slightest break at the hem. He gave me his favorite shirt, black and warm and just the right size for me, so long as I wore nothing under it. He gave me socks and, once I was dressed, put on me his parka.

Then he dressed himself in my workpants, undershirt, pullover sweater and camo-jacket. They fit him tight...but to my surprise, they looked perfect on him. Then we walked through the brisk evening air, hand in hand down the winding drive, stopping to watch the melting snow fill the stream that filled the little pond before dancing over the rocks to tumble down into rapids. The moon danced from cloud to cloud and stars cast adoring winks at us as we passed the road that led to the new housing. The parking lot for Harrison’s was full and it was all so nice and normal and human to see people loading groceries into their cars. I slowed to watch them with a quiet sense of wonder.

We waited for the light before crossing the 39 then wandered up the drive to Marion’s lodge and entered and passed those dining in the restaurant or lounging by the fire to go straight to her office.

Marion was at her desk, writing. She looked up at seeing us and a soft frown crossed her face.

Dair brushed his fingers against my arm and asked, “May I share this?”

I gave him a slight shrug.

He turned to his mother and said, “Adam received a letter. From a place he once called home but no longer can.”

Marion leaned back and saw my pants on him and his shirt on me and how he looked at her, unmoving, and how I could not focus my eyes on anything for more than a second, and she rose and came to me and straightened my collar and buttoned one more button on the shirt and smoothed my eyebrows and chuckled and said, “Y’know, if Gareth were here, I’d be able to say something silly like, Here’s my three sons.” She must have seen confusion in my face because she added, “Old TV show when I was a little girl. I had such a crush on Dan Grady, I think half the reason I married my second husband is because he looked like him. Stupid thing to do...and I’m rambling so...”

I shrugged and sort-of smiled and could see her eyes were dancing. She held me close, like a mother should hold her child, and I hugged her and felt Dair’s hand caress the back of my neck and for the first time in my life I knew love and support and peace. And I vowed to become worthy of it.

I'm running out of story...

So far it looks like DW will top out at about 40,000 words. That's with me slamming through it, leaving most of the details and depth for later...but I don't know if I can make up the difference in time to make it by the end of the month. I have some bits written that need to be plugged in, I'm just not sure where, yet; plus I'm still having trouble with Dair's motivation. So this will not be a quick easy book to write.

Off to DC tomorrow afternoon for a quick job so we'll see if I can keep up any momentum. Right now I'm at 23,000 words, but I know most of what I'm writing is garbage that will need a lot of work. A hell of a lot.

I wanted to have Underground Guy out in at least an ebook by Thanksgiving, but I haven't gotten my second proofer's work back and need to go through the story to make the grammar consistent and then it'll take some time to set up chapters and table of contents and all that stuff. I guess I overextended, again.

Typical.

I'm writing myself out...

One thing about pushing to write during National Novel Writing Month is you wind up drained by the end of the day and nothing is left. Today I just coasted but still did a fair amount. I'm up over 21,000 words but they're aren't of any quality. Just place-holders for ideas I have brewing.

I need to understand something more about Dair if I want Dair's Window to work. He's too even, right now...a bit bland for an artist. He's got a temper but only when being bullied or pushed over his gayness, so it doesn't count. I need to understand why Adam meant so damn much to him...and there's no question something more than just love is going on here.

The question the story first emphasized is, How do you rebuild your life after your soul mate dies? Well, why is Adam Dair's soul mate? I don't know that, yet. I thought Dair was talking to me but he's only chatting in vague terms. I wonder if it has something to do with why his father left the house to him instead of his brother. Or why he went away to college and then spent 2 years in Europe rather than return home.

Right now, Dair's sister-in-law, Caroline, is revealing more about herself than he is. She's one of those sweet to your face people who stabs you in the back the first chance she gets. It's her way of showing she has some meaning in the world, which is pathetic but I've known people like that. I've known people whose sole purpose is to use and hurt others, like they're out to make themselves feel superior to others. I'm sure there's more to it than that, but that's what comes across.

With Dair, however...he's a creator, not a destructive force. He's a protector not a user. Does he think Adam needs protection? Adam doesn't see it that way, but maybe he does. Is Dair the kind of guy who needs someone to need him? I can't see that working in this relationship dynamic. Adam becomes Dair's protector, really. So why is it working out that way?

Crap, the more I write on this story the more question I have about it...

Toronto bound in the am...

I'm checking a couple of book dealers from the US out of the Toronto International Antiquarian Book Fair, tomorrow, so won't get a lot of writing done. Then Wednesday I'm off to Washington DC for another packing job. I'm just at 17,600 words on DW so am beginning to wonder if I will make it.

Today I had my car serviced so did some work while waiting, then I had some decent BBQ at a Dickey's. It's a chain but it's better than anything else I've found up here because they have a good spicy sauce. After that it took me half an hour to buy friggin' milk at a grocery store because it was so packed and I was too stubborn to return the milk and just get some at a gas station en route home even though it costs a buck extra there...but it fit my mood.

I'm sort of lost in the story, right now, so did some rewriting that added some bits and helped me clarify some things and now wonder if the story isn't a bit boring? It's sort of a character study of two men -- one dead, one alive -- but it's not very interesting or meaningful, yet. I know I'm just doing the first rough draft to figure out what the story's about and why Jacob causes such chaos and what the meaning is of the window Dair's not working on so I can keep from wasting time and effort...but it ain't working.

I'm finally seeing Adam clearly and seeing his shift from, basically, a feral cat that will happily eat the food you leave out for it but won't let you scratch its ears to a happy tabby that just wants to rub against you and be cuddled. Dair, however, is a different story. He's still too tightly wound for me to understand and work towards...and half the problem is how I'm starting his part of the story -- years after Adam has died and he's dealt with a hideous legal situation due to his dead partner's hypocritical parents. He's got walls up for protection.

Doesn't help that Wallace has pretty much destroyed Dair's love for Adam while defending him in court. Which makes me wonder -- why would Dair let a man like that get close to him unless he didn't really love Adam? Unless Wallace is just revealing his true deeper feelings about him? I have no idea. Oh, Dair's talking to me, sure...but not about anything.

And it's driving me nuts.

Had a bit of a breakdown...

This has been such a hideous week...with the murders of people in a synagog and C/W bar and the election being a gentle wave instead of a blue tsunami and fires burning all over my home state and people dead from that. A friend's father died and other friends have had to evacuate while even more watch the approaching flames with wary eyes. And that SOB in the White House continues to sow hate, division, distrust and lies without end...and it finally caught up to me.

DW is proving to be a raw, difficult book in how its world it set up and I'm finally seeing just how much. Dair is betrayed by his sister-in-law and the courts. He's brutalized by his dead lover's parents. He's sensing he's a rebound guy with Wallace, thanks to learning things about Jacob and him. He keeps remembering disruptive parts of his relationship with Adam. It's coming out that he's always had to fight a streak of homophobia in the town and that's probably why he left to go to college and spend 2 years in Europe studying stained glass. And I'm finally seeing how Adam is unable to help him find peace. I don't know if he ever will.

I don't see Adam as an angel...more like a presence...a thought drifting in the world that seeks to connect with someone it still has a slight link to before it vanishes into forever...and I'm having a hell of a time working that out. So much so it tore into me and I had to stop and sit and just not do anything for half an hour. Nothing. I just sat...and looked at nothing...because I suddenly felt Adam's loss as if I were Dair.

I remembered reading Milton's Voltaire's Candide years ago and wondered if it would be worth a second look. Its premise was, finally, the world is fucking crazy and it's best to leave it alone and tend to your own garden. I didn't agree with that, then, and don't today, not really...but I do understand it better...and would love to back away even more than I already have. But it's not possible. I have a job in Washington DC next week and Hong Kong the week after that...and on Sunday I'm in Toronto.

So on I must go and continue my search for this story's meaning...because I have a feeling once I find it, it will comment upon APoS in ways I don't yet know or understand. Which scares me, a little. And intrigues me.

And which is why I can't stop.

Fighting...and fighting...

Not just to keep going forward with the book but apparently two of my characters are fighting to see who gets to tell the story, as if they can't do it together. Not sure why this is happening but it is and I'm ripped about it.

Adam wants to reveal his life as a counterpoint or reflection of what Dair is going through in the real world. He remembers seeing Dair angry and close to doing something that would rupture his family, and he thinks of when he saw a bird get hit by a car and the car kept going. He went to the bird, found it was not yet dead but was dying so cradled it in his hands until its last breath then dug a grave with his hands and buried it. He senses Dair is about to do that to himself and wants to protect him, so distracts him long enough for him to cool down.

However, Dair was raised to defend himself, and he doesn't tolerate people spitting on him for being gay. He has a temper and can get self-righteous...but he wants me to present that as strength instead of something troubling...which is how Adam sees it. And reality is, Dair fighting Adam's parents for years in court...that's almost killed him as an artist. He can still create, but his new works aren't as vibrant or audacious as those he developed while with Adam. They're careful. Lovely. Appealing to just about everyone. Safe.

His art is dying. His love for Adam is dying. His belief in himself is dying. Because he cannot stop fighting something bigger than him that will never end -- the hate and cruelty and intolerance of the world.

God...that sounds silly...

FUCK -- what the fuck am I trying to say with this story?

DW keeps on going...

Adam is talking to me...and sharing...and it's amazing how much he trusts me to do right with his story. His part of the story, beginning from the point where he's kicked out of his home by his parents when he's only 15 to when he sees more in Dair than just a possible meal ticket. 7 years of his life...

I'm still trying to work out exactly how the window imagery works into the story. I never did address that in the script, except for Dair not being able to work up the stained glass window he was commissioned to do by his grandfather...and how he can't do it till he's made peace with himself. It was very awkwardly done and now I'm seeing as how forced it seems.

Something that's happening that I'm not sure about (but which I'm going with, for now) is how descriptions of the places and of people change slightly as the characters change. As their perceptions change. Adam can be honest about how he initially sees people in one way then shifts his view of them as he gets to know them because he's dead. But how can I do that with Dair and Marion and Wallace and Jacob?

Something else that's happening is how diagrams I worked up of Dair's home and the area around his place have to change thanks to things the characters want. Especially as regards directions. I was going to have Dair's dining room made over into his studio...but it was facing the wrong way so my thought was to just flip the blueprint of the main floor...except Adam likes it where it is because it would work better as a bedroom and he wants to use a bedroom at the other end of the building for the studio. Why? "The morning sun would wake whoever sleeps in here...and that is as life should be."

I'm not going to finish the book by the end of the month, but I'll damn well make the 50,000 words at the rate it's going.

Here we go...

The country is headed to the dark tunnel, not the light one. How symbolic -- the one on the right. How fucking perfect.

I have nothing more to say except god damn Republicans and those who didn't bother to vote...because if you didn't vote, you voted GOP by default...and I hope you burn in hell.

Slowed down...

Busy day prepping for Boston Book Fair and Toronto and beginning of China in Print, not to mention a couple of last-minute shipping jobs, so not much writing done. Just 750 words. Doesn't help that I don't feel good...and I can't figure out if it's something I ate or just a flareup of trouble I've had off and on since I got a nasty case of e-coli when driving through New Mexico. Old age sucks.

Tomorrow's election day and I'm voting straight Blue, and hope it will actually make a difference, this time.

I know what he's saying and understand it, but still you can't do nothing. So I've sent hand-written letters to people asking them to vote. And screamed about it on Twitter and Facebook. My hope is Congress is taken back by the Democrats, but too many of them seem too willing to let victory slip through their fingers rather than actually stand for something. The few that are seem caught in states or districts where they're fighting an uphill battle against truly vile incumbents. So I'll vote and hope...and try to keep my expectations low...

God DAMN Republicans.

Nearly 8900 words and a change...

This was a good day because I put more of not only Adam's but Dair's backstory in without having him do it, himself. Dair's sister-in-law, Caroline, is nice to his face but undermines him in every way she can. When he has friends up from Seattle for his first birthday home after 2 years in Europe and she finds out some of them have children, she anonymously calls Child Protective Services on them.

What's fun is how Adam takes over and pretends he knows the CPS Crew and invited them to the party, and Marion (Dair's mother) goes along. By the end of the party, they're singing Happy Birthday to Dair and having cake and champagne.

That leads to Adam revealing more of his own history, because Caroline also suggests to visitors that they shouldn't let their sons take skiing lessons from Adam, that it would be better if her female instructor taught them...just to be sure. That backfires on her because, to my surprise, Adam's open to accepting money for sex...and he gets a number of closet-case husbands hiring him. Of course, that stops when he and Dair get together, but it's an interesting aspect to him that I wasn't expecting.

Adam's not going to be an easy character. At first, he sees Dair as a guy to get money out of...and then as a meal ticket. He's like a feral cat that's perfectly happy to let you toss it a piece of tuna but if you try to pet it...watch out. So part of the story will be showing how Dair inadvertently tames him. Makes him happy and domesticated. My hope is this will add to the tragedy of his early death.

Something that's happened, however, is it's changed how I see Adam. I didn't really like my earlier sketch; it wasn't alive...wasn't right...felt stiff...so I did this one up and it works a lot better for me. Finishing it helped me learn more about Adam's life. When he was kicked out of his home. How he survived on the streets of Montreal. Why he wound up in Vancouver. The way he began working for Marion, in Washington State. Everything.

I love it when this happens...when the story takes a shift and leads me places I'd never thought of. I especially like opening the story with him being a loving, caring man so in love with Dair, he sings him awake. But the layers peel back and we see him as human and not a romantic caricature.

I wonder where we'll go next?

Closing in on 7000 words for DW

I'm slamming through to get this shifted into narrative format from screenplay, and along the line finding aspects of the story I had neglected. For example, I make minimal reference to Dair's brother, Gareth, who also owns a ski lodge. His wife's born-again and hates having Dair anywhere near her. That's all I do with them in the script, but that's ludicrously simplistic. So I'm digging in deeper to them.

I remembered I based her on the wife of a cousin of mine in Pennsylvania, and how she'd glared at me with barely controlled anger when I entered their home. She'd just found out I was gay and she wouldn't say a word...just glared. I was still shaken up by the family's attitude about me, so I only backed away and damn near called a cab to take me to the airport, right then. I had a feeling things weren't going to wind up well...and sure enough, that side of the family cut off contact with me. All but one female cousin, and she killed herself a few years later, leaving a son to their tender mercies.

I didn't see most of them again for 25 years, and then only because my aunt invited them over to her place when I'd gone down to visit her, after my mother died. I'd asked her if I could just see her...I had things to give her...and wound up not doing so. They all talked like nothing had happened, and I was able to spend a whole 10 minutes alone with my aunt. Haven't seen them since.

I visited her twice more, when she was dying, and managed to miss all but one cousin's husband. He's the one who let slip the boy left behind had died, a year earlier, and refused to tell me what happened or where is body was or anything. I still don't know.

I'm working some of this into DW now. It's reality, still, for too damn many people in this world. I've given Gareth and his wife 3 daughters, so it's not a fear of Dair molesting their children that gives them an excuse to cut him off. And I'm going to have Adam tell about that, not Dair...to anyone.

I'm also digging deeper into Adam's past. I made a couple of references to his parents disowning him and his brother not being nice, but I can go whole hog, now. Find out why he left home...if he was kicked out or ran away. How he survived, in either event. Make him harder. Edgier. More in need of love...which means he'd appreciate getting it from Dair and Marion even more.

I should never have been writing screenplays; I don't know how to fill one with background like this...

3700+ words...

Off to a good start on Dair's Window. I have over 2000 words for the opening and 1700 in a bit just after Adam learns he's been disowned by his family. Here's the first push through on it...rough but still...

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Dair held me as I wept. No. No...I cried as a baby cries. Knowing something is wrong and not able to understand and giving in fully to his emotions in a way that is completely out of his control. My body shook with sobs and I let him keep his arms around me. I let him see me weak and broken. And still he held me. My losses and pains and desolation poured onto his shirt and molded it to him. My breath grew harsh and difficult to grasp. My head began to scream from pain and my heart throbbed as if I had run a hundred miles. And when I finally took back control, still he held me. Still he caressed my back, with nothing more than tenderness. Still he leaned his head against mine to give me support.

When finally I pulled away, I was no longer beautiful, but flush and swollen and scoured by my loss, but still he held my face and looked at me with kindness. And he said nothing.

He guided me to my feet and led me into the bathroom. Into the shower I had rebuilt. A hundred colors of clear and opaque tiles supported by soft gray grout. Glass doors folding open to let us enter. He undressed me there. Slowly, like one does a child. And I let him. His own shirt and pants, he shrugged them off and let them stay on the floor of the shower. His briefs he did not remove, nor mine, his quiet way of letting me know that was not the intention of this moment. He turned on the hot with a bit of cold mingled in and held me, face to face, letting the water pound on my neck and shoulders and the steam fill my soul with life and wonder. Nothing...nothing...nothing had ever felt so perfect.

He dried me as I dried him, both slow and gentle, but as I began to dress he stopped me and gave to me a pair of his jeans. His waist was a bit larger than mine, and the jeans would bunch around his ankles, but on me they looked casual and had only the slightest break at the hem. He gave me his favorite shirt, black and warm and just the right size for me, so long as I wore nothing under it. He gave me socks and, once I was dressed, put on me his parka.

Then he dressed himself in my work pants, undershirt, pullover sweater and camo-jacket. They fit him tight...but to my surprise, they also fit him well. Then we walked through the brisk evening air, hand in hand, stopping to watch the melting snow fill the stream that followed the winding road. The moon danced from cloud to cloud and stars cast adoring winks at us as we passed the road leading to the new housing. Across the main drag and up the drive to Marion’s lodge, then inside and past those dining in the restaurant or lounging by the fire straight into her office.

Marion was at her desk, writing. She looked up at seeing us and a soft frown crossed her face.

Dair brushed his fingers against mine and asked, “May I share this?”

I gave him a slight shrug.

He turned to Marion and said, “Adam received a letter. From a place he used to call home.”

She leaned back and saw my pants on him and his shirt on me and how he would look at her, unmoving, and how I could not focus my eyes on anything for more than a second, and she rose and came to me and straightened my collar and buttoned one more button on the shirt and smoothed my eyebrows and chuckled and said, “Y’know, if Gareth were here, I’d be able to say something silly like, Here’s my three sons.”

I looked at her, then, and her eyes were dancing. She held me close, like a mother should hold her child, and I hugged her and felt Dair’s hand caress the back of my neck and for the first time in my life I knew peace.

NaNoWriMo begins...

Here we go -- I'm going to do what I can to change DW from a script to my latest book...and it's already proving interesting. All the bouncing around I've been doing on it should make for a read that's at least fun to follow if not necessarily coherent. I've posted over 2000 words and will push to get it done ASAP. I'll also be pushing to get UG set and then comes pushing to get a first draft of APoS...yeah, not expecting much from me...

I've gone back through the outline for DW and added in beats I want the book to reveal. And I will be bouncing back and forth between Adam telling the story from the grave, and it being told in third person omniscient. I'm opening the story with Adam talking about their last day together and how they met, ending the chapter with him revealing he's dead.

Then shifting to Dair in current day prepping to marry Wallace, all in third person with memories flitting into his consciousness. Not sure how this is going to work through the whole book; it may wind up being an exercise in stupidity and confusion...but one has to try.

I thought about watching A Single Man to see if there are any similarities that need to be watched out for, but what I read about it indicates not. That movie's about a man preparing to kill himself after his lover's heath...and is set at a time when being gay was considered a mental illness. My setting's current day, except for the moments with Adam, and there ain't no suicide anywhere near it. I'm even putting in having Marion ask Dair if he's planning to do something stupid, at the end, and have him say, "I'll be damned if I wind up another sad dead faggot for those assholes."

He got attitude, Dair does, when confronted; it's when he's left alone that he's got issues.