Vaxxed and cranky

I got my Covid vaxx #5 this afternoon and am already feeling the side-effects. Slightly. Stiff neck. Hint of a headache. No chills yet but I'll be ready for them. My dermatologist's NP also burned off a wart...at least, that's what she said it was. Didn't seem like one to me...and it's still sore. Never had that issue, before. Irritating.

I'm going to get through a final check of APoS-Derry this week then set it aside and start working on Houston. As mentioned before, it's close to ready. Just needs some smoothing and consistency before doing a proofing and then sending it out to be dug through with extreme care. I'm hoping after the embarrassment of Derry I'll do better with Houston.

The structure is set. The characters are wound fairly tight. I'm playing a bit with Brendan's identity. He's brought to America under another name because the British have identified him as a person of interest in a bombing. But he can't be found because it looks like he just snuck off. But people begin to think he wound up in a grave due to injuries he suffered because he's never heard from.

So he comes to Houston under a false passport and name, as a distant relative needing care for his heart after a serious accident. All neatly handled by the powers that be in PIRA. and when he finally understands, he sees it as his deliverance from hell. His uncle still wants him to keep a low-profile, but he starts to rebuild his life, there.

Except he slowly finds that the hates and prejudices in Houston are no that different from those in Derry and drifts into drugs and becoming anti-social. His uncle manages to control him using threats to his younger brother, Rhuari, so it's like he's a prisoner to other people...again.

I didn't really intend for the story to go that direction, but Brendan is leading it, and where he wants it to go, I follow. I learned better.

Mirror images

There's two sides to me. Always has been, always will be. And they seem to be growing stronger and closer together. Maybe even drifting into bi-polar, albeit without the shrieking psychosis. One side likes to tell stories with meaning, if quietly so. Lyons' Den. Alice '65. David Martin. Even ...Owen Taylor.

The other side loves dipping into a darkness that's always been a part of me. From ...Straight Guy to Hunter and Blood Angel. Destructive, but not as much as they could be. I still have too tight a grip on that part and keep a little bit of hope in them all.

I've often said, the reason I write my darker books is so I don't become one with the black part of my soul. The anger and frustration and sadness it contains. And it does hold true for me. I've caught glimpses of it lying in wait to burst forth, but continued to make certain the bars were still in place to keep it trapped.

I try to be kind to people, to help push back against the unfairness of the world. I do what I can to support those who need it, even as the dark part laughs at me and says, It's a pitiful amount. You could do so much more. If I donate money, it's never as much as I could have. If I donate time, it's only the minimum, compared to others. Since I won't let the beast loose, it whispers in ways to hurt me.

I've been keeping up this pathetic balance for years, and I'm fairly certain that the reason I don't go hard in supporting politicians I like, or howl to help Ukraine fight off Russia's terrorism, or even join demonstrations to beat back the growing fascism of the GOP is I'm afraid if I do give in to that passion, I'll get distracted and those bars will vanish and the monster in me will roam free.

Imagine Dragons has a song, Demons, that I've tried to configure into my art...to my work...but it's too raw. The words...the lyrics...are knives slicing apart my soul and I fear what they're whittling away the barriers I've put up. My one safe thought is that it's really too late for me to go batshit crazy, except in a stupid eccentric old man sort of way. Can't hurt anyone, that way. Not like I was hurt.

I'm not saying this well. It's vague and jumbled, thanks to the chaos within. Just nattering to settle the madness. Not easy to do. Just another freaky writer trying to figure himself out. It's just, both sides of me look at each other. Stare at each other. Lock eyes on each other. And the fight to keep them where they are gets really tiring.

NSFW 'Cause I'm not happy

I did the following to get my mind off the possibility that I've developed skin cancer. I had my annual visit with the dermatologist, today, and she took samples from a couple of probable spots for biopsies. I'll have the results in a week. I have other spots on my arms, neck and chin that are pre-cancer so will be using a special cream on them. What a joy. Outwardly I'm calm; inwardly I'm WTF???

Needless to say, I'm going to be doubling down on getting APoS done, just in case. And fuck trying to get a publisher or agent interested. That'll take too long and too much effort. What matters is the book gets out.

Anyway, to take my mind off it, for a bit, I wrote a little dittie that's very wicked. Maybe a companion piece to the one I posted with Freddy as the victim. We shall see. This is the image that set it going.

• The hour was late before Ray headed home
• From his brother's party, as held at Le Dome. 
• The blues and blacks of the night's sharp monochrome 
• Made him feel so easy, he thought he would roam 
• Since he had a condo that wasn't too far. 
• But he didn't notice when that big blue car 
• Pulled out of the parking lot next to the bar 
• And quietly followed him. Back doors ajar. 
• He reached his street and as he started to turn 
• The car pulled ahead of him. Too late to learn 
• Four men were inside of it, and each did burn 
• To force Ray to join in their weekend sojourn. 
• So out they jumped and around him they did swarm 
• To bind him and gag him. Then to his alarm, 
• Into their trunk, he went. Oh, they meant him harm, 
• And he knew he'd never escape them, through charm. 
• For three weeks Ray vanished and could not be found. 
• The fear grew that he was six feet underground. 
• Then one day he showed up, and he looked half-drowned. 
• "I'll tell you what happened," he said. "Gather 'round." 
• His body was bruised and the scars on his back 
• Proved without a doubt he'd been under attack. 
• "Four men took turns beating me, in a room black, 
• And raping me, each one a wild maniac. 
• I spoke to one softly, and I made him care. 
• Then I learned a secret that they did not share. 
• The room was a cellar, and all its fresh air 
• Came through a vent in the ceiling. So there 
• I focused my efforts to set myself free. 
• The black paint had hidden it well. I could see, 
• That it was too narrow for someone like me 
• But it proved an excellent decoy. That's key. 
• So when one of them came in to have his sick joy, 
• I hid in the shadows, and I did employ 
• The sight of the open vent. I wasn't coy. 
• He ran off to tell them that they'd lost their boy. 
• He left the door open. I raced down the hall 
• To stairs leading up and outside. Their footfall 
• Was fast coming after me, and they did call 
• For me to stop running. What I did was haul 
• As fast as I could to a thick grove of trees 
• And hid in there. Grateful for a gentle breeze. 
• Then made my way here, keeping hidden. For these 
• Madmen now wanted to kill me. So please, 
• Let me have a good meal and bath, and then I 
• Will lead the police back to where they do lie." 
• And that's what Ray did. He was some kind of guy. 
• But never did we learn those men's reasons why.

LA Bound?

Looks like the Mulholland job is a done deal, for the week after Thanksgiving. I'm expecting photos of the items the end of the week. Then comes working out the costings -- air fare, car, hotel, packing materials -- while someone else handles the costs of air freight. I plan to enjoy this one; it may be my last if not one of my last packing jobs.

I felt a lot better, today. More agent queries out, though I'm getting close to the end of the list. I have a feeling I'll be self-publishing all three volumes of APoS. Which is fine. I should focus on learning more about how best to launch it and what I can do to promote it. Not gonna be cheap.

Tomorrow is my yearly visit with a dermatologist, to make sure I'm not building up any skin cancer or other issues. I had second degree sunburn in Honolulu, when we lived there, so have to be careful. After it's done, I'm getting the new covid vaccine then hitting the Mac store to talk to someone about what setup would be best for me to get so I can easily do Photoshop and Word. I'm done with this MacBook Pro.

It stops running off battery at 55% full. Just shuts down, completely, and won't start up until I have it connected to a power source for 5 minutes. The touchpad is becoming less and less sensitive. My mouse won't work on it.  One of the ports has crapped out. It's a poor, overly-delicate design for someone like me.

I have a company PC that I can use on trips, like to Seattle in a couple weeks, and to the Mulholland job. It's heavier but not as sensitive. I don't like how the programs appear on it, but they work fine so that's just me being finicky. Besides, the mouse works great, with it.

Just refer to me as another obnoxious kitteh who likes something till he doesn't.

Never again...

Still having issues thanks to that sushi, which Imodium is just beginning to fight, and now I'm dog-tired. Can barely keep awake. Probably should have taken a nap. Never will I ever eat that crap, again. Which is sad because I have a tube of Wasabi in the fridge that will probably go to waste.

Instead of the nap, I input the corrections for the last bit of A Place of Safety-Derry and it was way beyond simply being embarrassing. Another thing I'm never doing is sending anything out to be proofed till after I've done a big-font proofing, myself. As you can see, that's where I shift the type from 12 point to 24 point, blowing the words up on the page and making errors more obvious.

I've done it a few times on other works, like Blood Angel 1 & 2. I caught a lot of issues that way, so I think that helps, but we'll see. This editor is willing to do APoS-Houston. I'll find out if it really does do anything about my typos and missing words.

Something else that took up part of the day was a potential job up in the hills just below Mulholland, in LA. Not a huge job, really, but still waiting on more info. However, even working out the initial logistics is already a nightmare. For example, there are next to no hotels in the immediate area. Closest one is in Studio City, and would mean dealing with morning traffic off the 101 crossing to the Basin via Benedict Canyon or Coldwater Canyon. NOT what I would want to do at 8am.

I made that mistake one time, while living in LA. My mother got an extra job in a soft-core porn film shooting in NoHo and had to be there at 6am. We made it, no problem. I didn't grumble any, at her, but she knew I hate getting up before noon. Still, I thought at least I could return home and catch a nap before going to work.

Silly boy. By the time I got back to the 101 it was slow-going. I stupidly decided to cut across at Laurel Canyon since that was more direct and would get me out of the slow-going. HA! Got caught in near gridlock. Seriously. It took me over 2 hours to go from Ventura to Mulholland. In my Honda. With a stick. Uphill. I barely made it to work on time. And came very close to deciding to trade my car in for an automatic.

Don't wanna do that, again.

Eating healthy sucks...

I ran some errands today -- groceries, frames for pieces I want to hang, office supplies -- and got hungry so while I was at Wegman's I decided to have a serving of sushi. I'm not crazy about it, but I've found I do kind of like a California roll, and this one even said it's cooked. Besides, nothing else was appetizing and my other choice was to get a BLT at 5-Guys up the road. 

Should have done 5-Guys. I'm still sick from that damn sushi. I don't think it really was cooked, and it honestly did not taste all that great. Even with Wasabi and Soy Sauce. I had to come straight home once I felt my stomach rebelling.

This always happens when I try to eat healthy. Get a salad? Tummy rebels. Eat vegetarian at a restaurant? Tummy rebels...though not when I cook something at home, like with Amy's fake chicken patties. I make chicken parmesan with those and that turns out good. But it seems lately anytime I eat out in a healthy way, I get sick.

I can have a burger at 5-Guys and no problem. Chili-dog and onion rings at Ted's and no problem. Slice of pizza anyplace, no problem. But a meal at Chili's and I gotta be careful. Like people don't keep their kitchens clean. I'm better off eating at home. And it's cheaper, too, so there's that. Maybe my gut's taken a good look at my finances and said, Okay, we're cutting this nonsense out.

I did get the last of the notes on APoS so will input those, tomorrow. Another person upset at the ending. But it is what it is. They found some serious typos in Derry that no one else saw, including me. Excellent. I hope they'll be willing to do the proofing of Houston and then the last one, which I'm now calling Home, Not Home.

Now I'm cranky and sleepy. Gonna watch another Midsomer Murders episode just to moon over Nick Hendrix. No idea why I do, I just...do. He was even the inspiration for Finn in The Beast in the Nothing Room, though I doubt he'd appreciate knowing that, considering all he goes through in that book.

Sometimes I just plain do not understand me.

Letting out the animal...

I think I just worked up a new book to write, today, without meaning to. Did it as a poem, inspired by a very NSFW image that I don't think I can share on this blog. Everyone's become so puritanical. You don't really see anything, in the original, but it's very obvious what's happening, so I cropped the image and I'm only posting half. I also darkened it.

• When they grabbed Freddy, they had knives.
• Which made no sense; they all had wives.
• But blindfolded, and gagged and bound
• Off he was taken, with no sound
• Into a room, so dark and strange
• Where he received no chance to change.
• Instead his clothes were cut away 
• And they took turns with him, all day. 
• "We knew you'd take it up the ass 
• And in your mouth, despite your sass," 
• The leader said, his third release 
• Inside of Freddy yet to cease. 
• "The way you fit your jeans was right, 
• So we'll be keeping you all night, 
• Until we're done, then you will know 
• We own you and won't let you go." 
• This made no sense at all. The lad 
• Did not know what he had done bad 
• To make them hurt him. "Well, you're gay," 
• The man said, "and that's why you'll stay." 
• "Then so are you," our boy cried back. 
• That only led them to attack 
• Him harder. "Don't say we are that," 
• The leader snarled. "No more chitchat. 
• Since you're the one who's fucked, not us. 
• So there is nothing to discuss. 
• We'll keep you. Use you till we're done. 
• And then we'll find another one 
• Who's just like you to fuck around. 
• And you'll be six feet underground." 
• No fucking way, our Freddy thought. 
• No man will treat me like I'm bought 
• To be used and then merely trashed. 
• I will escape. Get your lives crashed 
• To stop your evil ways and means, 
• And show you nothing's as it seems. 
• For six weeks Freddy was their boy, 
• And he made sure to bring them joy 
• Despite his hatred of the group. 
• Then one fine night he got the scoop.
• The next day, he would leave this earth 
• In spirit. But he had no dearth 
• Of plans to get away from them 
• And not surrender to their whim. 
• That's what he did. His secret kept 
• Until the day all those men wept 
• Before the courts. He told the tale 
• And all of them went straight to jail. 
• Then Freddy said, "I'll write a book
• And in it you can have a look 
• At all the evil done to me 
• Because I'm gay, and I am free."

Anarchy

I read an interesting article in the April 2023 edition of The Atlantic called The New Anarchy. It's about the growth of extremist violence in America and how it's not the first time we've been through this. It's got me thinking about things Brendan says in volume 3 of A Place of Safety and how they might be a bit too on-point...and yet not specific enough. Worth a look. It's scary.

What's happening in the US is somewhat similar to what happened in Northern Ireland, where a majority population kept a minority population down through violence and manipulations of the law. Then when Civil Rights came along to demand equality, which the majority rejected, the minority was not willing to back down. Violence grew and expanded and finally exploded...and it took 30 years for the two sides to finally come together and calm things down.

Thirty years and thousands of deaths, not to mention destruction. All because those in power stupidly thought if you keep punching someone they will never hit back. And if they do start returning the punches, then punching harder will show them who's boss. When the exact opposite is true. No one in power learns. No one.

I've just about had enough of this laptop. I've decided I'm going to buy a Mac mini, keyboard, monitor and mouse, since I do my writing at my desk, now. I'll have to license Word and Photoshop, but my current Photoshop setup isn't really workable, anymore. It's officially 20 years old. but the wayI'm having to set up the laptop and the desktop I currently have is causing pains in my neck and right shoulder, and I'm done. It'll be around $2000 but I have the credit available and I'm going to use it.

Make more room on my desk.

Mark Twain's rules...

Completely off center, today, thanks to an MRI and not eating till noon and a headache thanks to those things, so let's focus on Mark Twain's 18 rules for writing. He's reputed to have said James Fenimore Cooper violated all of them in Deerslayer. And yes, that is a very buff-looking Samuel Clemens, shirtless. Damn...

So, his rules are:

1. A tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere. 

2. The episodes of a tale shall be necessary parts of the tale, and shall help develop it. 

3. The personages in a tale shall be alive, except in the case of corpses, and that always the reader shall be able to tell the corpses from the others. 

4. The personages in a tale, both dead and alive, shall exhibit a sufficient excuse for being there. 

 5. When the personages of a tale deal in conversation, the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when the people cannot think of anything more to say. 

 6. When the author describes the character of a personage in his tale, the conduct and conversation of that personage shall justify said description. 

 7. When a personage talks like an illustrated, gilt-edged, tree-calf, hand-tooled, seven-dollar Friendship’s Offering in the beginning of a paragraph, he shall not talk like a Negro minstrel at the end of it. 

 8. Crass stupidities shall not be played upon the reader by either the author or the people in the tale. 

 9. The personages of a tale shall confine themselves to possibilities and let miracles alone; or, if they venture a miracle, the author must so plausably set it forth as to make it look possible and reasonable. 

 10. The author shall make the reader feel a deep interest in the personages of his tale and their fate; and that he shall make the reader love the good people in the tale and hate the bad ones. 

11. The characters in the tale shall be so clearly defined that the reader can tell beforehand what each will do in a given emergency. 

An author should:

12. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it. 

13. Use the right word, not its second cousin. 

14. Eschew surplusage. 

15. Not omit necessary details. 

16. Avoid slovenliness of form. 

17. Use good grammar. 

18. Employ a simple, straightforward style.

King of the typos...

Got more corrections from the last editor, and she's finding things no one else noticed. Lots of things, that once they're pointed out become brutally obvious. Missing words. Wrong words. Jesus. I should use only her, from now on. It's depressing. Even worse, I got so busy inputting them I lost track of time.

The two others who looked the piece over hated the ending, and I'm sure she will, as well. I don't like it, either, but the whole of the story is leading up to it. Also, it feeds into the third volume, when Brendan returns. So it is what it is.

Tomorrow, I'm getting an MRI done to see what this spot is on one of my kidneys. Be nice if they could also find out why I have a bump in my gut. My original PCP said it's just how my intestines aligned. Not sure it can be fixed unless I lose 50 lbs. Yeah, that's gonna happen.

Got two official refusals from agents, today. Not our kind of thing, sort of responses. At least they let me know. Most of them say, If you don't hear from us, that means we're not interested. And I haven't heard from a lot of them.

At least Martin Melaugh agreed to let me use the photo I wanted for volume one, in exchange for credit. But the negative is badly scratched up, like it was dragged over sandpaper, so I'm not sure about it, now. Part of me says it adds to the feel of it; the other part says you can fix it in photoshop. It'll take hours, but doable.

Spent a lot of the day reworking the plan for a potential packing job in NYC, mid-November. Got a list and have photos of the books in their cases. Not a massive job. I'd thought I might stay an extra day and hit the Metropolitan Museum or the Public Library, but hotel rooms are $4-500 a night, including taxes.

Not happening.

Diminishing returns

Seems I'm running into more and more agents who are closed to submissions. I managed to get a few queries out, today, including one to a man who says he's interested in literary fiction, politics and history. I've continued to hone the letter to make it less and less talky, but can only go so far. Pretty soon, I'll be doing the publisher tango.

I heard from Martin Melaugh about using that photo, and they're reticent about it. Don't want it on the cover of a book that glorifies the Provisional IRA in any way. Had to be honest and let them know the first volume is about Brendan keeping away from that as much as possible. But he does have friends who join the group, and his older brother is deeply involved. And of course he interacts with them.

But he, himself, finds the IRA to be worthless and brutal. Just another version of the Constables and British. He even says at one point, to a friend when talking about how the Provos have taken over policing the Bogside area of Derry, "We've traded one devil for another." So we'll see what happens.

This is only if I can't set the book up with an agent and/or publisher. Of course, that's a long shot. I'm not so much unknown as a bit infamous and that might make people back away. Google my name and check out what the third listing is. Somewhat further down it gets into my fight with Amazon over being banned, once, but that was 12 years ago. Can't get much going on that, anymore.

Anyway, thank God it was Taco Tuesday. I needed that to get me through the day. I actually went out, found a Taco Bell and ordered 3 crispy Supremes then brought them home to have with one of my Shiner Bocks. Helped settle me...and fucking made me sleepy.

Old man me.

Art and artists...

I found a new artist to follow -- Astra Zero. He does some beautiful horror work and seriously gay imagery, and he's also reimagined some famous paintings with a more overtly gay bent. He did one similar to Dore's The Ascension that was all nude males, full frontal.

The above image is AZ's version of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, who painted his in 1847. Both show Lucifer in a state of rage but also with a single tear under his eye. The main difference between the two is AZ's figure appears to be older and darker than Cabanel's, a bit more beefy and well-formed instead of a youth. And seems almost hurt and not just angry. To me, this makes his more meaningful.

I ordered an 8x10 print of AZ's because it so suits my mood, as of late. I'm actually watching cozy little British murder mysteries on Britbox and Acorn to draw me back to humanity. I think this will help more than anything.

I sometimes wonder what kind of artist I might have wound up as, had I not shifted to film and writing. That seemed to be my destiny, when I graduated high school. Art classes all the way through school, and working in visual merchandising at a fine department store. Painting in my spare time. Even when I started back to university, I took art classes and felt more at ease in them.

Film was fun, but never really that fulfilling. I didn't connect with it like other people in the classes I took, and I think my work was more on the bland side. Even when doing photography, I felt a slight remove from it. I didn't have the patience to do it right. Didn't have the focus.

When I was in LA, I got involved with the Tom of Finland Foundation and exhibited at their Erotic Art Fair, the first few years, when it was in a cheesy little upstairs warehouse on the wrong end of Santa Monica Blvd. Sold everything I brought. Met some erotic artists who were serious about who they were. Tagame came the last year I participated, and a dealer who was building up a collection of gay erotica for some guy in Tennessee or one of the Carolinas commissioned a few things.

But that didn't interest me as much as portraits. Like John Singer Sergeant. Rembrandt. Da Vinci. Michelangelo. When I went to Europe for the first time, I spent most of my time at the Van Rijks Museum and the Louvre. I want to go back.

I wonder if I really would have turned out to be an artist, or just been another pretender working a day job and messing around with acrylics and inks and watercolors and painting portraits from photos of models I liked, at night. Art was always my way to decompress. I even did a self-portrait, once.

Guess I'll never know, now.

Done did it...

Sent off another query and then this email to Martin Melaugh, hoping to hear a positive response regarding the photo:

Dear Martin,

 

I hope you and your father are doing well. I'm the crazy American from some years ago who was trying to write A Place of Safety, a novel set in Derry during the Troubles, even though I'm not from the area. It's been some years since I was last in contact. I actually put the book aside and tried to convince myself it was stupid for me to write this, but my main character, Brendan, refused to let me off the hook. So...I'm now close to completion.

 

I've done all I can to make it as honest a story about a Derry boy as possible. The correspondence we had was very helpful in determining much of what happens. I've been careful to use the information you shared with me for reference only, and so far the feedback from other Americans who've read part of it has been good.

 

The full story is going to be in three volumes.

The first, set in Derry between 1966 and 1972, is done and undergoing final proofing.

The second, set in Houston, Texas between 1973 and 1981, needs one more draft and then will undergo a request for feedback, editing and proofing. (This part I’m far more comfortable with because I lived in Houston for 8 years.)

The third, set in Derry during the hunger strikes, is in third draft but needs further work.

 

I've been sending queries to literary agents in hopes of finding one who will represent the book. My hope is to set it up with a publishing house but no success, thus far. So I've decided if I am unable to get positive movement on this by the beginning of the year, I will self-publish it. I've done that with other books I've written, using Ingram Spark, so know the process.

 

If I do self-publish A Place of Safety, I wonder if I'd be able to licence one of your father's photos for the book's cover? Below is a copy of the one I'd like to use. If it is acceptable to you, both, could I please know the cost and if you'd be able to supply it in a high-def format? If the answer is no, that’s fine; I’ll work something else up.

Thank you for your time, and my best to your father and family.

Regards, 

Kyle Michel Sullivan

Preparations...

Spent the day obsessing over how best to write this letter to send to agents and potential publishers and this is what I've got:

----------

I am nearing completion of my three volume novel, A Place of Safety. It is the story of Brendan Kinsella, a simple lad who just wants to live his life, but history refuses to let him.

Volume one, Derry, is set in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. Told in first person, it begins in 1966 when Brendan has just turned ten. After his father's murder, he tries to forge his own path through a society that is deeply in thrall to both history and the Catholic church while keeping apart from the growing violence. He also falls in love with a Protestant girl, a relationship which must be kept secret from family and friends, for fear of reprisals...from both sides of the conflict.

The story uses true events to anchor it, much in the same way as James Clavell's Shogun, James Michener's Texas, and Leon Uris' Trinity. It sweeps through:

•  the 1968 Civil Rights demonstrations in Derry
•  the attack on peaceful marchers at Burntollet Bridge in early 1969
•  the lead-up to The Battle of Bogside in August of that year
•  the arrival of British troops to separate the two warring sides
•  the re-introduction of internment without trial in 1971
•  Bloody Sunday in 1972 

This volume is undergoing a final proofing by a professional editor and will be available for your perusal by the beginning of October. 

Volume 2, New World for Old, is set between 1973 and 1981. Due to injuries sustained in a bombing, Brendan is hidden at his aunt's home in Houston, Texas. Once healed, he decides to build a life there but finds the city's politics, hates and prejudices are little different from Derry's. I just finished a fourth draft and will do a polish before having it also proofed and edited.

In volume 3, Home not Home, Brendan must return to Derry after his mother contracts cancer. This part takes place during the turmoil of the hunger strikes of 1981. He finds himself unwelcome and winds up arrested by the British army. Their interrogation about the bombing that injured him is brutal and convinces him to accept his destiny -- to join with the IRA. I am currently working on a third draft of this part, with another draft to follow.

While I have self-published 14 books in both print and e-book, both gay and straight, I would like to situate A Place of Safety with a mainstream publisher to avoid the limitations that come with self-publishing. I am hoping you can assist me with this.

Thank you for considering A Place of Safety. I believe it will align perfectly with your interests.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Shit, shit, shit...

Spoke with the IRS for nearly an hour and figured out the issue. After I paid all my taxes off, last year, someone redid my return for 2020 and decided I owed $280 more. Notices were sent to my old address after my forwarding order expired, so were returned. No idea why they weren't posted on my online account. So with penalties, fees and interest, I owed over $380 and had two choices -- get a lawyer and fight over the extra $100 or pay it. I took money out of my savings and paid it.

I thought the IRS was supposed to go after millionaires for not paying their taxes, not people on Social Security. My mistake.

So I'm in a mood.

Here are some photos of the trip I took to Fort Niagara and a link to the video I shot of the lad demonstrating that awful gun.

Walking to the entrance

An actual drawbridge at The Gate of Five, in honor of the Five Nations of the Iroquois Confederacy.

The inner mechanics

The cannon platform, built by the British when they took over the fort.

Them cannons was like this...

...and this....the Dauphine Battery. That's Canada across the river.

Called the French Castle, it was build in 1726 and is the oldest building in the fort.

An original map

View of the French Castle and Canada, from the North Redoubt.

To the right is Toronto's city skyline, just visible, and to the left you can barely make out the skyscrapers of Mississauga, where Pearson Airport is. It was a lovely day with a nice cool breeze. I almost talked myself into crossing over at Niagara Falls, for dinner. But I was tired and needed gas in the car so didn't.

Now I'm going to watch some British murder mysteries on Britbox and Acorn and let myself process how, every time I think I'm doing all right, something comes along to kick me in the gut.

Fort Niagara demonstration

There was a presentation of how a long barrel musket was used and why, during the wars leading up through the Revolutionary War. But apparently the video I shot was too big to post. Here's a photo of the guy doing it. He's dressed as a French Marine. Even though rifles were officially available in the mid-18th Century, they cost 3 times more than a musket.

More, tomorrow. Maybe I can edit the video into segments that will upload.

Right now I'm trying to figure out why this company called CBE is claiming it's working for the IRS and insisting I haven't paid my taxes for 2020 when I've already sent them proof that I did. I've gone onto my online IRS account, and it says I owe some, also, but I have a receipt from them showing I paid everything over a year ago.

I have lots of paperwork regarding this. So tomorrow will be calling them to find out WTF???

Keep Pushing...

I worked up a preliminary idea of what A Place of Safety-Derry would be like should I publish it. In hardcover, 6x9, it would be 334 pages, total, and the least I could sell it for is $29.95 to make any money off it. That seems excessive, especially since I don't have the reach or range to publicize it enough to garner interest. My main audience, right now, is not the type who'd be interested in a fictional book about a small part of the world that few people know of.

I'm going to keep pushing to find an agent and, hopefully, get the book into a larger publishing house instead of setting it up to rely on online sales. That's Brendan's best chance to be heard. Seriously heard.

In doing this formatting, I found a couple more things that needed correcting. Of course. And if it goes into a publishing house, they will have someone proof it, in even more detail. Maybe even another edit. but it will also be done with off-line printing in bulk and be offered to bookstores all over the country, including Amazon, Barnes & Noble and the like. Publicity. Maybe a book tour or into conventions. They will also handle the cover art.

That last bit I'm not so crazy about. When The Lyons' Den was published through Star Books Press, they came up with this cover and I never really liked it. The cabin was okay but I had to ask them to add the gun and the cash to make it seem like more than just a sex romp...which it wasn't. That said, they had a good client base and I did get royalties off them. They were the ones who decided it had run its course and wanted to withdraw it from sale. That's when I got my rights back and set it up with Ingram.

I guess my next step, once I've gone through all the NYC agents is to hit those outside the city. And maybe ask the publishing houses, myself. Those that will accept unsolicited manuscripts. Sometimes that works, and a selling point will be that it's in three volumes, each published separately.

I'm going off with Brendan, tomorrow, to think about it. Clear my head. Maybe work up a letter to Martin Melaugh to still ask about the photo I want to license. I might head up to Fort Niagara. Haven't been there, yet. Stop by Niagara Falls on the way back. Pop over to Canada for a bite to eat.

We'll see how it goes.

Do I? Don't I?

I'm of two minds about contacting the Melaugh family regarding Martin Melaugh's photos. He's still alive, at 90 years old, from what I can tell. And he's published books of his photos of Derry before, during and after the worst of the Troubles. So I'd love to have that connection between the history and the book.

BUT...that might mean they'd want to read the story, and that makes me very nervous. Martin pretty much already suspects I will not get it right enough to pass muster with a Derry reader. Which I can believe. But what if it's so totally wrong, they dismiss it, completely? What if they tear it apart for inaccurate? I don't know how I'd handle that.

Still, it will, eventually, have to happen, I suppose. So I guess it'd be better to know if I fucked up before it's in print.

Here's an interview Eamon gave to The Irish News in 2019, written by Seamus McKinney:

Insanity Reigned Supreme in Battle of Bogside.

While a small number of IRA men in Derry tried to take control during the Battle of the Bogside, they were unable to and “insanity” reigned supreme, according to Eamon Melaugh.

Mr Melaugh had a key role during Battle of the Bogside as the operator of Radio Free Derry. The pirate radio station broadcast barricade updates, news and a variety of music.

“I had Radio Free Derry and I set it up. It was utter chaos; nobody had any authority so I decided to open up Radio Free Derry in an annex at the top of a lift in the flats in Rossville Street.

“There were bizarre incidents. I remember two boys came running in to say that the city engineer had told the police or the authorities that he’d turn off the water to the Bogside. So I immediately made the people aware of that on the radio but I said if anybody turns off the water to the Bogside, we’ll turn the gas off to the whole of Derry because the city’s Gasyard was in the Bogside. Needless to say the water wasn’t turned off,” Mr Melaugh said.

A committed pacifist, he said there was no question of using Radio Free Derry to call for peace because the people of the Bogside had had enough.

“I tried to use it to calm the situation down. My advice never changed at any time – I always told people to become politically involved.”

One of the organisers of the October 5 1968 civil rights’ march, Mr Melaugh remained at the frontline for three days, sending messages to his wife at home.

“You can’t imagine how chaotic it was. There was no talking to anybody, insanity raised supreme and that’s the truth.

“The only people who had influence behind the barricades were the paramilitaries and they didn’t even have a lot of influence,” he said.

As the battle ebbed and flowed, Mr Melaugh said there were key times when he realised how serious the situation was. These included watching people throwing petrol bombs from the top of the Rossville flats.

“There was a genuine fear that if the police broke through, people would be killed. They (the RUC) had guns after all and they had guns at the time.”

The arrival of the British Army to separate Bogsiders and the RUC was greeted by a sense of victory by nationalists.

“They thought they had won the war and that these were neutral peace keepers who came in but that idea was very quickly shattered. There was a feeling of euphoria and a sense of relief that they’d kept the RUC out of the area.

“But I thought there was only a question of time before hostilities would break out. I knew the army came in to impose Westminster authority.”

However, by that time, thoughts of victory or defeat were not uppermost on Mr Melaugh mind. Totally exhausted, his thoughts focused simply on getting home and sleep.

“My feet were that sore, I walked up the street with my socks and my shoes in my hand,” he said.

Now, fifty years on, while he bitterly regrets what followed, Mr Melaugh has no doubt where the blame for what ensued lay; it was with unionist leaders who thought they could treat Catholics as lesser beings.

Seeking cover images

I spent some of today looking through photos of Derry at the beginning of the Troubles, hoping I could find out who took the one shot I want to use. The young man on the street caught between two buildings.

I did find a couple taken by Eamon Melaugh that might work for the cover of APoS-Derry, instead. I can contact his son at CAIN to see if I can license them...and how much that'd cost.

I like this one the most. It's like Brendan is at his front door, waiting for his Chinas to show up. A tender yet careful feel to it. The other is the two boys seated on the Derry walls, flanking a cannon that's facing down Nailors Row. I've posted that one, before.

I also remembered having some email correspondence with the son, Martin Melaugh, back in 2011. He was very helpful in helping center the events in the story. He lived up in the Creggan area, as a boy, which was much nicer than the Bogside, and once spoke of when his school was caught in the crossfire of a full-scale gun battle between the IRA and British troops.

The students were all gathered in the center courtyard, for protection, because bullets where going everywhere. The vast majority from the British. It went on for hours. Finally, during a lull, a priest drove him to his house, which was close to the school. But when they got there, gunfire started, again, and he had to scramble to get through the front door to keep from being shot. This was not long after Bloody Sunday.

British forces were already becoming very indiscriminate in where they aimed their weapons. The IRA factions were better, though not by much. And what did it achieve, in the end? With the Easter Accord, Catholics got a lot of the rights they'd wanted in 1968. Thirty dears of death and destruction that could have been avoided if one side hadn't been so hateful and distrustful against the other.

Such a waste...but this is what religion and stupidity lead us to.

Jaded...

Okay, I think I have all the editing detail work done on APoS-Derry, now, so tomorrow I'm doing one last proofing. Gonna try and find whatever additional typos that might be in the text. Once that is done, I may dig into the Houston part of the story and do another draft on that before letting go of Book One.

My main goal will be to make certain Brendan's memories match what's in the Derry section of the book, and I don't want to be done with it till I'm sure. There may still be adjustments to be made to have them flow into the Houston section, and I want that part settles before I plow into Houston, completely.

The last section -- Return -- is set nearly 8 years after he leaves Derry, so he won't be remembering things perfectly...and yet, he will. But a lot of redevelopment will have been done in the city, with streets rearranged and the town deeply shattered. It'll be like a whole new city, even though it isn't.

So I stepped back, this evening, and watched an episode of Kenneth Branagh's Wallender. I'd seen a few and grown weary of the brutal emphasis on the lead character's suffering and meaning and on and on, and this one just reminded me of why I stopped watching. It was a 60 page script expanded into 90 minutes by lots of long takes of Kenneth emoting.

It also had some stupid moments in it. Like a burly man knocked out by chloroform in moments (it takes a lot longer). And a man bound and kept in a room for three weeks, in his undies, in a seated position on the floor, blindfolded but in a way that would have let him remove the blindfold with his bound hands, which he doesn't do, yet still being strong enough for the killer to force-march into the woods. His legs' muscles would have weakened too much.

But what really struck me most was how its whole visual style was almost exactly like Shetland and Hinterland and Vera and other UK detective shows I've see. So much so, it would be hard to tell them apart if you didn't know the actors. The scripts are the same bent, too. Dark and meaningful, and sexless.

Funny...but the best and most sensuous relationship in all of them is in Shetland, between Malcolm (a bit of a player in money and people) and Jimmy (the police DI who oozes integrity). They share custody of a daughter, since her mother is dead. (First married to Malcolm, who's father; then to Jimmy, who's dad). If the producers had been brave, they'd have made them a couple. The chemistry was there, just not the nerve.

Typical.

Dancing between worlds...

Made several corrections regarding the value of things in Derry in the late 60s. I'd forgotten how it was in the 70s that inflation hit the UK hard. Up till then, wages were low, the dole was even lower than I thought, and prices were cheap.

We lived in London from the summer of 1958 to the summer of 1961, and even on a USAF non-com's pathetic salary lived quite well. We had a 3-bedroom row house in Ruislip Gardens, off the next to the last stop on the Central Tube line. It had a gravelly front, a short front yard but long back yard and shed. Behind us was an alley. Between us and the shopping area were cricket and rugby pitches. I loved it, there.

Did my first three years at a school that served American as well as British kids, around whom I felt more natural. I spoke like a Brit. Loved tea. Called cookies biscuits. Was bold enough to wander about wherever I wanted, in the area. Which got me into trouble a couple of times.

There was one occasion a friend and I were exploring the far side of the pitch, where a creek rambled past, and didn't get back to his place till well past six. I was supposed to be home by then, but I didn't notice the clock till it was nearly 6:30 and my stepfather came looking for me. Pissed, in every sense of the word. Whipped me with a belt all the way back to our house.

Didn't teach me a thing. I never built up a good sense of time, and kept on doing my rounds as I wanted. The Scottish lady across from us would feed me tea and cucumber sandwiches made with cream cheese and we'd talk. She just let me prattle and I felt very grown up. Her husband was employed by the Ministry of Defense so was rarely about. I don't remember if they had adult children or grandkids.

My mother had difficulty living there. She became pregnant with my younger sister, who was born in the UK, and wound up having her first nervous breakdown. It wasn't long after my sister was born, so probably was something akin to postpartum depression. We probably would have come back to the states once she was released from the hospital, but it was middle of my third year and we were set to be transferred to Kansas City, so stayed to the end.

A high school fills the cricket pitch, now. Our house was the little white slash to the upper left of Just Cork. Almost dead center, at the top. I went back to see it a few years ago, when I was there. It's painted white.

I remember I did not want to return. London had become my home. But my grandmother was in San Antonio and we'd be stopping there, first, so that made up for it.

I still feel at home when I travel to London. Funny how that works.

Fuck it...

I got my Shiner Bock. I had one with spaghetti as I watched clouds roll in from Canada, and it set me right. Got me ready.

It's been two months since I asked some people if they would read A Place of Safety-Derry and give me feedback and point out typos. A couple turned me down because they didn't have the time, and that's cool. Three said they would so I sent them copies. I've gotten one complete, one partial with just typo notes, and nothing more. I've asked if the last two'll be able to do it, and received assurances...but I've been through this before, with them. So if they get it to me, great. If not, I'll be fine.

I'm making notes to myself for aspects of the story to watch out for -- punctuation, as already mentioned; proper labels for things and events, like the late meal being called supper in Derry and not tea, as it is in Belfast; and the correct monetary usage, since I've gotten conflicting information regarding the shift to decimalization of the British Pound (did it start the shift in 1969 or was it all in 1971?). Rechecking that.

There's a great site called Retrowow that has information about US and UK prices, entertainment and cars and everything that's quite handy. And my books have photos as well as details that come in handy. Just do a bit of careful cross-referencing.

I came close to trying to work out a quick trip to Derry to use the archives of the Derry Journal (the town's newspaper) and the city library to verify somethings, but it would have been $3000. And that's just for 6 days, leaving out of Toronto into Dublin then up to Derry on the bus. I also couldn't work out the timing. I'm doing Seattle, next month, and possibly the book fair in Toronto the following weekend, then comes Boston and after that we're into November. So I talked myself out of it, pretty quickly.

The crazy thing is, I don't feel let down by not going because I'm honestly beginning to believe I'll get this book done.

Second proofing comments input...

This worked out well. Going through the text just focusing on the comments and notes I got, I managed to add 400+ words and 3 pages to the length of the book. It's closing in on 137,000. I was pointed to a couple of spots where I got so lost in being true to Brendan's thoughts and vernacular, I forgot to make it clear what was going on. That's exactly what I needed.

I've also focused on making a few things consistent -- like one character's name. He's introduced as Brian and snaps "Boru, to youse," as a way to identify himself. So the guys refer to him as Brian Boru-to-youse from that point on, whenever they see him. It becomes a bit of a joke. Only I wasn't consistent with it. Sometimes no hyphens. Sometimes just you. Sometimes capitalized. So I worked that out.

And I decided to use dashes in a slightly different manner from what I've done, grammatically. When Brendan's stuttering in his dialogue, I'm using a single dash -- I-I-I kind of thing, or you-you. I'd been using ellipses there. Then I'm doing the em-dash at the end of sentences when someone is cut off, without spaces around them. Like "But you said—" And when it's a thought breaking into a sentence doing the em-dash with spaces before and after. Then Ma got a look on her face — not that Eamonn would have understood what it meant — but she smiled instead of scowled.

All of which may actually be proper English grammar, but it's been years since I read Strunk & White's Elements of Style so can't remember and don't really care. What matters is it's easy to comprehend what's being said. It's rather nice to be at the point where I'm more worried about proper grammar than I am about the meat of the story.

What's most illuminating is how I found a couple more typos they missed. I've got one more round of feedback I'm waiting for, and I'm sure this last one will find things I didn't see and the first two missed, but that's how it is. I've seen typos in books put out by major publishers, and it used to not be uncommon for books to be bound with a little erratum note explaining there's a misspelled or missing word on page 204, with the correction.

It's been said the best way to find a typo in a book is for it to go through the editing process, then proofing, then printing a galley, then more proofing, then getting printed and shipped to stores, where you go in, pick up a copy, open it to a random page...and see you've used it's instead of its.

What can you say? Nobody's perfect.

Matter of opinion...and style...

I'm about halfway through the more detailed proofing and feedback of APoS-Derry and find that maybe a quarter of their suggestions are to change the style of what I've written. For example, they do NOT like my use of ellipses. And truth is, neither do I, anymore. I was doing it to indicate a pause in Brenda's telling, or to indicate he might have more to say but doesn't. But during this go-through, many of them seemed to stop the reading. So I'm removing probably 80% of them.

They also say that no paragraph should be more than 6 lines long. Which is fine as a basic rule of thumb but not an absolute. I have several occasions where Brendan's thoughts are strung together, or his description of actions needs a long, long paragraph to keep the rhythm going, so on some of the occasions where they suggested a break, I've ignored that.

What's fun is, I've found six typos they missed. Difficult ones that wouldn't have been noticed by spell-check or any English grammar program. I just happened to see them. So once this is done, I'm going back through the story with the type pumped up to 24 point and checking it that way.

Of course, there are also words they think are misspelled or improperly used that actually aren't; I'm approximating Brendan's manner of speech, to an extent, so some don't get changed. But a couple of inconsistencies they noticed do get paid special attention to.

I'm not missing the beer or wine, yet. I'm still waiting on one last set of feedback so it may be best to hold off till then. I'll be done with this set, tomorrow.

Since I was in such a state, last night, I signed up for BritBox, again, and watched the David Suchet version of Agatha Christie's Hallowe'en Party. Some pretty big changes in it, especially at the end, but it followed the basic story...for the most part. Still, not the smoothest adaptation and only adequately directed.

But that said, Suchet is the best Poirot.

Started good...

Got up. Made a couple biscuits and hot tea for breakfast. Opened APoS and input the typos noted by one of the readers. They weren't as bad as I'd expected. And they liked the story and characters.

The next one is more involved and has comments about my style of writing, which will be harder to deal with. Again, the story and characters were enjoyable, but some of the things they suggested in their summary just aren't me or my way. I think they input some of the changes they were suggesting into the file I sent them. I guess we'll see. I put it aside for later.

So I got ready to head out and get my beer, to fortify me...and suddenly felt a low blood sugar moment coming on. I was going to have BBQ, for lunch; instead I made a quick tuna fish sandwich and kicked back to let the moment pass.

Problem is, those moments wreck me. I feel weak and very tired, afterwards, so took a nap and woke up with a headache. Still wanted to get the beer but it took me half an hour to talk myself into getting going. Then I kept running into red lights and slow cars and bicyclists crossing the road just ahead of me, without concern that I might hit them, so I shifted to a nearby Tops instead of Wegman's, thinking I could get Shiner there.

I wound up in the one fucking store in Buffalo that did not carry beer. At all. None.

By this point, I'm crashing into a depression and thinking the fates are telling me not to do it, so I went to a Pie-O-Mine and got a single pizza and small salad, for dinner. Ate half of each, then came home. And the fucking salad made me sick. And I know without question it was the salad, believe me. I had to throw it out.

Now I'm still fighting off that fucking headache and wary of ever going out in the real world, ever again. There's a liquor store diagonal across the street from my building so I may get a bottle of wine, there. I already know they don't have Shiner Bock, nor does the Corner Store behind them. Or maybe I stick with lots of DPZ and hot tea. Like a prissy old man. I dunno.

I just fucking hate getting old.

Okay...tomorrow is the day...

It's been a battle, but I've been able to hold back from looking at the feedback and proofing of APoS-Derry. Tomorrow, I'm digging into it....and I'm going to use an old trick to make it smoother. I'm going looking for some Shiner Bock. Wegmans used to carry it in their craft beer area, so I'll head there to see. I'll want it cold. And I'm making my enchilada plate for dinner.

Today, I tried out a recipe for cheapie/fake empanadas using flour tortillas. You cut one in half, smear it with cream cheese and jam then fold it over into a triangle and fry it for a minute, each side. Turned out nice, but it's a dessert. I want the prelude. I've got Old El Paso enchilada sauce and refried beans, a can of Ro-tell tomatoes, corn tortillas, Monterrey Jack cheese, Rice-a-roni Spanish rice, and salsa. Need some quac and sour cream, too.

Once that's done, I'm poppin' open the files and diving in, supported by my comfort food and the only good beer Texas ever made.

First thing I'm doing is correcting the typos they found. Nice and simple, right? HA! Nothing in my writing is simple with me. One sent me the typos in a list, with page numbers. One sent me a full document with the typos highlighted throughout, in notes. And I'm betting each of my readers caught issues the other missed. That's how it usually works.

After that is addressing any issues they had with the actual storytelling. After that is pumping the font up to 24pt and reading through it, myself, for issues they might also have missed. After THAT...is assigning it an ISBN and updating the copyright, then setting it aside for another few months till the last read-through.

I've gotten nothing from the agents I sent queries to, so I think I will self-publish it in hardcover. I'm looking at just after the first of the year. I'll be working on the New World for Old section of the story, in the meantime, and should have the two aligned, by then. If all goes well with that, I may put it out in June. That also gives me a year to work on part three, The Return, to have it out by Christmas, 2024.

Keeping in mind that old adage starting with, "The best laid plans..."

Missing is helping...

Seems Missing's series of sketches is helping bring viewers to my very-MM-adult bdsmlr blog and getting more attention for my books. Things had grown pretty quiet in sales, but they've perked up some since I began this. Never figured it would be a tool for advertising my work.

I also belong to a couple of  groups on FB that cater to adult MM literature, both romance and dark. Ain't much in the way of romance in my books, but there's plenty of darkness. But I feel my version of darkness is less compelling that other writers'. I may say I write my books to keep from becoming what they are about, and vent my quiet screams into them, but I'm told by reviewers that my focus is not the kind they're used to.

Most people are into stories that are more like role-playing. Comic-con style. Father-son stuff. Twincest. Bondage and punishment. Slave-training. M-preg. Werewolves and fairies. All of which I've read but doesn't really resonate with me. I can't say they aren't real enough or grounded in everyday truth, not when mine can be just as fantastic. The Beast in the Nothing Room is Sci-Fi/Horror using time travel for sexual assault, so hardly something that happens every day.

It's just, it seems like they aren't being honest with their characters, or their characters' emotional needs. I guess. Hunter, for example, is a wild take about kidnapping young men to sell into sexual slavery. And the MC, Hunter, is totally focused on the money and making sure the law doesn't bother him. So he connects with a sheriff, supplies only Latino studs (since no one in the US really cares about them), and doesn't even think about the consequences or what it means to the men he's kidnapped until he's almost tricked into helping kill the son of an important Brazilian.

Initially, it's his survival instincts that kick in, but then he's confronted with the reality of what he's done and determines to end the whole setup. He very nearly gets killed, doing so, and has to go into hiding to protect himself from the remnants of that sex-slave group. A bit on the James Bond side, really, but throughout the story is pushed by Hunter's emotional needs and development.

I don't see that in many of the MM stories I read. Even the romantic ones, like Boyfriend Material or Red, White and Royal Blue. They seem perfunctory and Hollywoodish, in a way. I think that's why I so liked Anna Karenina and East of Eden. They were grounded in human emotion, to me.

I dunno. Maybe I'm just full of shit and didn't like their style of writing because mine's so much better, to me. HA! That'll be the day I think that.

Jeez, at the rate I'm going I won't figure myself out till after I'm dead.