Review for A Place of Safety-Derry

 Wow...just...wow...

BookLife:

Raw, pulsing with life and danger, and building to a hard-to-shake climax, this epic novel of growing up in a world gone mad centers on Brendan Kinsella, “a lad filled with hopes and dreams and prayers and promises” in Derry in Northern Ireland, in the tumultuous 1960s, when “Catholics were killed for being Catholic and Catholic schools were attacked by Protestant fools, all because the Catholic minority in the state had the nerve to want the same rights as any Protestant.” Those killed include Brendan’s father. The city seethes and divides as he enters adolescence, confused and fascinated by sex, roiled with complex feelings about his abusive “da”’s death, and all-too-familiar with phrases like “papist scum.” Brandon’s life is shaped by hatreds, bombings, checkpoints, and fleeting moments of connection and beauty in the rubble.

The likelihood of violence haunts both Brendan’s youth and Sullivan’s clipped, brisk, hard-edge prose. A civil rights march facing a line of constables “kept flowing, like a flooded river smashing against a jam of logs and refuse”; Brendan, the famous “fix-it lad” of his circle, laments “the vicious politeness I was being handed by people I’d been doing work for since I could first hold a set of grips.” Dialogue, too, is sharp, slicing, and convincing. The novel is long, but Sullivan, a prolific author in a host of genres, wastes few words conjuring the milieu, the prevailing sense of desperation, and the ugly but undeniable thrill of striking back.

Tense marches and confrontations at checkpoints abound, including one beauty in which women harangue soldiers abusing Brendan and co. with the finest Irish profanity. Sullivan is just as committed to capturing Brandon’s development in moments of relief, working at an auto shop and enjoying the occasional escape, with friends or eventually a lover, into what he calls a “new and amazing world of peace and tolerance.” Those reprieves make the finale all the more wrenching.

Takeaway: Wrenching epic of coming-of-age in Derry during the Troubles.

Comparable Titles: David Keenan’s For the Good Times, Anna Burns’s Milkman.

Production grades
Cover: A-
Design and typography: A
Illustrations: N/A
Editing: A-
Marketing copy: A

Do I love my words? Or my characters?

I wrote a 14 page synopsis for New World For Old, laying out the main beats in each chapter and the flow of the story as I'd written it, so far. I took that with me to San Antonio and worked on it. Red pen everywhere. Notes out the wazoo, if I'm able to read my scurvy handwriting...and I feel a bit overwhelmed by the journey ahead.

I probably added the equivalent of five chapters and 20,000 words to the story...all to help build Brendan's journey into a quiet shore of gentle waves, but with riptide sneaking beneath the surface. I know that's a bit grandiose, but I feel entitled to it, right now. There is not one page of that long-form synopsis that is without commentary, and all the blank backs of the pages have directions on where to rearrange things or entire moments to add in.

Meaning I'm doing a page-one rewrite of this volume, right down to finding some better chapter headings.

I think the most important thing these notes did was to remind me that Brendan handles trouble by fixing things. Joanna even mentions it in Derry. It's how he maintains a form of control in his life. That's partly why, when chaos hit him at the end of Volume One, and there was nothing he could do...nothing he was allowed to do to make it better...he broke free of the real world to give himself time to fix himself.

I'd sort of lost track of that in NWFO, to an extent, but found a way back to it and will work that in, more. He already fixes his Montessa motorbike so it's better than new...but then he finds an even bigger project to help him deal with his mother's illness and conflicting emotions about it. He thinks she hates him and he's both sorry she's ill but also relieved and feels guilty over that relief.

It doesn't help that he's not Brendan Kinsella in Houston; he's Brennan McGabbhin. So his repairs are also a way for him to keep in contact with who he really is and not lose himself in an identity his uncle is forcing him to maintain.

I dunno if that makes sense, but I'm embarking on at least another 7 rewrites of this book. My hope is it will by the end of the last one.

I have no control over my mind

Nasty trip home. Hellacious and exhausting. Yesterday was dead space in brain. Today was searching for something to break the clouds in my brain. So I wrote this. May make it a book. Or a novella to go with another one I posted some time ago. Dunno. I'm just in a foul mood and angry.

FREDDY

Young Freddy had gone for a walk.

His mood was...he’d rather not talk.

A neighbor he’d just met, named Ray,

Still stopped him, to quietly say,

“Some friends of mine, Chuck, Dan and Bill,

Think you’d be such fun...which you will.”

That’s when they appeared, as Ray’s pack,

To grab Freddy, in an attack.

He knew them all, knew they had wives

And kids...but they also had knives.

Both bound and gagged, he bravely fought,

But still got dragged off to a plot

With an old shed. Clothes cut away.

Forced down to a basement, to stay.

"We loved to see your tatts and ass

And wanted you, each time you’d pass,"

Ray said, as he forced his way in

Freddy’s mouth, the first to begin.

"The way you fit your jeans was tight.

So we're gonna keep you all night.

And when we're done then you will know

We own you and won't let you go."

This all was confusing. The lad

Did not know what he’d done so bad

To cause them to do this. "You're gay,"

Don said, going next. "It’s your way."

"Then so are you," Freddy spat back.

Which only led Chuck to attack

Him with fists. "You don't call us queer."

Then Bill snarled, "Let me make it clear.

It’s fags who get fucked, and not us,

So there's nothing more to discuss.

We'll keep you to use, till we're done.

Then we’ll go find some other one

Just like you, who we'll pass around.

While you'll be six feet in the ground."

Oh, shit. Other men disappeared

With no word. All dead, as was feared.

No, that won’t be me, Freddy thought.

No man gets to think that he’s brought

Me here to be killed, like I’m trash.

I’ll live to make sure your lives crash.

Two weeks he spent playing their toy,

And he made sure to bring them joy

By using each trick he had learned

To make every time with him earned,

As he built a plan to regroup.

Until the night he got the scoop

That by morning, he’d leave this earth

In spirit. But he had no dearth

Of ways to escape far from them

And not accept their evil whim.

So that's what he did. And he kept

How he did it a secret, but wept

In the court as he told the foul tale.

And those four men went straight to jail.

Then Freddy said, "I'll write a book,

And in it you can have a look

At the evil those bastards did me.

Now I’m a gay hero...and free."

So far so good...

Christmas visit was nice, despite two VERY long drives, both with me behind the wheel because my youngest brother never learned to drive. That runs in the family; our mother and grandmother never did, either. Just busses and cabs.

Considering how people have forgotten driver etiquette, it might not be a bad idea for me to do, as well.b I did a lot of yelling, down here.

I got some things I asked for, and wound up giving everyone gift cards since I had no idea what they wanted. The vast majority of us are on the same page, politically, so no arguments done. So damn much food -- turkey, ham, stuffing, gravy, corn on the cob, whipped potatoes (my way of making them, with an egg and some cheese), green bean casserole, salad, roasted yams, croissants, rolls, gravy, and cheesecake.

I'm glad I got an even more space seat on the JetBlue flight home; I'll need the extra room.

I'm not going to finish reading Trust, just now. I'm focusing on going through my notes for APoS-New World For Old and for Blood Angel-Franz. I also want to get involved with a new group what will be helping get books too erotic for Kindle and such published.  See if I can get HTRASG set up in it.

Still no word on the review promised me for APoS-Derry. I'm hoping it comes in this week.

I almost think I've recharged my batteries and can get more done in the writing, faster. The ideas I have for NWFO should fit in easily, and some will change the events of APoS-Home Not Home.

I'm actually looking forward to getting back on them.

Photos of my trip...

 These are photos of my trip to San Antonio, to visit my sister, brother and nephews.

My brother and sister sitting along the Riverwalk in San Antonio, talking.

Riverboat dining. Once the food is brought out, the boat begins its tour along the river.

The former Nix Hospital, where my grandmother was a nurse in the newborn nursery on the 23rd floor. She worked there 30 years.

The Alamo, of course. The plaza is torn up in some ridiculous attempt to make it into a touristy theme park. But at least the painting of John Wayne in his movie The Alamo is gone from the gift shop.

Casa Rio, the first restaurant on the Riverwalk. Serves so-so Mexican food but it's been there for nearly 70 years and started the riverboat dining. Behind it is the Hilton Palacio del Rio, which was built using pre-fabricated rooms that were then stacked onto each other, in 1967, for Hemisfair.

Lunch at Schilo's German Deli. They make their own sauerkraut and root beer. Best ever.

Also had dinner with one nephew at a Rudy's, which offers a great brisket and excellent BBQ sauce, and we talked for hours. Tomorrow is the drive down to Aransas Pass and Christmas.

Southwest Airlines sucks...

Headed for San Antonio, I changed planes in Baltimore. My app told me I was going out of gate B9. It was actually B5. The plane was fully boarded on time and ready to leave...but we sat there for a solid hour. We were still waiting for a bag from another flight.

For some reason I think they were bullshitting us.

So I got in an hour late, then Avis tried to give me a Toyota Tacoma 4x4. I drive a Civic. The smallest car they had available was a Malibu, so I took that but it's like piloting a barge. The hotel is okay, but I stupidly decided to travel up to Austin, today, to check out a store called Glass Coffin...and traffic was hideous thanks to construction, wrecks, and the usual Texas idiots on the road who won't go the speed limit and are in the far inside lane. What used to be a 1-hour trip took 2.5.

It's a fun shop, and I did find a book to help me with Blood Angel -- A History of the Vampire in Popular Culture by Violet Fenn. I think I'll read this en route home. On the trip down, I was reading Trust by Hernan Diaz, which won the Pulitzer for Literature, last year...and I am massively underwhelmed. I'm being told the story instead of experiencing it or getting lost in it, and it's becoming a bit of a chore to finish. I'm about halfway through.

I've already engorged myself with Taco Cabana and Whataburger...and found there are Panda Express and In-n-Outs all over the place. But tomorrow is Rudy's BBQ and Schilo's German Delicatessen, then Saturday is driving down to Aransas Pass for the family Christmas.

Brendan has a moment in New World For Old where he feels like he's broken free from his family's demands and limitations but winds up being called back in, and I can see that in me, right now. I love them all...and love living at the other end of the country from them so we don't have to interact every day. I'm sure they'd wind up hating me after a little while, I'm such a self-involved freak.

Which makes it hard to shop for them at Christmas.

The beginning of my APoS aspic...

Meaning, it's beginning to gel in my head. I'm getting ideas and nudges from Brendan about what to put in not only New World For Old but also Home Not Home.

For example, he wants more time with what is, basically, a second family he builds when he sneaks away from his aunt and uncle's home after a brutal interaction over him dating a Cajun girl. His plan is to get away from them, but he has no idea where else to go so finds a furnished room over near the University of Houston to give him time to think...and grows close to the people who live there.

The place is owned by Mrs. Glendon, who's elderly, always wears light caftans, on the ethereal side, and has a sort of whatever happens happens attitude. The other boarders are:

1. Elton, who's tall, thin, quiet, very shy and still, on disability. his eyes see all, and he's a savant in languages. He becomes pen pals with Rhuari over Gaelic, once Brendan connects them.

2. Richard Markowitz, who's Jewish, stocky, hairy, has a Roman nose, and is always in a suit. He works in food management. He's waiting to see if a contract at UH will become permanent. It doesn't, so he moves on to NASA in Huntsville, AL 

3. Myron Phelan, a young man with cerebral palsy who's independent to a fault, as Mrs. Glendon says. He has sharp eyes and a hawk-like nose. Everyone thinks he's on disability but when he dies they learn his parents put him there because they didn't want him at home. He has a twin brother who is okay but is never seen. 

4. Mrs. Kendall, who's black, very large and a chatterbox. She lives on SSI and cooks killer meals from ingredients others bring her, twice a week, for everyone so she can keep the leftovers.  

5. Miss Alexander is thin and always well dressed, with hair in a French twist. She works in the fabric shop of a local department store and keeps to herself. 

6. Sonja is the granddaughter to Mrs. Glendon, who's chunky, avaricious and surly...except when playing piano. She lives in an apartment over the garage, out back.

He also connects with a guy named Randy-Ray, 50s, who runs a motorcycle shop off 45 and Stoke, back of his house. Brendan gets parts for his Montessa motorbike there and winds up repairing a wreck of a green Peugeot 504, left drive, in exchange for parts. He rebuilds it as a way to repair himself.

I'm not sure how much of this will work in, but I know I'm adding at least one more chapter to give Bren time with them all, then they're part of his Houston life from then on.

I don't feel like writing, no sir...

No writing today. Instead, I watched this little video and let the whole world pass me by as I just vegged and let what Ik'm thinking about APoS-New World For Old settle into my brain.

The anatomy of music is fascinating.. 

On 47 more drafts to go...

Done with this read of APoS-New World For Old. Its up over 131,000 words. And there's more bluntness and anger involved but it's circling in on what it needs to be. And I did it despite a nasty stomach ache. I don't know what I ate, since all I had for dinner was frozen fish sticks, well-cooked, but it's not being happy.

At least I'm through another stage of the story. And scared to death it's going to ge severely criticized. More panicky than anything. But I'm not stopping. I have enough certainty in what I'm writing that I think it will come through well-enough. I'm mainly worried about the details and picky people. There are a lot of assholes out there who will seize on an inperfection to destroy your work. I've seen so much of it happening, lately.

Of course, with the Smashwords sale on for ebooks, I've sold a lot of them...and won't get a single review out of any of it. I have very few reviews...so maybe that's a form of safety against the real world.

Fuck this, I'm getting some Alka-seltzer.

Consistently inconsistent...

Being my usual self, I pulled up BA-Franz to work on...and promptly shifted to read more of APoS-New World For Old. Got through the point where Brendan is, effectively running away from home for the second time. This happens after he's kidnapped from outside The Colonel's bar, where he used to work, and brutalized by some racists over having a girlfriend who's not white. He figures out his uncle knew what was going to happen and said nothing because he thinks Brendan needs to be taught a lesson about how he needs to behave, in Houston.

I'd made changes to the story in the 4th draft that I didn't remember, and which fit in better with what happens in Derry. Mirroring, not repeating. And having a read-through done before heading to San Antonio would be very helpful. Bring the story back to mind so my brain can begin working on it.

You see, I'd pulled up and printed the character outline of BA and started making notes for Franz, but realized I needed to work it out better so the story has some continuity. I'm starting with Léonidès stating he's been refused permission to turn Franz into another Blood Angel because the Oiym are not comfortable with him. They sense his beauty hides a viciousness they don't want out and about in the world. It will draw too much attention to the existence of vampires.

But as noted, when Leon tries to kill Franz, he hesitates and the man shifts into becoming a Blood Angel, and the Oiym's fears are proven to be well-founded. I know the final showdown between the two is going to be in the Vatican, which was not yet a city-state in the middle of Rome. Not sure what that's going to wind up as, but it'll be fun.

After all, the Catholic Church is really nothing more than an acceptable version of a vampire organization. Isn't it?

Conundrum...

Can someone explain something to me? My perfect man is Chris Evans. Tall. Darker hair. Face in excellent proportion. Built nicely. Hair on chest. Talented actor. Has a strut that screams erotic. And laughs in a way that makes me grin like an idiot. Even when he's a bad boy, he's sex on a stick.

I've been watching him develop since he was in this silly little movie called Cellular, which really made no sense but was mindless fun.And he just kept getting better and better looking. Even in Knives Out in that bulky Guernsey sweater, he was hot.

So...why am I also obsessed with Nick Hendrix? He's not unattractive, just nice-looking. Trim but not especially built. Looks good in a suit. Not all that much hair on his body. Pleasant face with what I call poached-egg eyes. And an okay actor who does the job.

But two new episodes are out of Midsomer Murders, where he plays DS Jamie Winter and is second fiddle to Neil Dudgeon as DCI Barnaby. He's not given a lot to do, and only occasionally works the part into something more, but I got excited and watched both episodes, tonight. And he still is not that impressive, physically, but my focus was on him.

A few years back, I used him as the image for Finn, a British cop in my book The Beast in the Nothing Room. Not Henry Cavill (who is phenomenally good-looking). Not Greg Wise (who was gorgeous in Sense and Sensibility). Not even Russell Tovey (whose off-beat looks and aura would have been lovely).

No, it was the image of Finn (looking and behaving like Nick) being kidnapped, raped and brutalized, over and over and over in the book, that worked for me. That inspired me. I think it's one of the best books I've written. Not because of the sex but because it's inventive and scary and 95% just right. The last chapter of the book, how I finalized Finn's life, was too simplistic and could have been handled a lot better...but everything else came together beautifully, thanks to him.

So I don't get it. I don't think he's gay or in the closet. And he's English so it's doubtful he's circumcised. Truth is, I don't want to take him to bed, not really. But even with him in his late 30s and starting to show it, I enjoyed watching him.

Now I'm working on my vampire piece and it's drifting into pure horror, and while the models I'm using for Leonides and Franz are beautiful, their victims will be more normal. I'm also emphasizing the cruelty of their deaths, even if they are deserving of it. And the terror the victims feel. Especially at the hands of Franz, once he's turned. Still, if I could work Nick into it, I would...only I've already used him and don't like to use the same model twice.

Makes no sense to me.

Blood Angel-Franz...

It's decided. I'm working up book three of Blood Angel, and it's called Franz. Léonidès wants to turn Franz into a Blood Angel like himself, to be his mate, but the Oiym, who control the vampire world, refuse to let him. They are wary of giving Franz that kind of power and actually order him to be destroyed.

Léon reluctantly agrees, seduce-rapes him and starts to feed on him...then hesitates, which gives Franz just enough time to begin to turn. And that is a huge mistake. Now he cannot be killed.

Franz is beautiful, but he's also demonic. He held his true nature in check thanks to his breeding and military training. But now that he's a Blood Angel, all sense of morality and manners is gone, gone, gone, and he becomes a cold, cruel, calculating beast. More on the level of Léon's sister, Gabrielle, and exactly what the Oiym feared he would be.

They had set up a number of rules as safety measures in the vampire world, in order keep the human world from really noticing them. His casual disregard for those rules threatens to wreck everything. It's up to Léon to find a way to control him before the Oiym come after him to imprison him in Alexandria.

Only the man is infuriated with Léon over having forced himself on him. So he taunts Léon by terrorizing and killing men who resemble him, and he flouts the Oiym's rules, as if daring them to stop him. What can Léon do? If Franz goes to jail, so does Léon since he started the problem.

This part of the story is going to be very dark. I know my version of darkness is far lighter than many other writers, but we'll see what happens. I've already got a confrontation between Léon and Franz at the end that I am going to make myself let be as horrific as possible. Franz might not be able to die, nor can Léon or his pack, but anyone else around them can.

Äingeru Vilabrillë...

I cannot think.

I cannot be

Caught in the insanity

Of hate and pain surrounding me.

I dream of peace I'll never see.

I need a spirit animal to guide me through this vile new world of social media. This lad, Äingeru, a breeder of Arabian horses in Spain, would more than do. Doesn't hurt he has an OnlyFans page as a way to make money to help provide for for his beautiful beasts. He'd come with no surprises, pun not intended...not really...

Because it wouldn't be a sexual thing, in all honesty. I have an aversion to uncircumcised dicks thanks to...well, to history. But he comes across as nicely growly. Protective of anyone he joins with, like a wolf. And just having someone like him to lean on...to stand between me and the world...it would be so nice, for a change.

Because everywhere I look, people boil with anger and disdain for others. I'm close to shutting down my Twitter, Instagram and Tribel because it's reached the point of full-blown madness and sends me careening towards despair at some of the amazingly stupid shit I've seen on them.

Lies. Misdirection. Racism. Anti-semitism. Cowardice. Criminal nonsense going unpunished. The usual It's all your fault and never mine kind of childishness. I've begun blocking people, something I swore I'd never do. But you have to in order to maintain some semblance of sanity.

It's at the point I'd be happy for Mother Nature to wipe us out and start over, with Cephalopods. They're actually more intelligent than 99% of the world's population...and I think I'm being kind in that assessment.

I'm finally understanding why hermits hermit.

Scrambled brains...

Can't focus, right now. I've got half a dozen stories slamming at me now that I'm done working on APoS-Derry. There's APoS-New World For Old, in Houston. Dair's Window, which I haven't touched in nearly 3 years. Part 3 of Blood Angel...then part 4, which is partially written. And APoS-Home Not Home is kicking at me with suggestions and notes and comments. And now a prose poem telling the story of a man who's kidnapped and held captive by a group of married men to be sexually abused, in secret...I posted the initial part I'd written on here weeks ago.

I'm feeling the urge to write something dark and brutal. Something in keeping with my other work. A need for it building up like a swollen river caught at a logjam, growing and pushing until it crashes through and causes untold destruction.

Part of the reason might be from my watching some of Peacock's John Wayne Gacy: Devil in Disguise. It focused a lot on Gacy's last victim, a 15-year-old boy named Rob Piest...a nice-looking kid who was just looking for a decent-paying job.

I have long had a room deep inside me that holds a near fanatical fascination with gay serial killers like Gacy, Dean Corll, William Bonin and Randy Kraft, amongst others. Men who kidnap, rape and murder young men and boys. I don't understand why they do it...and can't decide if I really want to know. I think something similar to their psychoses is hidden in that room and I don't want to confront it except through my writing.

I've been raped. I know what it means. How destructive it is. And yet...there's a part of me that finds the idea of forcing a man to be with me tantalizing. Sensuous, almost. I've had the opportunity to do that, a couple of times. Many years ago. And managed to keep my head and not take that step. But knowing it's there spooks me.

I mentioned that I could easily become a serial killer, to a co-worker, once. She said it wasn't possible; that I had too much empathy. I like to think that's why I never did anything to do that to someone. That using my books as an outlet was sufficient. But you never know, do you?

You never really know...

Strunk & White proves AI is of the devil...

To any and all, SpellCheck and Grammerly cannot be trusted to provide you with the correct usage of words. I found that out as I did one last check for grammar on APoS-Derry, using the option offered by the newest version of Microsoft Word. Here's some of what I got.

In the blue box is what I wrote. Below is what they think is correct. I'm too knowledgable of English grammar to fall for it, but a lot of people may think this damned program knows what it's talking about. Don't trust it. Get and read a copy of Strunk & White's Elements of Style for something simple and basic. Available in any bookstore or online.

Grammar Nazi, out.

 

Inputted...

All the corrections I made when doing my backwards proofing on APoS-Derry are completely input. Now I just need to make certain I have consistency on a couple of things -- like the spelling of O'Faelan, the last name of Brendan's best friend, Colm. I noticed I spelled it O'Fealan twice, which is easy to miss so double-checking. And I'm using Word's editor to check on my use of grammar.

I'm not adjusting my style to suit a basic grammatical method. Brendan writes and talks in his own fashion, and it ain't necessarily Strunk & White. What's fun is, I noticed on two occasions Word's editor wanted me to change too to to, which would have been the wrong version of it. Not cool, spellcheck.

That's why I stopped being a Grammar Nazi online; I realized Spellcheck was putting out the wrong info 25% of the time.

I'm neurotic enough to know what the proper uses are for your and you're, as well as their, they're and there. But if English is your second language or if your schooling has been second-rate when it comes to English, I can see where the damn program making the wrong suggestion would be difficult to ignore.

Just what you need in today's world -- a helpful program that will fuck with your mind.

Structurally sound

Digging through APoS-New World For Old is showing me that I'm skating through the story, so the next drafts are for deepening the characters and their meaning in events. What I have right now is just the foundation of the story, with points noted here and there to remind me of what needs to be looked into.

I've read through to the point where Brendan meets Evangelyne and is about to embark on a relationship that has disastrous results. I've also come up with another possible explanation for Brendan's disappearance from Derry -- that he was arrested and is being held by the British in a secret place. Which sounds ridiculous, but it mitigates the prevalent rumor that he was executed by the IRA and buried in an unmarked grave, and conspiracies are often preferred to the truth.

Part of the reason for that shift is how Eamonn, having been arrested for munitions running, is becoming a good communicator for PIRA in the H-Block prison cells. People thinking they had his brother killed for messing up an operation, the indication being he was passing information to the British through Joanna, that would hurt Eamonn's reputation. So up comes this new suggestion and a flat out denial from PIRA that they killed Brendan.

I don't know if that will really work within the story, yet, but it's another step closer to solidifying the fact that his new life is not connected to his old one except through his aunt and uncle, and they are hard as nails about not releasing information about it.

Did a lot of this in the airport while waiting for my plane. I'd thought about going to the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, but found I was trying to talk myself into it. Like it would make some kind of difference in my life. Reality is, it would remind me of how I failed in that endeavor, so focused on reading through APoS-2. And I'm happier for it. This is my direction in life, now, not movies.

Old man complaints...

I am so fucking tired, and it's not just physical weariness. Tuesday and yesterday were spent going over printed matter...hundreds and hundreds of pieces, and the monotony of the job got to me. As did having to stand throughout because it was that or keep getting up and down as I sorted through the morass.

Turned out only half of the stacks of items I was going through were on the list, even though all were supposed to be. But I had to check every single one of them, and even wound up finding some that had no identifying notes but were on the list and working out what their inventory number was. Then today was getting it picked up and driving out to Sierra Madre to collect 11 cartons for another shipment, on my own.

It's not a lot of physical labor, and the drive out and then down to LAX were me in a car with AC and my phone tuned to KCRW's Eclectic 24. But I'm still exhausted, thanks to LA traffic demanding full and complete attention. Then tomorrow is packing everything into containers to ship out. I took a half hour nap at my hotel and I'm still not exactly 100%.

I can't keep doing this. I'm too old and out of shape. And I also have other priorities, now. I need the money, but if it means working myself into a grave before I'm done with APoS and other works, that's not an option.

I've read through the point where Brendan helps a woman escape her abusive husband, but he finds her then kills her and himself. Which sends Bren spiraling into despair. It still all seems a bit perfunctory, but I'm not really doing a rewrite, yet, so I'll worry about that when I dig in for good. I like the line of the story's events; I just don't like how they aren't really organic, yet.

One interesting aspect of this area is how Brendan is revealing a violent streak, that can appear when provoked. And more than a hint of cruelty. But also tenderness and understanding. Pretty intense for a lad who's seventeen going into eighteen.

I love LA but not the Valley...

I only have to drive 3.7 miles to where I'm packing up this collection, but the San Fernando Valley drivers are so insane it takes me 25 minutes to get there. Hi, I'm getting ahead of you and if you don't let me I'll hit the side of your car. And the everlovin', HONK! You waited till your car did a restart to start moving? WTF for? Or...You have 2/3 of a car length in front of you; MOVE UP!

My LA attitude is more attuned to the Basin, where it's fast and furious and pay fucking attention, even in standstill traffic on La Cienega. I can handle aggression on the road; what drives me nuts is the Do what I fucking want you to do, even though I haven't told you what it is because I'm too busy being an asshole and not paying attention to you even though I want you to pay attention to me kind of shit.

There's also a lot of how can I not help you at grocery stores and restaurants, but that's not surprising, after Covid. People don't give a shit, anymore, and I can't blame them. Corporations are buying everything up and doubling prices but cutting back on wages. Small wonder so many are pushing to start up unions. It's the only way to make the bastards listen and reconsider not fucking you over, not completely.

SAG/AFTRA passed its new deal with the studios. Now comes the fun of watching executives find new and more creative ways of fucking people out of the money they should be paid. Seems like nearly everyone in the upper echelon of executives are taking their cues from that orange bastard and just blowing off contracts, when they feel like it.

I'm close to hating capitalism and the greed of too goddamn many people.

Rant over. Now I can keep reading through APoS-New World For Old...and think of how much crazier I can make it. Ah, Houston in the 70s...

Getting busy...

Today was checking books off against the list I had, and it was not easy. But I got it down to where only 5 books could not be found on the list and a half-dozen were listed but not in the stacks. I've let the powers that be know and they will have final word. Tomorrow comes printed matter that will be a bit easier, since it's numbered. For the most part.

I've found the WiFi in my hotel is too prone to letting others link to my laptop so I'm using my phone's hotspot. It's good, here. It's nearly non-existent at the job, but if I work it right I can do it there, too.

The photo is the view from my downstairs window. Not bad. Be better if i could see the ocean.

Got through more of APoS-New World For Old and hit a spot where Brendan starts to wonder about the arbitrariness of the world. He almost joined Elmer Wayne Henley and David Brooks in going to Dean Corll's party, but because he had a fan he wants to repair in hand (one he'd found in a trash can) he doesn't go. And two weeks later it comes out that those three were raping and killing boys.

It gets Brendan to thinking about this insane need for control so many people have. He's wondering if it's a way to stave off accepting that shit just happens in life, without rhyme or reason. If you can control someone else, that means you can control your circumstances and the world is no longer arbitrary...or something like that. It's a bit juvenile of a concept, but Bren is just 17. He thinks older, in many ways, but is naive in others.

I just don't want his slowly emerging awareness of life and its cruelty and beauty to be dismissed as childish prattle.

Catching up...

I've begun re-reading what I did with APoS-New World For Old, to re-familiarize myself with it and note where I need to make corrections to tie it in properly with Derry. Nothing serious, yet. The first chapters deal with Brendan coming out of his shock at seeing the bomb go off and people killed...including Joanna. I've already been told by one editor that ending traumatized her.

I'm not completely happy with the explanation of how Brendan was brought into the US, but I'll deal with then when I start a real re-write. This will actually be #5, if I go by how my files are numbered. Only 477 more drafts to go.

I'm currently in LA and had a decent flight that was actually on time. I'm still recovering from that infection that still causes a tickle in my throat that makes me hack like a 40-year smoker. But I can feel it's getting better in little bitty steps.

Tomorrow is the first job up in the Hollywood Hills. I took a drive up, just to see what it looked like...and it's one of those scary roads that has room for one car at a time. And I've got a Ford Bronco that's like a barge. And I don't know what it is about Fords, but I have a hell of a time seeing over the hood. It's like the damn thing is bulging up in front of me. It was the same way in that Mustang. Makes me very uncomfortable.

Especially when the damn road is so twisty-turny.

Corrected...

There's a certain numbness that comes to me when I've finished a full scale edit like this. And I mean one this precise. I didn't just correct typos and misspellings and set the proper tenses of words throughout the story, but also cut and reworked sentences and moments to be clearer. Page by page, going backwards to keep myself from getting caught up in the reading of it.

That's not easy to do. Most of the pages started with half of a sentence in half of a paragraph. Then you jump to the page immediately prior and it's a completely different sentence and thought and time in the story. It's a bit jolting. But that's what I needed. Next comes inputting the changes into the text of the hardcover copy of the story.

I know I still missed some. I went back into chapter 4 to check on something and found, without even trying to, a sentence beginning with a lower-case letter instead of upper-case. And that led me to run through the entire alphabet, using the "find" tool looking for any others. I'd input ". a" and see what it came up with, which was usually nothing. I did find one instance where I'd put a space after an ellipses, which I don't do, so corrected that, too. But nothing else popped up.

Of course, that still led me to rethinking a word I was using for a couple of women gossiping in their kitchen. The word for that in Derry is craic -- so changed that...which led to me splitting another sentence in two, since it made better sense that way.

Swear to God, I could work on this another 10 years and find issues that need to be addressed or bits that needed to be adjusted for clarity. But I can't keep doing that. I promised Brendan his books will come out, next year, and so they shall. I think I once mentioned a schedule of January, July and December. I'm going to keep to that...

...if the fates will let me.

Meaning next is New World for Old in Houston. I have editors wanting to read it, already.