Broadsided...nicely...

I was detailing the dust jacket for HNH and went looking for an old post on Tumblr that I was sure contained some notes I'd once made about the synopsis...and this image popped up. David Beckham. Who I think is pretty hot, even if he isn't what I normally go for.

But it sidelined me. Reminded me of Franz and Léonidès' obsession with him. Got me to thinking and I came up with a reason for Blood Angel to be completed. This is what came out:

Léonidès winds up turning Franz into a Blood Angel, deliberately ignoring the wishes of the Oyim. But the guy turns out to be a full-scale horror. Killing at will. Fighting with Leon. Wreaking havoc in the clan. Leon finally tracks down Gabrielle and asks to trade Dmitriy for him. He thinks she could better control him. And she's thinking about it as she tells him...

“It’s hard to believe we are of the same blood. The same lineage. We approach the mortals in the same way, with the same goal...to feed. But for different reasons. I sought those who might help me in some way. Add to my wealth. To my retinue. To my pleasure, if you will. I cared nothing about the individual or their place in the world. It was only centered around my wants and needs, and theirs meant nothing to me.

“You, however, are the opposite. Your greatness is immaterial to you, but neither do you care about advancing theirs. No. Your reasoning is to end their cruelty and brutality. Your preference is to be judge, jury and executioner to those whom you deem unworthy of life, and you have excused this in your own mind as something good and not merely just as cruel and brutal as those you feed upon.

“How you behaved with Franz now shows me you are just as depraved as I. Just as selfish. Proving we are of the same blood. The only difference is, I am honest with mine. And more aware of it. You are still too much the little carpenter you were, before you were turned, thinking yourself an innocent youth.

“The Oyim are not our equals, you know. They can still lord it over the vampire world as much as they like. Maintain a sort of control. Present it as protection. Defensiveness. And the common members of our race will agree and follow. The mere vampires. They even have you convinced that they are more evolved than you or I, but it’s a lie.

“They are not our lords but our serfs. We are their masters, Léon, you and I. They can exert no control over us, because we are not merely Blood Angels. We are Die BlutEngel. A higher caste, even to them. And after millennia of being the highest of the high, they cannot accept being made secondary in their world. So they do all they can to keep you ignorant of the reality that you and I can do whatever we want, and need no one’s permission. Not even theirs.”

“Does this apply as well to Dmitriy and Franz? They are of our lineage.”

“No. Somehow...I do not yet fully understand how, just yet...impurities entered their strain. Franz more than Dmitriy. I almost believe with him it was his line becoming tainted by Germanic aristocracy. They have a tendency towards the brutal and mundane, cultivated due to their treatment by the Romans, no doubt.

“With Dmitriy, my feeling is his came through the Hebrew line, which added a hint of victimhood. Which is very damaging to one's self-confidence.

“However, you and I are pure Norman. No Saxon mingled in. Nor Hun. Nor Moor.”

“BlutEngel is Germanic in origin.”

“It is only their version of our true title...L’Ange de Sange.”

“Which is the same thing. Blood Angel.”

“Don’t be simplistic. There is a subtle difference in the emphasis, and that is where you and I depart from their bloodline. Evolve, if you will.”

Good advice...if you can take it...

I am going to try, once again, to simplify my life. At least some. Since I'm so close to being done with A Place of Safety and know what little more must be dealt with, concerning it -- basically, shifting the three volumes into paperback format and setting them up to be published -- I'd like to tone down all the other crap I've been dealing with.

There isn't much I really have to do, anymore. My youngest brother, Kelly, doesn't need me to help him with rent and food; he's got a steady income from SSI. And I doubt any changes the bastard MAGAts want to implement in it will take effect till the beginning of 2026. For either him or myself.

I won't be writing anything that requires massive research like APoS did. If I work on Dair's Window, I've got all the information I need for that. I'll just have to re-familiarize myself with it.

If I continue with Blood Angel, except for the part dealing with Léonidès turning Franz into a vampire I have that pretty much written up to WW2...hell, into New Orleans after Katrina. So that would be fairly straightforward to finish. 

Looking at the expenses I'll have coming up -- taxes to pay, ISBNs to buy, changes in my Medicare gap insurance -- I'm mainly in need of trimming my outgo.

I have all the DVDs I want. I have lots of books still to read...though I do find it awkward reading someone else's writing, because I'm often wondering why they chose to form a sentence this way instead of another way. Like I'm editing it. It's been so long since I've really gotten caught up in a novel...

And I'm pulling back from social media, except to push APoS. The animals have taken over Xitter and are weaving their way into Instagram and Facebook. I'll still support Ukraine as best I can, but I don't have the money to do it, anymore.

So I'm regressing into what Voltaire suggested at the end of Candide: "But let us cultivate our own garden." It's good advice in a time of complete chaos...as we are now sliding into. May even help my blood pressure, most of which is politics-driven.

That'd be a nice benefit of cocooning.

Dust jacket...

Okay...closing in on the final product. I wound up with more synopsis than I needed so trimmed it some. Reads a lot better. Gives a fair assessment of the story, overall. I may do more editing, though; still feels a bit clumsy.

Formatted everything into place, leaving space for the reviews I asked for. That I hope will come in soon. I could just reference the ones from the two other volumes, if need be. I didn't even ask Kirkus, this time. I don't think they do well with multiple volume stories.

Shifted a lot of the graphics over from the Photoshop copy of Derry's jacket. Which made things a lot simpler. And I like the progression of the front cover images. From boy to haunted young man to ghost.

My feeling about the ending of the story is it's a lot gentler than it was, but is still not bright and happy. It never was going to be. Having lived this long, and knowing what I do about history, I cannot see anything really coming together to make things better for people. Too many powerful interests have other plans...be they the rich...or megalomaniacs...or religious leaders...none of them want peace. not really.

The story I use to illustrate this at the end is from both the Hebrew and Christian faiths, and says more about man's incapacity for simple human decency...or, on the rare occasions where they try, to maintain it for any length of time...than anything else.

I just hope it does the job I used it for.

I should be sketching

You know what calmed me most, today? After taking the bus out to Lia Honda, where my car's being fixed? Getting put in an Accord, which I'm grateful for but don't really like? And working at the office for a few hours before hitting a grocery story so I could have food for Thanksgiving...and still forgot to get any turkey?

It was doing this little schematic showing how many pallets of boxes we can fit into a ocean-going container. Both 40' and 20'. We don't handle a lot of ocean freight, so this was to see what we could get away with for a large shipment. It works when using both 18x14x12" and 18x14x16" boxes.

It took all my focus and consideration. Which is funny to say because it's not that complicated. But I felt like I'd created something useful and easy to follow.

I also booked another quickie job, this one in Seattle just after the first of the year. So I'll have all of December to focus on finishing HNH. Still no word from my editor. Normally, she sends me corrections in 50-75 page batches. I hate to nag, but I'll need time to input everything and finalize both the ebook and hardback.

I think for the paperbacks I'm going to do simple covers with no photo art on them. I'll have to purchase ISBNs, which will be a few hundred dollars, but that should be it. And I'll put them out at pretty much the same time. Maybe a week or two between each one. I dunno about that, yet.

I was planning to treat myself to a full-scale steak dinner, once all three volumes of APoS were out and available...but I don't know if I can afford it. I might have to scale down to Chili's or Outback Steak House instead of Ruth's Chris or Russell's. I could also check to see if that steakhouse in Niagara Falls, Canada is still open, I guess. But it'll be nothing sumptuous.

And so what? It'll still be a celebration.

Public Service Announcement...

It seems that when you rent a car from Avis, you have to pay extra to get roadside service in case their car...a car you do not own but are already paying to use...breaks down. If you don't, they will charge you. Doesn't matter if it's not your fault. That you did everything right. That the car just stopped on its own. You get charged for them to send someone out to handle it.

That's what my day was taken up with. Fighting with Avis because they wanted to charge me $146.00 for them to take care of one of their cars breaking down. They've agreed to waive the cost, but when I mentioned I already had AAA and would have used them, instead, had I known this about them...the response was, "Well, now you know."

I also found out my Civic won't be ready till after Thanksgiving weekend...if then. And the cost to rebuild the brake system is nearly $6000. My choices are very simple -- I get the car fixed, or I junk it and do without. Because I cannot afford to buy another one. At least they'll let me use one of their loaners while it stays in the shop.

All of this snowballed into me freaking out over how deep in debt I am, and what charges I'll have coming up. Taxes. Maybe changing health insurance companies. The cost of putting APoS out in paperback. So all I did that could be considered constructive is work up my expenses for the last two jobs, which I'll take into the office tomorrow, after I get the loaner.

I have to; my printer is out of ink and I have no clean paper. Another $50-60 out the door.

How the fuck did writers manage in the face of the world's chaos? I'm no Dickens, Twain, Tolstoy or Stephen King, making a living off my words. How do you handle it when shit just keeps coming at you?

Good thing I've got a certain stubbornness in me that won't stop kicking me down the road instead of leaving me in the gutter.

Still fiddling...

I keep posting these synopses because by doing so, I'm reading them afresh and getting a better sense of how well they're doing. Or not doing. And I'm almost thinking this version doesn't really get the essence of the story and I should start over, from scratch...

Derry, April 1981

Bobby Sands’ hunger strike has been underway for a month and Northern Ireland is caught in nonstop demonstrations, protests...and death at the hands of the IRA, UDA, Constables and British soldiers. The last thing in the world Brendan wants to do is return there. But he is told his mother is dying and wants to see him, so he feels duty-bound to go.

Using the passport of his friend, Jeremy Landau, he enters into the country as an American Jew doing research for a thesis on methods of crowd control, which everyone appears to accept. After all, it’s been eight years since he was spirited away, and many think Brendan Kinsella is long dead. But the British being the British, since there was no body or funeral they're still thinking they want to question him about that bombing.

Of course, once he arrives Brendan finds out his mother never sought his return. In fact, she remains coldly antagonistic to him...while she's lucid. But Percocet messes with her grasp on reality and sometimes she even fails to recognize him as her son, while other times rambles tenderly about the past, as if he's not there. Obviously, the end is drawing near.

Brendan figures he was tricked into coming home because his younger sister, Maeve, needs the help. She is stretched to her limit, caring for Ma, and at the same time she is working for peace, with Father Jack. 

Their older sister, Mairead, is pregnant with twins so is of no use; their Aunt Mari is having issues with her own family; younger brother, Rhuari, assists as he can, but is more focused on keeping himself and his wife as far away from the back and forth with the Constables and Army as possible; while the youngest, Kieran, is in gleeful confrontation with them.

But worse that all of that? His older brother, Eamonn, who’s been in prison for years, is being pushed by Kieran and Ma to add his name to the list of hunger strikers. Something Brendan cannot abide.

He pitches in to help Maeve, planning to keep as low a profile as possible until his mother is gone, even as her ramblings raise troubling questions about his father’s past and why he was murdered. They also reveal unknown aspects of his life that shake Brendan’s long-held disdain for him. He starts to dig deeper into the man’s life, but then Father Jack lets slip that Joanna might not have been killed, sending Brendan careening into turmoil.

For eight years he’d thought her dead and himself partly to blame, and no one had said a word to him, otherwise. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself, but before he can do so Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into more death and destruction.

Now Brendan is trapped. The British Army knows he's not Jeremy and are closing in to arrest him. And it looks more and more like there is no safe place for him.

Does this make you want to read the story?

Working on it...

This image is going to be on the back of the jacket.

I adjusted the synopsis for the dust jacket while en route to Chicago. Longer...more detailed...but better? Seems a bit loose.

Derry, April 1981

The hunger strike has been underway for a month and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. Demonstrations. Protests. Rioting. And more death at the hands of the IRA, Constables and British soldiers. The last thing in the world Brendan wants to do is return there. But he is told his mother is dying and she wants to see him, so he feels duty-bound to go.

Using the passport of his friend, Jeremy Landau, he slips into the country pretending to be an American Jew researching a paper for his thesis, and everyone appears to accept that. After all, it’s been eight years since he was spirited off, and many think the lad known as Brendan Kinsella is long dead...though that doesn't keep the British from still wanting to question him about the bombing that nearly killed him.

He quickly finds out his mother did not ask for him. In fact, she remains coldly antagonistic to him...while lucid. Under the effects of Percocet, she sometimes rambles about the past and fails to recognize him as her son. It is now very obvious the end is near, for her.

Brendan figures he was tricked into coming home because it is Maeve, his younger sister, who needs him. She is stretched to her limit, caring for Ma and working for peace, with Father Jack. His older sister, Mairead, is pregnant with twins so cannot help. His Aunt Mari is having issues with her own family. His younger brother, Rhuari, has been helping some, but is more focused on keeping himself and his wife as much out of the back and forth with the Constables and Army as possible. And his youngest brother, Kieran, is in gleeful confrontation with them.

But what is worse? His older brother, Eamonn, is in prison and being pushed to add his name to the list of hunger strikers. Something Brendan cannot abide.

Since his mother’s death is near, Brendan stays to help Maeve while keeping as low a profile as possible. But his mother’s ramblings raise questions about his father’s past and why the man was murdered. And he is sent careening into turmoil when Father Jack lets slip that Joanna might not have been killed in the bombing that injured Brendan. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself but is blocked at every turn.

Until Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into full-scale rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him closes in.

Cover work started...

I've begun prepping the dust jacket for A Place of Safety-Home Not Home and it's coming together nicely except for one thing -- I need to expand my synopsis for the flaps. What I have now is short, tense and to the point...maybe too much so.

April 1981

Hunger strikes are underway and Northern Ireland is in turmoil. That’s when Brendan is called home, thinking his terminally ill mother wants to see him. He travels there under a different name, trying to keep a low profile because the British still want to question him about the bombing that injured him. What he finds is, despite being in the final stages of cancer she is still very antagonistic towards him.

But he also sees his sister, Maeve, is worn out both caring for their mother while also working for peace. His younger brother, Rhuari, helps some but tries to keep himself out of the back-and-forth with the Army. then there's his youngest brother, Kieran, who treats full confrontation with the authorities as a game. What is worse, his older brother, Eamonn, is locked up in Maze prison, is considering adding his name to the list of hunger strikers.

Then under the influence of her medication, his mother inadvertently reveals secrets about his father that make him wonder if the man’s murder was really sectarian violence or merely petty revenge. But as he looks into it, Father Jack inadvertently reveals to him that Joanna might still be alive, which knocks Brendan off-center. He tries to find a way to verify it without revealing himself yet is blocked at everyu turn.

Then Bobby Sands dies and Derry explodes into rioting and death, trapping Brendan in the chaos as the British Army’s search for him begins to close in.

It barely covers the front flap so I've removed it.. Much more is needed...maybe. I'm still thinking on that.

Home, and happier...

Drove back to Buffalo along the 90 Thruway with it raining nonstop. Even a dash of snow.  The big, black Jeep Grand Cherokee Hybrid I was given is very comfortable and the heated seats were all I really needed to keep warm enough. If I get too cozy, I get sleepy, so I let myself stay a bit on the chilled side.

Tomorrow is laundry, a few groceries, gas, and sorting out the paperwork. I'm not turning the car in till Sunday, when I fly out for Chicago. It was a week charge for the vehicle, anyway. I still prefer my Civic's size to this SUV, but I can adjust.

My constant, right now, is being in a sort of limbo when it comes to the writing projects. I cannot seem to focus on anything except finalizing HNH. I did add in a bit where Brendan gives a deposition about being waterboarded while at Castlereagh. But he knows nothing will come of it. The European Court on Human Rights is too weak to go up against England's self-righteousness, as was proven in 1978 when Ireland asked them to designate the Army's treatment of certain prisoners as torture instead of, effectively, just saying it wasn't nice to do.

It added a paragraph into the next to the last chapter, but didn't affect the Table of Contents numbering.

I also decided I didn't like the final sentence of the chapter preceding it. Brendan saying his new role in life was that of Brendan Kinsella. It's silly. I have to think of a better one.

As I've often noted, the book is not done being written until it's in print.

Milk is the magic elixir...

Got the books on their way, despite a steady downpour of rain. There were two people with the van for pickup, so I let them bring the boxes out and I wiped off the water, once they were in the van, so everything would stay dry. I now know that 34 cartons at 18x14x12" will cover the floorboard of a transit van, wall to wall to the back of the seats.

Dropped by the Norman Rockwell Museum afterwards and got an actual poster of Murder in Mississippi. They didn't have it available the last time I went, a few years back. I have a smaller printout of it framed and on my wall to remind me that racist murder and hate have long been a part of this country's heritage.

Then I had a decent pizza and took a nap...and woke up feeling cranky. Till I had a glass of milk. That seemed to even me out. I like milk...not just in my tea but to cook with and...well, to be honest...it's almost like a comfort food. I practically lived on it when I was growing up. Would drink it instead of water. Same for cheese. Must be the Norwegian in me.

I worked up costing for a couple possible jobs in February and March/April...and found out there will be a shadow fair in San Francisco the weekend before the California Book Fair in Pasadena. Seems the organizers finally managed to drive out the previous people arranging the fair, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. But it's not something I need to deal with.

My next project is getting the book cover done for HNH. I have the template and will do the same as with Derry and NWFO...leave a blank space on the back for any reviews that come in. I'm not asking Kirkus because the last one was a bit off-putting. Didn't seem connected to the first book, at all. BookLife paid more attention to it.

So tomorrow is heading home. Then it's a quick job in Chicago-not-Chicago. Fun.

Displace energies...

I blasted through and got the job done, today. Moved pickup to tomorrow morning, from Friday. I'm still not returning home till then. I need some space to relax and recharge...if I can. I beginning to wonder if my batteries are spent, completely, beyond redemption.

I am so fucking tired. Feet hurt. This new SUV I've got has heated seats and using that on my back as I drove home helped that part of my anatomy. Now I'm going to soak in a tub and try not to fall asleep.

I don't want to do this, anymore, but I am so fucked up, financially, I have to just to keep up with my bills. Even going to a credit consolidator is only leaving me with $400 a month to live on. I can't do that in today's world., not even on beans and rice.

I am proud of finally finishing APoS's last volume, and I'll be able to put it into circulation around Christmas, but damn I've spent so much money trying to get Derry and NWFO noticed, I can't do any of it for HNH. I look back at how much I've spent on just that book for listings and postings and publicity and book fairs and copies and...and it's close to a third of my debt. And next to nothing is happening, with it, in sales.

I'm not lowering the price. $32.50 seems high for each hardcover, but any lower and I'm not making any money on it. Actually paying to have it printed. So I'm stuck.

I dunno...maybe volume 3 is better off not being noticed...

I do not want a new car...

Lovely morning, this morning, when the new Jeep Grand Cherokee I'd driven from Buffalo to Great Barrington, MA refused to start. Refused to unlock. Refused to do anything. Even when Avis sent someone out to jump start it...nothing. Completely, totally and absolutely dead.

With all of my packing materials in the back.

I remembered new cars' beeper fobs usually have an emergency key in them, so was able to open the driver's door...but couldn't even get the other doors to unlock. So everything came out the hard way.

I wound up being driven to the Avis counter at Bradley Airport near Hartford, where they were as unaccommodating as possible. Everything is set up, according to roadside assistance. Except they should have informed that Avis office. That took forever, so I go to the packing site 4.5 hours late.

I'm already leery of modern cars with their heavy reliance on electronics, and this has only confirmed my insistence on keeping my little Civic. I'm spending thousands to get the brakes overhauled, but it's an amazing car, considering it's 27 years old. And being without it has shown me how much I need it.

I did have a thought hit me about HNH...that Brendan needs to either testify about being waterboarded...and not being believed...or refusing to talk about. It's too big a deal to ignore.

So I'll add that when I do my corrections.

Strange...

Drove to Great Barrington, MA from Buffalo. An easy drive straight down the 90 going east...well, after I got past Rochester. Supposedly, there was a major wreck on the 90 between Rochester and Buffalo so I took the 33 to the 490 then on to connect, and it was nice. Slower but also more soothing.

Maybe too soothing. Normally when I'm driving I can think about some project I'm working on or want to work on, but not this time. My brain refused to engage. Nothing on DW or BA or even continuing with The Beast as horror erotica. I'd try to start something and it would just drift away.

I'd look at the passing scenery and buildings in the countryside. Decide I prefer the spicy Cheez-its to the bacon and cheese ones. Chew some peppermint gum. Stop for a pee break and to stretch my legs. All without a thought in my head.

One thought that came to me is I've decided no matter what happens next, me having written all three volumes of A Place of Safety is what I'm most proud of. No matter what people say about it, I did right by Brendan and his story. Some details may be wrong, here and there, but the truth of the story stands. 

That is what it boils down to. I wasn't writing a novel about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. I was relating the story of Brendan and his world. How he navigated it. How he almost did not survive it. That's why my initial big-bang ending, where he joins the IRA and kills Father Jack as a tout, was all wrong. It wasn't Brendan's way. Never could be.

So a quiet ending was necessary. Cutting all ties. Heading off into his own existence. I don't know if anyone will understand that...if I related it well-enough...but to me, that is what it means.

The only way to survive in this world is to not let yourself get caught up in its chaos.

Pause

Off to another packing job, tomorrow. And that quickie one almost immediately following. So I'm not back to myself until Wednesday, the 27th. At which time I will need to start considering whether I want to stay with my current health insurance and lose my doctor, or stay with my doctor and change insurance. On top of a number of other situations.

Then there's my car, in for repairs that will be fucking expensive, and I can't charge it. My one workable credit card will be full with the cost of these trips till I get my expenses reimbursed. So there goes most of my savings.

I'm gonna have to work till I'm dead, looks like. That or try this new fad diet called starvation. Can you do a GoFundMe to pay off credit card debt?

I gotta stop my worrying. No matter how freaked out I get over the future, it never turns out like I expect. And reality is, I will have A Place of Safety done and out and available...after decades of working on it. No matter what happens, I have that...and I am fucking proud of myself for completing it...

If I get my editor's feedback in time. I haven't heard a thing from them, yet.

It's funny, but now that I have Queer Manifesto/Porno Manifesto in screenplay format, it's not as pressing a project. I may work on it in the evenings...but I have a lot of books, in my ebook queue. I'd like to get some of those read.

At least I'm not all that depressed, anymore. Seems the MAGAt winners are already beginning to snap and snarl at each other. Maybe chaos in that party will be our friend and protector. Who'd have thunk it?

Major change

I finished a reformatting of Porno Manifesto...now called Queer Manifesto. But to be honest, I'm still not sure about the title. It's kind of meh, to me. I mean, it works into the story and sort of fits with the ending, which is blunt and brutal, because the ending took off in a different direction. Which makes sense...I just don't know if the script leads up to it. 

Freddy, the one who initiates the action against Alec, tries to kill himself because he's been revealed as a self-loathing closet case. Alec sees it happen, albeit months after the fact. He'd put cameras in Freddy's room to record what was going on...and catches it just before the server goes blank.

So...overall, Alec's plan to prove any male is capable of gay sex in the right place at the right time works. But it destroys a couple of lives in doing so.

I have to go through to make certain the dialogue aligns correctly from page to page, so I'll see what happens. The structure of this script is in 5 acts, not three. Which I don't have a problem with so long as one leads correctly to the next.

That's what I'm not sure about. I think they build to the moment when Alec is nearly beaten to death, at the end of act 4, while the last act is his recovery and return to being human, again, and not a vicious beast. It's Freddy's suicide attempt that jolted me, along with the hint that one of his buddies may have suggested it and left him the method he uses.

It's 122 pages, currently, but I have a feeling it will wind up more like 124-125. There are long moments of action in this, without dialogue, so if made it could easily fit over 2 hours. Which I don't worry about. I doubt it will ever even be considered for production.

I still want feedback on this. I may post it on a couple of gay sites to get comments, once I have it in as good a form as I can. Post each act...get an idea of how it's going...

Yesterday was a shit day making me feel even older than I am. And poorer. I slept a lot, once I got home from the errands I had to run. I'm slipping into poverty, not that I was ever rich. Barely middle class. And now it's crashing down around me. So...it will be what it will be.

Down...

 I follow this guy on Xitter...which is becoming a cesspool of filth and degradation.

It speaks volumes that white working class men would rather have a back-stabbing criminal in office than an accomplished black woman. And don't get me started on the supporters of Palestinians in Gaza who said not to vote for Harris, especially in Michigan, and now have their worst nightmares about to come true, there.

The world is so fucking stupid, and completely out of control. I'm almost rooting for Mother Nature to just wipe us out.

WTF???

Jesus Christ, the world is out to prove to me it's completely fucked up. Everything, everywhere around me.

To start...that job in Chicago isn't actually in Chicago. It's 90 miles west of the city. When I asked the client  if this was correct, just got an, Oops, sorry for the confusion. I can still do it, but had to make some changes.

Then it turns out my car isn't even getting worked on till Monday, next week, when I'm out of town. I got the Had to find a part and it won't be in, till then excuse. So I am car-less till I get back from Chicago, 10 days from now.

I thought I could handle it, okay. I had a couple prescriptions to pick up and the Walgreens I use is only half a mile away, so I can walk that. Get some milk and a few other things, too. Only I can't find my sunglasses and it's a cloudless day. I think I left them in the car.

On top of it, this Walgreens doesn't have any milk. At all. Hasn't for weeks. And a couple of other things I wanted were sold out. I'd have got it all from the Rite Aid across the street, but they're caught in bankruptcy and their shelves are, seriously, bare. They don't even have any frozen food; just lots of beer that people walk in and steal.

So I come home and think, I can order some groceries to be delivered and get my stuff that way. Except the Tops I shop at was ALSO out of the things I wanted...like Neutrogena hand cream, which I always get there. Not today. Same for an Icy Hot ointment I use. NO place has it.

I can walk the mile to Target to get those two things. Which I'll do, tomorrow, after an in-home appointment I've got with a Highmark/Blue Cross person. There's an argument between my medical group and them over billing, or something, and they may cut my doctors off. So I'd have to either change insurance in the next 4 weeks or pay for out of network visits, starting in June of next year. I can't afford that.

Then I remembered I have a doctor's appointment on Friday near downtown. I can Uber it for $25 or take the bus. But I also need to hit the bank and stop by the office to get paperwork for the Chicago job...and then how am I getting to the airport to pick up an SUV for next week's job? Got me to looking into bus schedules. But i cannot find out what the fare is. Maybe $1.75 a trip...but that's from a notice posted 15 years ago.

I thought life would be easier, once I got to this age. Instead, the world is disintegrating. I got so off-center I finally just had to lie down on my couch and let myself zone.

Plans tossed aside...

Okay...Chicago job is on. An overnighter. So that had to be set up and worked into my schedule. And I'm having trouble getting a prescription refilled, so that took time. And on top of it, I took my first step in getting back in control of my debt.

I'm using a debt consolidation service that will end my use of a couple of cards that just keep building up. They will work out a deal with my two Mastercards, and I will stop paying 20% a year interest. How it's going to work makes me a bit nervous. I stop making monthly payments and they talk to the cards' people to settle. Should take about six months.

But it's this or I slide into total bankruptcy, and I don't want that. So I've ended a couple of auto-pay charges to them -- like for Ps, Word and internet -- and removed them as usable for flights, hotels and car rental. That last one, with Avis, was a major chore. They wouldn't let me do it online; I had to call to get it straightened out...and got passed up to second tier customer service before it was done.

The good thing is, my rent is rated according to my income. Never more than 30%. And I'll have a lot of deductions, this year, thanks to APoS and the publicity I did for it...that achieved nothing. So maybe in June I can get it lowered.

Guess we'll see how it goes. I just couldn't let things continue as they were, especially if the GOP implements Project 2025's recommendations on Social Security and Medicare. My savings has dwindled way too far down.

Meaning nothing got done on PM. I'm still debating on completing it...but I guess I will. See what happens.

Looks like I'll be working till I'm dead.

Second guessing, once more...

I honestly do not know why I'm working on Porno Manifesto, right now. It was helping me vent some frustrations, but it's proving to be slow-going working in Word, and I'm not sure I'm not wasting my time on a nothing distraction. Again.

What's adding to the pain is going through this script and seeing just how many typos and mistakes it had. So far I've caught myself calling Alec, Alex, five times in just half the script.

One section made absolutely no sense because I'd cut out the part of that was in the book that set it up. And don't get me started on the words missing in the middle of a sentence. God, I wonder if all my scripts were lie this, or if I'm just deteriorating, mentally.

I'd really like to get started on Dair's Window, which is more romance and a bit of history about the marriage fight in 2010, but first I need to get HNH done and out there. Thing is, I can't do anything more on it till I get the feedback from my editor. And considering my current writing capabilities, I'd be an idiot not to wait. God knows how many she'll find.

Bugs is so right about me...

Slow going...

Well, shifting a screenplay from Final Draft to Word is not the easiest thing I've ever done. Actually, it was a pdf copy of the script that I did a cut and paste into a Word doc. Doing that removed all the formatting, but that is not a huge issue. Just a time-consuming one.

Word is cranky at the best of times, for me. So shifting the formatting from the bottom of the page into looking like the top of the page is not A-B-C. I tried to set up tabs but found that wasn't complete enough. So I'm adjusting margins for each bit.

By removing the hard returns at the end of each line, I can make the adjustment apply to an entire bit of dialogue or narrative. That's where it takes time. I'm about 1/3 of the way through the script.

I'm also updating it and making adjustments in the characters and story. Changed one character to a black lesbian. I'm increasing the relationship between my MC, Alec, and a secondary one named Joseph. If all goes well, I should have it done by the end of the week.

Right now, I'm calling it Revenge Manifesto, but that's kind of clumsy. I need a better, more intense one. Like Alec and the Assholes. That's pretty specific, but I don't think it would go over well with the general public. Drop the whole Manifesto bullshit.

I'm still angry about the election and how the Democratic leadership is basically letting the GOP get away with what's looking more and more like voter fraud. The numbers don't add up and people are calling them out about it.

For all the good that'll do.

Another segue...

In honor of the sudden popularity of that vile phrase, Your body, my choice, being hurled at women and girls, I'm reworking Porno Manifesto into a counter-argument. Basically, Alec Presslea is gay-bashed and his bashers are protected by the cops and DA's office. So he sets out to get his own justice.

Which includes him telling his college-boy attackers, "Your ass, my choice." And carrying through with it on a few of them. I think I need a better title, but this does okay, for now.

I don't have Final Draft, anymore, and working in Word to do this as a screenplay is a pain, but it's coming along. What's going to be fun is sending it out to competitions in my usual asshole fashion. I think the story's time has come...pun intended.

It helps me with my anger-issues, right now. Seems the fuck your feelings crowd is a bit taken aback at the fury being directed at them. Nick Fuentes, who's probably the dipshit who most popularized that vile phrase, got doxxed. I honestly don't know if the information being given out about him is correct, since it's a couple years old, but we should find out soon enough.

He's always struck me as a self-loathing closet case out to prove just how much of a monster he can be, so I don't care what happens to him. Same for Andrew Tate, who's waxed eloquently about the joys of getting blow jobs from men at the same time he abuses women. Yeah, some straight-guy heroes for the incels.

What's funny is the assholes on Xitter who think they're getting to me by calling me names and laughing about the situation. They don't seem to like it when I mock them as childish brats unworthy of consideration.

I've stayed in, the last couple days, because it's rather obvious that I am in no mood to be around people. 

Slowly moving forward

Okay, today I got my Library of Congress Control Number for APoS-HNH. And I finished the table of contents, complete. Both the ebook and the hardback files are now conformed with any and all changes made.

So I'm just waiting on my editor to get back to me with her changes and comments on mistakes. I'll input those, page by page on each, at the same time. And then it will be ready to go.

This book...Brendan's story...that I've been working on for nearly 30 years...will be done. I cannot fucking believe it. Just in time for the world to fall apart.

Of course, there are still paperback editions to put out, but those are just a matter of reformatting and updating the table of contents on each. I may issue all of them at the same time. Look into doing a box set.

The last time I did a trilogy was Bobby Carapisi, and I finally combined them all into a single volume that's rather massive...but still only a bit over 192,000 words. I seriously doubt I could get away with it on this one. Total word count for APoS is over 387,000 words. I know that's like a short story to Steven King, but still...

Of course, Gone with the Wind had 418,000 and it's not even in the top ten of lengthy novels. Here's a list I found...

Marienbad My Love by Mark Leach: 17,800,000 words; 10,710 pages. Set in the 60s, this book follows a journalist. 

The Blah Story by Nigel Tomm: A lesser-known work but notable for its length and the use of experimental literary techniques, this comes in three volumes; 11,338,105 words. 

In the Realms of the Unreal by John MacGregor: An examination of Henry Darger's life, it's considered the largest work of fiction ever created, telling the story of seven sisters known as the Vivian Girls. 3,786,250 words. 

Clarissa, or, the History of a Young Lady by Samuel Richardson: This epistolary novel, published in 1748! 950,000 words. (Imagine doing the type-setting by hand...)

Miss MacIntosh, My Darling by Marguerite Young: Published in 1965, this novel is about 750,000 words. 

Jerusalem by Alan Moore: Known for its intricate plot and massive scope; over 600,000 words. 

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth: One of the longest novels ever published in a single volume; 591,552 words. 

Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand: This philosophical novel published in 1957; 561,996 words. 

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy: Originally published in 1869, this renowned Russian novel contains about 560,000 to 587,000 words.

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo: At 545,925 words, published in 1862, this novel is a critical social commentary of 19th-century France.

I feel positively brief, next to them.

It never ends...

Democrats are still begging me for money, and trying to shame me for not giving them any. Fuck that whole fucking party. If they can't beat a creature as vile and reprehensible as that orange traitor, they aren't worth paying attention to, anymore.

Besides, I found out today my Civic's brakes need a major overhaul, and it's costing well into six figures. Lots of corrosion. Drums that need to be replaced. Fluid lines starting to leak. My mushy brakes were the prelude to complete brake failure. Not going that way, I'm not.

What's wild is, they showed me everything while it was up on the lift...and my car's frame is remarkably clean and neat. Minimal rust. Still damned solid in every other way...including the muffler, which I've replaced twice since moving up here

So my choices were...buy a new car (which I cannot afford), do without (which is difficult), or get it fixed. Chose the last one; it's been a damn good car and is worth it. 

I left it there till they got the parts, since they didn't want me to drive the car. Understandably. Liability issues. They paid for an Uber to bring me home. Seems a number of dealers are doing that, now, instead of having courtesy shuttles.

Now I just need to figure out how to handle paying for it. I was stupid enough to work out a plan to bring my debt down. Should have known better. Any time I do that, I get hit by a major expense...jacking it back up.

I did more prep on HNH. I'm at the last step, where I have to delete all hidden bookmarks. That is very tedious and time consuming, so I'll face it, tomorrow.

Guess I'm not retiring from the book-packing for another 20 years...especially if the GOP does away with Social Security.

Black day...

I'm still furious that my obviously racist country preferred a white criminal male to an accomplished black female. I couldn't believe it. The vote was not even close. I halfway think the GOP's voter suppression is the cause, but that won't matter since our Department of Justice is not interested in holding Republican leaders liable for anything.

I'm also more than a little scared. I live off social security and those MAGAt bastards want to cut it back if not do away with it. I have no other source of income that I can live on. My book sales are at the level of petty cash. So I've been bouncing off walls all day.

And all of last night. I could not sleep till nearly 7am, and then only for a few hours. I wound up making potato soup at 4am. It's a comfort food the way I do it -- half dozen or so white potatoes (or Russet), half a large onion, couple of thick carrots, thin deli ham, salt, pepper, quarter cup of butter, and a teaspoon of mint flakes -- all chopped and mixed together with water to cover and let simmer in a crock pot on low for 6-10 hours. 

You can blend it, if you want, but I like to mash the potatoes and carrots together, leaving it all a bit lumpy. Had a bowl when I woke up at 10:30am. Helped a lot.

I managed to do more on prepping HNH for ebook, then lost focus and commiserated with online friends about the horror that is to come, in Washington. I can't escape the country; I don't have any money and I'm deep in debt. I'm going to meet with someone about either consolidating what I owe or going bankrupt. That orange traitor did it enough times. I don't feel like being nice, right now.

I watched a DVD of Death on the Nile with Peter Ustinov as Hercule Poirot...and it was okay. Nowhere near the level of Murder on the Orient Express, where Albert Finney was the sleuth, but good enough.

Oh, and I'd forgotten I once had a major crush on Simon MacCorkindale.

One of those days...

Long and not very easy. Voting went fast because I do it in the community room of my building, and no one was ahead of me. I heard I was #165 voting by 9am. But then I hit Quest for the bloodwork, fasting, and even though I had a 9:30 appointment I wasn't called till after 10am. And the person doing the draw had to play with the veins in my hand to get all they needed. Veins in my arm have long since hidden away. Got a nice little hematoma, there.

I shipped a copy of NWFO off to a cousin who'd asked for a signed one and had to patiently work with a PO Desk clerk who has a neurological disorder that makes her difficult to understand. I also learned because I had one digit wrong on the street address, books I'd sent to a friend were being returned to me. I'd used 12106 instead of 12108.

The office was easy, at least. Talked about the book fair in Hong Kong and how some dealers are ignoring the fact that things are different, now. Hong Kong is not really a free-port, anymore, and new rules have to be followed. Got labels and paperwork for my next packing job and was provided lunch. Beef on Weck from a sandwich shop near the place. It was tasty, but the meat was almost raw...and I didn't feel all that great the rest of the day.

My car's brakes didn't feel good, either, so set up an appointment to have them checked, on Thursday. Bumped getting my haircut till then, too. Got $140 worth of groceries and came home. Took a nap, and got started on reformatting HNH into an ebook...and found a typo. Of course.

I should have waited. I'm back to thinking the damn thing doesn't make any sense or is too simplistic. Too late to make any huge changes...even though I'm going to. One minor character is shifting from male to female because it makes more sense.

I'm impossible.

Damned rules...

Well, it seems in order for me to get a review done at Publishers Weekly, I have to send them an ebook version of Home Not Home. Which I'd forgotten about having to do the two previous times. So the next couple of days...well Wednesday and Thursday...will be taken up prepping one. Irritating.

It's not an easy process, to start with. But I've done it enough times to where it's no longer painful. Just time-consuming. And I can't really start tomorrow because it's voting day and I'm getting bloodwork and going into Caladex for a little while, then grocery shopping and getting a haircut.

I've been putting off the last part for as long as I could. I just didn't want to go out and around people until I had to, and that's what Tuesday's for.

I spent today working up the front cover of HNH and prepping the synopsis for the back cover. I'll need a photo for the back...but haven't found it, yet. Looking at this, now, I'm thinking I'll clean up some of the mess around the lad's eye, to make it clearer. Maybe over the nose, as well. But this is a good start.

Dear God, I'm hoping Harris slaughters that orange traitor, whose name I will not say or write. If he manages to cheat his way in, we're dead as a country.

I think this is it...

I have a really good feeling about this cover mockup. It's got the right blend for what I want -- young, almost blank so any emotion could be read into it. I added a highlight to his eye, but that's all. I'm going to let it sit a few days, but I do feel right about it.

After working on BC, yesterday, I went into blank mode, today. I was half-intending to go out for groceries, today, but just couldn't work up the impetus. Did get laundry done. Last of my paperwork for the jobs this past week. Got a lot of cash coming in but also a lot going out, since a lot of it's reimbursement for my expenses.

BC is still working its way through my mind. I may get back onto that, tomorrow. Or I may go get the groceries I need and a haircut, if anyone's available. And a salad. I'm not big on the green stuff, but sometimes I just plain want it. Hit Panera and get their Fuji Apple with turkey instead of chicken.

A cousin of mine told me she made tamales and suddenly I'm craving the damn things. But there is no-place in this town that offers the real ones, like you find in San Antonio. Small. Slim. Wrapped in a corn husk. Three good bites and it's gone.

The ones they make here are the size of burritos. Not the same thing. And they offer chicken. Sacrilege! Tamales are made with pork! That's like putting chicken in a chef salad. Turkey and ham should be the only meats...maybe with bacon bits...

Not that I'm being didactic.

Do I even inhabit my mind?

I pulled up my original Word doc of Bobby Carapisi, skimmed through it and pulled out the sections I'm keeping for the screenplay to put on a separate document. The next step is to go through that and slice out all the extraneous chit-chat and mental wordage I've put in it, thanks to Eric, Bobby, and Allen.

I'm also updating it from 15 years ago, when it first came out. Bobby now tells his story on his phone instead of a tape recorder. Eric doesn't take his long walk from downtown to Hollywood, anymore; too much of that area's been redeveloped and is now bland. And I chopped out Bobby's courtship of his wife, Donna, and will be combining two of Allen's remembered rapes into one.

There are a couple of TV talk show transcripts I need to figure out how to work around because they are long. As is Eric's ordeal while undergoing the gathering of evidence for the rape kit. At the moment, I'll be lucky to keep it at 150 pages.

So why am I doing this? No idea. It's almost automatic. I did not consciously choose it. My thought, today, was to work up my expenses for the last three jobs and have those ready for Monday...even though I won't get reimbursed until the middle of the month, at the earliest.

I also need to prep for another packing job the week of the 18th. But playing with my book like a screenwriter doing an adaptation took preference.

This won't be the first time I've shifted a long book into a screenplay. I used two books about Beryl Markham to develop a 130 page screenplay about her life up till she flew from the UK to North America, and got an award for it. I just don't know if I can do that with something I originated.

So much of the story's emotional depth comes from the lives I build in each character. It's that way with all my novels, even the erotic ones. I write stories and characters, not porno-crap mean solely to titillate. Maybe that's why I don't do so well with them, sales-wise.

Why? Whhhyyyyyyyy?

I wonder about my brain, sometimes. The directions it takes without my expecting it. How plans I make get shattered because my mental processes refuse to speak to me until they can cause me the most chaos.

I stopped by The Corning Museum of Glass, today, and saw a couple new exhibits and got some ideas on how to makes Dair's chosen art form to be even more impressive when he makes his projects...and had a damn good butternut squash ravioli for lunch. Also learned Blown Away 4 has happened. But it's only on NetFlix. Dammit.

And then, on the final leg of my drive home, what did I do? Work more on the screenplay for Bobby Carapisi. 5 acts; 125 pages, maybe 130, max. Cutting the story to the bone.

Act One -- Eric's assault (alluded to but not shown), and how he's manhandled by the system of justice, despite pushing for justice. His drifts into drugs and prostitution.

Act Two -- Bobby's assault (also alluded to) but he was handled with kid gloves, letting him ignore the effects it's having on him. But rumors keep building.

Act Three -- Eric learns of how Bobby was coddled and hits the media, blowing the story up. Bobby is driven off the baseball diamond and commits suicide. Followed by Eric's guilt over his part in it and an apology to Bobby's mother.

Act Four -- Allen is sent to prison despite claiming his innocence. He insists everything was consensual. But Eric connects with him to tell his story...and investigates his claims, including speaking with a past victim.

Act Five -- Eric locates Allen's family and realizes he was brutally abused by them. He drifted into being part of the assaults, lied non-stop about who he was, and is self-destructive, now...but he finally admits what was done to Bobby

Epilogue -- Allen dies in prison, and Eric is on the road to recovery.