...Since I am blank of brain, today...I share these bits of wisdom and hope to make them work within Simon's story. Now referred to as MQM...The Murder of a Quiet Man.
It's come in handy. I seem to have issues with local water, so have long avoided anything that might have been washed with it, like salads or lettuce and tomato on burgers. I buy distilled water to use for brushing my teeth and making tea, and even washing fruit if I feel like having an apple. It's helped.
Water properties can change significantly from one city to another, primarily due to differences in the water's source and the treatment processes used., especially in mineral content, pH, and taste. So I don't deal with it. I can handle Buffalo's water because I'm used to cooking with it, but I don't drink that from the tap, either. Same for bottled Spring Water. I go for Smart Water.
If I do Hong Kong, they have a brand called Watson Water that's distilled, so I can get that. And I've found Smart Water is available throughout much of Europe and the UK.
Anyway, I'm a lot better, now...and I'm vaguely thinking of Simon's book. Its title shifted, again, into The Murder of a Quiet Man. Or maybe...The Killing of a Silent Man. Still unsure about which or even either. There's too much brewing in the back of my head over this book, and I'm trying to avoid any repetition of something I've already done.
Since I'm off to Rhode Island, tomorrow, ain't doing much writing till that's done and I'm back, in a couple days. But I'm going to take my time with this one. It almost feels like it will be a delicate piece to write...
Me? Delicate? What a laugh.
I had a bit of a...I won't say it's a religious experience, but something came down from the ether to touch my direction and guide me...and I need to sit in quiet for a lot longer before I really understand enough to share the feeling it brought me.
I then went to a used bookstore and found a biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer that convinced me to buy it...
As mentioned, I'm still contemplating what's come over me...but wanted to put a place-holder for it in my mind and intentions.
I had an interesting thought come up, today. Putting BA-4 aside and working up another coloring book. Call it Demented Dreams of DILFs...more mature men who are Dads I'd Like to Fuck. No full nudity. Maybe even fully dressed, for some of them. Giving them names and doing 26 of them...meaning one for every letter of the alphabet.
Or align it with my books. Curt and Shayes in HTRASG. Alec and Freddy in PM. Antony in RIHC6. That might be just as interesting...and better promotional work. Maybe. Not all that sure...
If I'm going to, I have to get hard onto it so it'll be ready for Christmas. Work out the setup in each image. Cover, front and rear, like Demented Dreams, of guys in trouble. That sold fairly well, and I'd like to see if I can get back some of the money I've poured into publishing, this year. Sales have pretty much collapsed.
It might also get my mind off the insanity surrounding the death of Charlie Kirk. The right wing's hysteria is boiling over into death threats agains all liberals and promises of retribution, when they don't even know who the shooter is, yet. So far, it looks more and more like a right wing nut or even something set up by Felon47 to deflect from the Epstein files.
You may think suggesting that is on the crazy side...but I would not put it past him. He's connected to too many of the sudden deaths of people who threatened him. The son-of-a-bitch.
I feel the same way about Felon47, in the White House...except I do not want him assassinated. I want him to die of natural causes, because if he's shot he'll become a martyr to the MAGAt Class and that is not acceptable. But if he's taken out by a heart attack or stroke, JD Vance becomes president and he does not have the ability to keep the bastard's cult going.
Hmph...35 years ago I had the idea of updating Aristophanes' The Birds into a cyber-punk screenplay. Set in a dystopian future where the Anglo class lived in towers reaching to the sun and the punks were at ground level working in packs to live off the dregs. Two men from the Anglo class come down to rile them up into fighting back in ways that would disrupt everything, online...forcing better conditions for them all.
I never pursued it. I mean, I did a first draft that wasn't very good but still...it would have been way ahead of its time. And I felt it was too late to do when 2001 came around.
I'm getting a similar feeling from Simon Halloran's story. That it would have been best to write it a couple years ago. Make its quiet points in a way that's accessible to people. Now the political chaos is out of control and no way can I keep up with that in my writing. Not when ICE is running around kidnapping, killing and deporting people with impunity.
This is not the America I want to live in.
I'm also having an odd emotional reaction to these books. They're all about WW1, with lots of poetry and reminiscences that seem to have been self-published. It's been well over a hundred years since the end of that war, one that was seen as being stupid and begun thanks to a few men's egos...once called The War to End All Wars...and had history has shown, it didn't.
I'm feeling an odd sadness deep within at how casually mankind will kill and destroy while how hard it is to get them to care for others and to build. Russia in Ukraine. Israel in Gaza. India and Pakistan. The dozen conflicts going on in Africa. And peace is almost never the true intention of them. It's just power and domination.
We're basically in a non-shooting civil war in the US, between the MAGAt Class of racists and those of us who despise everything they stand for. Felon47 is sending troops into cities that do not support him, as if he can force his will on them. Like he forced himself on God knows how many women and children.
Maybe this feeling I'm having is more like melancholy at how people refuse to learn from history. Refuse to grow. They almost seem to...then forget it all and start pretending the lies they're being fed by the billionaire-owned media is truth, even when it directly contradicts reality.
This has me thinking about Simon Holleran, again. He winds up killed because he wouldn't roll over in the face of a system of justice meant to protect those in power, not him. Not sure how I could work all of this into his story...but it is beginning to weigh on me.
Not even sure if I want to bother...
This is from a job I did more than 3 years ago, which was fairly well-organized and clean. Today's library is another that's an exception to the rule of packing; it's in order and easy to deal with. Not even any dust. Not a great workspace, overall, but not the worst I've ever had to deal with.
I do love interacting with books. Like the psycho I am, I talk to them and ask them to help each other when dealing with one that's more fragile...and even let them know they're going to good homes. I also pay compliments or give sympathy when they haven't been cared for, in the past.
Had no time to really think about BA-4. Even after dinner. I was too tired and had other things that had to be done. Now I'm going to draw a nice hot bath and sit in it till I'm shriveled up like a prune.
And try to figure out how best to utilize the fine work being turned out by the woman I've hired for promoting my writing. I've been pretty neglectful in that. And am too dumb to work it out for myself so may ask her for input.
Gearing up for Halloween and Christmas...so I got the goods for everyone to give as gifts...
If I ever need reminding why I never want to live here again, little work trips like this will do the job. Confusing street names that Google Maps got wrong. Like calling Telegraph Road the 35...and telling me it will take me to the 45...when it doesn't. I have to branch off to Reveille to do that. Then dealing with sections of the 45 and the interchange to the 69 which use to be the 59...where you have to swing over three lanes of traffic within 1000 feet to get onto it. And that's with me still knowing the basic layout of the city.
Well, within the 610 Loop.
The flights were okay, though the one from Baltimore to Houston was late. But I arrange to get onto the plane first, with Southwest, so I can get a seat with lots of room. Then I can work easily on my laptop.
I started going through BA-4 and got to the point where Léonidès reconnects with Dmitry. Added in a new character, Christian, who used to be a member of Queen Christina's court and wound up exiled when she abdicated. He's one of Gabrielle's vampire men, knows he's gay and uses him to torment Dmitry for not telling her he could never become her mate.
Léon's pointed towards Korea, where Gabrielle is tracking down a young captain in the US Navy who's en route to force Korea to open up to Western trade. Léon senses she hasn't turned the man, yet, so off he goes...after a few days in Dmitry's bed.
So this part is closing in on 19K in wordage, but I think I'll trim it back some. I was setting up the paqrt of the story set in New Orleans...which has changed. How much, I don't know, yet.
But it's coming along...
And getting some good Tex-Mex...and even some truly nasty. And there'll be decent BBQ. Being there till Friday will help space it out.
I've been thinking about BA-4 and needing to find a good subtitle for it. Journey to Betrayal? In search of Betrayal? Leon travels from France to England to grab a ship and transit towards Korea by passenger ship, by way of the Suez Canal to India and Indonesia and Hong Kong and Shanghai and finally Seoul.
Of course, he connects with vampires along the way, and feeds at each port, before connecting with a vampire ocean captain who uses duòlos to help run his ship. Leon has money enough to buy a clipped to bring him home...and learns the Oiym are keeping an eye on him, in case he treis to overthrow the Council.
All of this is pretty well established in what I have, so far. I want to get it done by the end of September...well, first weeks of October because I'm doing Seattle, again. This time heading over on the 17th of October and back on the 20th.
Too damn much is going on, and I don't like how it's cutting into my trolling for pretty male images...
----
Used to be, when I was asked when I knew I was gay, I’d pop off with a glib, “The first time I saw Gene Kelly’s ass.” And it wasn’t far wrong. I happened onto a Saturday afternoon showing of On The Town on TV – just about the time he meets up with Miss Turnstiles and they do their little duet – and got locked onto him and his derriere in that white sailor suit...and never once looked back.
But reality is, that was merely the first time I understood what it was I wanted in life. The first time I knew that I wasn’t like the other guys was when I went on a camping trip with my Boy Scout troop. I was a Second Class about two or three badges short of being First Class, and I’d been part of this troop at my church for a year.
Which was pretty good for just being twelve and having lived in five different cities in the previous four years.
I didn’t like it much. Wasn’t really one of the guys. And camping was pure boredom. Though I didn’t mind sitting around a late night campfire telling ghost stories – it being in Texas, everybody knew at least three, and since I’d lived in England I knew five. But sleeping under the stars was uncomfortable and I never got the hang of cooking in the wild.
Then one weekend we went on a hike to stay overnight along the Guadalupe Rive, near New Braunsfels. A damn had recently been completed and a lake would soon cover this large section of gullies and ravines with ice cold spring water, an area saturated with towering Cedar Trees and bubbling brooks and limestone cliffs, and my first thought at seeing it was, “What a shame to fill it in with water.”
It was an June weekend, the time of year where the air surrounds you in a blanket of stillness. A rain the night before added to the humidity, so by the time we reached our chosen camp site, we were dripping with sweat and near heat exhaustion. So the leader of our troop said, “Let’s drop everything and hit the water.”
Took the other guys no time to become a dozen tweens in shorts and trunks splashing around in a pool shaded by ancient Pecan trees. Wrestling. Swimming. Making noise.
Thing is, I couldn’t swim, so couldn’t join them. Not that it mattered; I was transfixed by a simple series of rapids and tiny waterfalls gurgling past at breakneck speed. So I sat and watched twigs and leaves race by like little boats and pretended they were jumping over Niagara Falls.
Now, we also had assistant scout master, who was a young Airman with a wife and who was about to be a father. He was around 6 feet tall with dark hair, tight and trim, and with tanned skin. I'd thought he was very good-looking, and he was really nice to me. Very patient, like when he showed me for the tenth time how to do a simple square knot. As I said, I really didn't understand why I thought that, at the time. I was just focused on how wonderful his hands were, and I wanted to sketch them, sometime. So I thought I was just being artistic.
Well...he joined our party by standing on a rock at the top of the rapids cascade. Straight and proud. Broad shoulders. Trim hips. Legs to die for. His elegant form framed by deep green trees, slashes of white rock and clear blue sky. Water splashing around his ankles. His hands on his hips as he surveyed the majesty of the area. And all he was wearing was a bright red, square cut Speedo.
I looked up and saw him and my heart nearly stopped. He was like Adonis descended from Olympus, with that perfect body, a smile that outshone the sun and RayBans shielding his eyes.
He was such a complete vision of Steve McQueen cool, I actually cried out, "Mr. Prescott, you're gorgeous."
My voice echoed off the rocks. And everyone heard it. And it got very quiet. But all Mr. Prescott did was look at me...and smile...and say, "Thank you." Nothing more.
At that moment, I would have killed to be held by him.
The rest of the camping trip was me being teased as a girl with a crush by the other boys, but never when he was in earshot. Then when we got back to the church, the scout master took me to one side and told me I should leave the troop because, "We know how uncomfortable you must feel, here, because we feel uncomfortable, too."
I shrugged. I was never going to gain First Class status in Scouting because I couldn’t swim, and you had to have that badge to advance. Of course, my parents were informed. They shrugged it off as being something he'll grow out of.
But I’d caught my first real glimpse of how the world treats those not straight and simple. Still didn't understand what I was thinking or feeling, but now there was a stain on it and I didn't know how to end that.
I didn't see Mr. Prescott, again, after that. He was transferred to California, and not long after his wife brought a new little boy into the world. All the ladies in the church were buzzing like crazy, about it.
I got depressed, when I heard. I knew I'd never see him, again.
I do still conjure him up, sometimes, standing on that rock like the kingly gentleman he was. And still, sometimes...sometimes, when I dream of that day, I hold him...and he holds me…and nothing more.
And for those few moments, I feel whole.
Did I do cooking? Nah. Cleaning? Well, I did dust a couple of shelves. Darning socks? One pair; the other I'm just chucking and buying fresh socks, tomorrow. Lunch? Made a meatloaf sandwich. Had a beer...which was a mistake. It just made me grumpier.
Did I start in on BA-4? Nope. Did I sort out the papers on my desk? Nope. Did I watch anything or read anything? Nope. Did a bit of back-and-forth with some idiots online...but I've finally reached the point where they are completely unimportant, to me.
As regards that, I'm finally in accordance with Dieterich Bonhoeffer's notion about humanity. He was a German theologian who viewed stupidity as a more dangerous force than evil because it's impervious to reason, facts, and even force. We're nottalking just a lack of intelligence, but a moral failing characterized by a resistance to critical thinking and a willingness to accept simplistic narratives, particularly within group settings.
It was a condition that people can fall into, especially within powerful social structures or during times of rising power. He saw that educated and cultured individuals could support harmful policies, not out of malice, but out of a kind of intellectual passivity and a susceptibility to groupthink.
Meaning stupid people are resistant to logic, facts, and arguments, often dismissing contradictory information as inconsequential or irrelevant. They prefer to rely on slogans and catchphrases rather than engaging in critical analysis.
The dangerous potential of stupid people, particularly those in positions of power, is they can easily be manipulated and become agents of destruction. He also noted their tendency towards self-satisfaction and defensiveness when confronted with their own limitations.
He disliked intellectual passivity and believed critical thinking as the best way to resist manipulation and harmful ideologies. But that requires individuals to be willing to question, to learn, and to take responsibility for their actions, even when it is difficult or unpopular.
Nice thoughts, but he never had to deal with the MAGAt Class...
I want a guy like this to come to my home, fix me dinner, give me a rub-down in every way you can imagine as I whine about how fucked up I am, serenade me into a good mood, and then leave.
If I ever make a billion dollars, I'd hire one to do just that. Dressed in the same outfit...well, not exactly. I don't like those undies. Basic white CKs or a nice red Speedo, instead.
I've had a thing about red Speedos since the assistant scoutmaster of my troop wore one to go swimming on a camping trip...and I told him he was gorgeous. Which he was. But then, I was only twelve, so I may be coloring more beauty into his memory than was really there.
Still, it got me removed from the Boy Scouts. Not that I cared. Two years in that and cub scouts, and I still had trouble remembering how to tie a square knot. I wrote about that, once; I should revisit it.
Anyway, my plans next week are redone, thanks to there still being a bedbug issue on my floor. Or maybe above or below; you never know with those damned things. I got a notice the exterminator was coming on Monday...right when I was getting a home visit from United Healthcare then planning to hit the airport to fly to Houston.
So, rescheduled the visit, found out changing my flight to Sunday, instead, would cut $18 off the price of the ticket and an extra night's hotel room would only add $90...so got the okay to change it. I'm now set to start packing on Monday instead of Tuesday.
I'm thinking of diving into book four of Blood Angel, since it's already worked out. I need to change a number of details in it, for consistency, but I've got another 17,000 words already written. Beginning, middle and end, with Gabrielle being a total bitch.
We'll see...
This evening, I spent ten minutes in my kitchen trying to decide about making another peach cobbler with Bisquick...while holding the box in my hand. Couldn't decide between hot tea or another DPZ, to drink.
And yet, I can reach the point where I say fuck it to anything that's bothering me and do whatever I need to do. I can slowly...very slowly....make myself complete something that does mean a lot to me. Like A Place of Safety. But I was fighting myself every step of the way.
And when it comes to working out social situations, I can be amazingly stupid or dense or whatever. And fly off the handle if things get too hard to face or control.
But at the same time, I don't have many of the other symptoms. No hand-clapping or humming...though I do still brutally bite my nails, to the quick. And I'll go after the cuticles, too.
What gets me going through stories like Blood Angel and such is writing very intense sex scenes. Some nice. Most cold and cruel versions of rape. When I'm working on that I'm almost happy. I tell myself it's because I'm venting my anger or letting off prurient steam...but it's because I've never been willing to become that involved with anyone. It's my outlet for not having human contact.
Hell, not wanting human contact.
So...I watched The Thursday Murder Club and smiled and snarled about the changes they made. I hated what they did with one of the characters, turning him from a brute to a tragic figure. And then, since I had to sign up with Netflix to do it -- $20 a month for no commercials!! -- I rewatched The Glass Onion. Because I knew the ending.
This may be something I need to ask my Dr. about.
I'm going through my usual downbeat emotions now that Book 3 of Blood Angel is done. Dealt with it to an extent by trying to track down a magnesium cream that's supposed to relieve tingling in your feet, something I get every now and then, at night. I've been handling it by rubbing on Icy Hot with Lidocaine, which does well enough, but I wanted to see if this is better.
None. Anywhere. Not even Whole Foods or GNC. I have to order it online...and apparently Amazon has the corner on the market. Irritating. I did find a lotion so will try that out, but I get the impression it's not the same thing, exactly.
I may be getting new images for Blood Angel to use as avatars. The woman who's handling promotion for me thinks I need to change the dimensions to better suit D2D's wants, even though D2D won't distribute the books to anyone other than Smashwords.
I still don't understand the relationship between D2D and Smashwords, because the books are actually linked through Books2Read...but so far it's been going okay.
I finished reading The Thursday Murder Club and enjoyed it, for the most part. I'm not a fan of adding details to the description of a character halfway into the story, and it did scatter about a lot, and I feel the revelation about the murders at the end was a cop out. But I'm still going to join Netflix to watch it...unless it's available on some other platform.
I suppose I could also get to work on Blood Angel Book Four...but no enthusiasm for it, yet.
Here are my new avatars...
BA-1 ... When Léonidès met Gregory and his friends, his life was complete...until they raped and murdered him...and he became a Blood Angel, the highest caste of vampire, and they became his pack.
BA-2 ... In 1870 during the Franco-Prussian war, Léonidès thinks he's found a fellow Blood Angel to be his mate...a handsome cuirassier named Franz. But for that to happen he must get approval from the Oiym council, and the man has to be willing.
Today I worked on the avatars for Blood Angel's 3 volumes, so far. And this is what I'd got.
Consistency in image to go with them being part of the same story.
I can change the thumbnails without issue, in an ebook; I just need to verify I can update the text without using another ISBN. All I want to change is the Phots by part of the title.
Next is BA-4 Betrayal, and after than BA-5 set in WW2, BA-6 set in New Orleans after Katrina, and set in modern day.
The hanging figure needs to be more distinct, and maybe a bit of blue on the blood-soaked image. Not 100% on the font, either; it's bland but easy to read.
I think I'm going to redo the first two avatars, as well. Make it more obvious they're about vampires and not a romance or something dark but not much more. I tend too much to the suggestion sort of imagery than the kind that will catch a vampire-lover's attention.
I may do it for Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones, as well, to emphasize the SF/Horror aspect of it.
If I do combine all the parts into a single paperback book, I'm thinking I may add in illustrations to help carry it along, like was done in Victorian times. I'd have to work in pen and ink because Color printing would be prohibitive and might lessen the quality of the book. Even if I do it in hardcover.
Hmm...I wonder if it's too late to work up a 2026 calendar of images for BA, so far? Offer them online, myself. Or even of all my books to be colored in...
Something to garner attention for my work...
So I stopped everything and kicked back to read more of The Thursday Murder Club. No surfing the web or snarling at MAGAt assholes who are proud Felon47 is destroying the country. That brought my blood pressure down to 135/83.
I also had some tea and muffins I'd made but were burned on the bottom. Unfortunately, that meant I couldn't get a fair reading on my blood sugar, but I do feel better.
I think tomorrow I'm going to track down the psd file of the first two avatars for BA and steal the title lettering off them, then work on making the image I posted yesterday as its cover. Keep the feeling of the first two going.
I'm going back to my book, now. I'm enjoying it, despite Orman's writing style. He actually got a couple laughs out of me. There's one moment where a young woman goes out on a date with what I think is a personal trainer she met online...who doesn't believe in books, but thinks you should learn from experience and keeping an open mind.
As he eats a salad and has a protein shake! At an Italian restaurant! Sacrilege!!!
She's bored to tears so decides (in her mind) that she should kill him by injecting cyanide into a dough ball that came with the meals, but then realizes it wouldn't work because he doesn't eat carbs. It came so quickly, I laughed for a good minute.
I'm wondering if I should consider trying to write a quirky murder mystery using a pseudonym and see if that could bring in some good sales. I just need a fun gimmick. Ideas are welcome. Maybe an update of The Bobbsey Twins?
True, that sounds a bit arrogant, but I don't care. It's not often I get to pat myself on the back.
I think I may use this image instead of yesterday's for the avatar. I like the feel of it, more. And there is another image I have that's potential...but this is more in line with the first two covers. I'll think about that, tomorrow.
I made blueberry muffins to celebrate...only the bottoms are slightly burned. Seems I can't cook anything in my oven without fucking it up, outside of a casserole. It's electric, and always gets hotter than I think, so I usually heat it to 25-50 degrees less than recommended and check early...but this time that didnb't work.
I should have just made a little cake and cooked it in my toaster oven. That one I have little trouble with. A chef I will never be.
Now to do dishes and cleanup. Back to reality.
The one issue is, the font I used for the first two books' avatars is no longer available in Ps and I still can't find the psds of the titles so I can just capture the main words and transfer them to the new book. Or at least find out the name of the font.
I also found a couple of Word docs that I'd forgotten I'd written for BA. One was set in 16th Century Milan. Stephane is telling the rest of the pack about his trip to Venice, where he allowed himself to be kidnapped and raped by a pack of vicious monks before he fed on them and burned down their monastery...over the space of a week.
He also set up a couple of good business contacts and political connections. Even though he has the appearance of a college-age boy, he's been around for hundreds of years, already, so is pretty savvy. Not sure if I can use it, yet, but it was solid as a story and might come in handy, later.
I really need to go through all of my thumb drives and disks to sort through what I have and need and what I don't. I've done a lot of repetitive saving of documents and images, partly because I'm paranoid about losing them. But it's now at the point where I have a hell of a time finding anything.
Just proving to myself I'm chaos, defined, when it comes to this...
Meanwhile, I've started playing with working up an avatar for the ebook. I like the idea behind this one, but it's kind of clumsy. Got a ways to go.
I have a number of things I have to do, tomorrow, instead of inputting. Insurance review, update checkbook, a pile of paperwork to sort, going through my computer files to get everything in order, the usual crap I just let pile up till it screams take care of this or you'll regret it.
I'm also doing what I can to push back against the vile actions of Felon47's administration and the rabid hypocrisy of the MAGAt Class. Not a lot, due to my health limitations, but what I can.
The one thing I can say that's positive about me at the moment is, this time last month I didn't think I'd be able to even write Blood Angel (Book Three) Revelation. Yet here it is, close to completion. I think it's because that let me give up on the idea of making Franz into a vicious creature Léonidès cannot control. That made his wish to swap the guy for Dmitry on the silly side. No more.
I should tell myself I can't do something more often; it seems to set my subconscious going to where I basically say, Fuck that. Yes we will.
And so I do.
No word about the cover art, yet. I may go with this image, which sort of fits the story. It's like Franz coming awake and trying to figure out where he is as Léon fights to wait to turn him. That or Luahl is planning to take Léon for a fun ride.
The thing is with this photographer, 90% of his images are slim guys who are barely of age. Not my type nor right for the story. I lucked out with the first two books.
I should never take a nap during the day. I had a late one that went 2 hours, yesterday, so wasn't tired enough to go to bed till 6 this morning. Now I'm zoning.
I made another Dolly Parton peach cobbler for dessert and now feel quite fat and sassy. And ready for bed even though it's only 10:30. Old man vibes kicking in.
I've got insurance coming up, for both car and apartment, required. I've got to decide on whether or not to have my gall bladder removed, and when to schedule a colonoscopy, and worry about the co-pays. Prep for a packing job in Houston as well as overseeing an archive pickup in Rhode Island. Work out a way to get to Hong Kong in December, and maybe do Seattle in October. Consider if I want to change health insurance, which is fast approaching, because United Healthcare is messing with my prescriptions. Deal with Walgreens being overloaded by new clients from RiteAid and forgetting to fill my prescription.s Work at publicizing my books. Plan out a trip to Taos for my niece's Christmas get-together when I can't really afford it. Deal with my bank's quirks now that I have a credit card with them...and that's not counting what I'm doing online in supporting Ukraine and fighting against the fascism of Felon47's administration.
Shit...looking at that pile of nonsense, I feel like I'm whining. For no good reason. Which I am. So many people have it far worse. It's just...well...what sent me careening into my own little bit of chaos was receiving a stupid calendar of Ronald Reagan from his ranch or foundation or whatever. I never asked for it. Never gave them a fucking dime, and they're acting like we're best buds? That motherfucker is the reason I left the GOP in 1980 and haven't voted for a Republican since. And I'm going to waste a stamp to let them know it.
Silly thing to trigger me in any way, but when I worked at Heritage a co-worker thought it would be funny to sign me up the with GOP by donating a dollar in my name and using the store's address. I'd get mail non-stop from them, no matter how hard I snarled that they should stop...until I got really vicious and began sending them images of W overseeing the rape of American soldiers. Really nasty shit. That shut them down. I'm just wondering if I'll have to do that, again.
I did get a bit of an uplift in a reel I saw on Instagram. A medical professional pointed out all the reasons they think Felon47 is dying of congestive heart failure...and what hit my brain was "Clots and prayers." May he die sooner than later. And I'm not ashamed of thinking that. He's a menace to America and humanity, and the sooner he is gone the sooner we can start dismantling the MAGAt Class.
It's not much of a bright spot, but it's something...
I know I made enchiladas and rice because I ate some and built three meals out of the rest. I know I intended to go out to get something I needed but can't remember what it was.
And all of a sudden it was dark outside and I hadn't changed out of my sleeping shorts but have been doing something at my laptop all day. Just not working on BA3...
Where the hell did the time go? And what did I do, during it? It's like I stepped into another dimension and just returned.
I've had moments like this happen before, but usually when I'm driving. I'll be on a freeway zipping along and it's like I pass an exit and think I've got another hour's drive ahead and suddenly I'm there. I'd zoned out and would still be driving like it's no big deal. Fortunately, nothing happened to cause a wreck or problem.
This isn't an age thing. I've done it driving between Austin and Houston or San Antonio, along I-35 or I-10, both of which I'm overly familiar with. That would be 40-45 years ago. And I've done this for short periods in my apartment, before, but not this long.
Yet I cannot visualize or even mentally recreate what-all my day has been. It's a bit spooky.
Oh, I just noticed on my laptop my Photoshop is still open and I made a meme about choosing your battles carefully. Okay...I vaguely recall that. But why is there also a jpg of the image of a '54 Hudson on my desktop, along with a number of gifs that are very NSFW? Meaning I was perusing BDSMLR.com.
Man, as if I'm not crazy enough, already...
Excuse me, Blood Angel feedings. I had also thought of adding a final chapter, but really like how this one ends, and so it stays.
I know it's nowhere near as monstrous as some of the other dark erotica I've read. Compared to a few writers I follow, I'm still pretty vanilla. Even with the extra horror I've added to the men's deaths. Too damn much empathy.
So now it's up to 15,600 words, and I've worked in a young man named Willem who will become a duòlos for Léonidès' pack, their familiar who can do the day work. Their current one is being raised to vampire level to be Gregory's partner.
Over the weekend I'll do another pass, then go through with Microsoft's Editor to proof it before adjusting it into proper format. At the moment, I'm using Courier 12 point font, double spaced. I'll shift it to Times New Roman, single space with links to each chapter. Then go through it, again. I've got 10 days, overall, which should be enough time.
I cleared my head by watching The Thin Man (1934) with William Powell and Myrna Loy and had fun with it. It's a Dashiell Hammett mystery, though not on the level of The Maltese Falcon. I think I'll now do After the Thin Man (1936). There were 6 total films in the series, and they're pleasant and funny.
I've added about a thousand words. And I clarified the whole Oiym council coming to see Franz was the idea of Nethys, the de facto leader, so it's now at well over 14,700 total. I think I'll do another 3 passes on it before hitting it hard for typos and proofing.
It looks like the Houston job is back on. After a lot of back and forth between various people here, Houston and in London, it was decided I'd go down on the 8th and come back on the 12th in time to get cleaned up and ready to hit Newport.
It's all so crazy. The money will come in handy. I have insurance for car and apartment coming due at the beginning of October and planning for a trip to Taos for a family deal at Christmas. Which is going to cost a lot more than I expected, so every bit helps.
Doesn't help my book sales are way down. Not sure why except I'm doing a shit job of pushing them. I have someone handling publicity but not sure how to expand on that, and everyone who contacts me about selling more copies of my books wants more money. I ain't got it to spare.
I'm halfway thinking of lowering the BA series to $0.99 for each ebook, but they're worth double that. Others are selling books of similar length at $4.99 so it's something I'm not doing right. I just wish I could figure out what the trick to sales is.
So I will be focusing on getting BA-3 out by Labor Day. I'd hole up in my bed all day, tomorrow, to work on it but I'm meeting people for lunch so have to make myself presentable. And deal with an issue at the pharmacy I use. I tried to get through on the phone but it's one of those times when you get put on hold and then find out there are three calls ahead of you. Easier to deal with in person.
I'll need milk and some other things, anyway, tomorrow.
I'm starting to wonder if Léonidès being so moral and caring works for a vampire story. Not that I can change him, much, at this point. But I could bring out more coldness and cruelty. Emphasize the terror he's wreaking on his choice of victim, even if they do deserve it.
The two men he and Luahl rape and feed upon at the end of Revelations were part of a group who kidnapped and raped a young woman. Something that is always prevalent in war, even today. The stories about what Russian soldiers have done to women and children in Ukraine are enough to make you despise humanity.
I wonder if that's influencing me in ways I don't really know, yet? Writing Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones (and its precursor, Feeding the Beast) I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to making the guys Dirc and Irin hand over to the alien deserving of it. In many instances, they were innocents.
But then again, in APoS everything stayed on the humanistic side. So maybe I'm just balancing that out with a touch of the monster in me. I will say it's become more obvious in the last few years...
Fortunately, what a monster requires to break free I'm not willing to do.
I am looking into what to do for the avatar. I'd like to keep the current look for this book, so I've asked the photographer if he has any more shots of the intense guy in this photo. I want a single shot, no one extra in it. If he doesn't, I have another manipulated photo I've licensed from him that I could use. It's just more different than I'd like.
So...to put it simply, I have a total of six sections of Blood Angel written in one stage or another. BA-1 Léonidès and BA-2 The Prussian are available in ebook form. BA-3 Revelations, BA-4 Journey to Compromise, BA-5 War Feasts, and BA-6 New Orleans are in first draft form. BA-7 is still percolating, but it's set in modern times and I have ideas for it.
Once all of them are done, if I was to put them into a paperback format they'd be a good novel length. Not Stephen King length, but solid. Still...that's a ways off. I'll be doing good to get 3 and 4 out by the end of the year...maybe 5. Six is going to be an undertaking...
But I am enjoying it, again, no matter how much I gripe. I like writing gay erotic suspense and horror. Good-looking men in trouble...their virginity threatened and sometimes taken...when they have it.
I guess I've found my niche, and working outside of it isn't going to do me a damn bit of good.
But then...after a moment...I noticed little things that were off. His tie's knot is weird. And his belt buckle has no belt. And his ears are not evenly placed. All of which points to the image being AI generated. Maybe part of this new "AI Boyfriend" program going around.
To my shock, figuring that out actually hurt. I'd been so superficially drawn to him, getting to believe he's not a real person I could meet is so very disappointing.
It's funny...but I don't really get that way about men whose photos or films I like. I met David Schwimmer, who I had a crush on throughout Friends, and in person he was fine but I didn't get crazed. Same for Tim Curry and Michael York. Keanu Reeves I didn't really get to interact with, but he struck me the same in person as he had in Speed.
The only time I did get tongue-tied by an actor was when Sophia Loren came by Book Soup's Newsstand to collect Italian newspapers for her husband, Carlo Ponti. And it wasn't just me; the busy restaurant, next door, went dead quiet while she paid. But then...she was fucking gorgeous.
I've seen and met more than a few porn stars, in passing. One notorious one stood behind me in CalFed Bank in WeHo, waiting to deposit a huge number of bills. Apparently he'd danced in a club the night before and that was his tip money. In person, he just looked like your typical college jock, not really interesting...but in photos, totally different.
And when Matt Damon had come into Heritage Book Shop, back when he was with Wynona Ryder, he'd given off the same vibe. Lumpy and boring. But I loved him in the Bourne series.
This guy...if he was real and I ran into him, I'd turn into a teenage girl and make a fool of myself. Which I have done before...like with Clint Black, in Houston...Jesus, forty years ago.
I think I'm more hurt at thinking that could never possibly happen with the man in this image...
On top of that, when the story's done, it's done. And I do think BA-3 is done, at just under 14,000 words. Right now it's written through to the point where Léon has finalized control over Luahl, which is shocking since he's a member of the Oiym Council so supposedly impervious.
We'll see what happens when I return to do a rewrite after a few days. I'm at the point where I need a bit of space to lessen the connection I have to the story. See it with a clear eye.
BA-4 is already in first draft but it needs a solid rewrite to align it to changes I made in the old storyline. I'd been so sure Léonidès would have turned Franz and regretted it, I filled his journey to track down Gabrielle with references to that. Also, some of the names are wrong. But those are easy fixes.
I had an odd thought come up about The People v. Simon Halloran while fixing lunch. That's how these things happen. I'm focused on doing something manual and all of a sudden up pops a minor conversation with a character.
Simon is wondering how the story would work if, instead of him being a quiet gay man who's gone through life staying out of trouble, he's the opposite? A loud and out gay man who's worked in porn and written books like mine. Or done graphic novels like Etienne or Tom of Finland.
He does approach Paley, wanting to take him back to his hotel room and service him after sketching him, and it goes downhill from there. The fight would be over homophobia being so solid a part of the system of justice and an attempt to put a faggot in his place. I'm not sure about that, but it is something to consider.
Never say never...
This image of a French peasant purports to be from 1870, yet I get the feeling it's really later...like 1900 at the earliest. Still, it shows how strong Willem must be in order to handle the work of his family's farm, and how he's dressed. And he is Luahl's preferred victim type.
The man does like to needle my guy and thinks he's found a way to really fuck him over...but it don't happen like that. Because Leòn don't take to being picked at.
Which led to something else happening in this part of the story that I was not expecting. Something I have never even thought of putting into a book. But Leòn does it without a thought...and I'm still processing it. Especially since it gives him a bit of control over Luahl.
The chapter that's left to finish is mainly wrapping up loose ends and setting the stage for Leòn to go looking for Gabrielle with his proposition. That part of the story is already in first draft form...as is its followup.
The part set in New Orleans after Katrina is in screenplay format and centers around Gabrielle, so I'm not sure how to work with that, yet. But I have time. The next two sections will need some reworking to fit in with the new direction of the story.
But first of all is getting Revelations in order to publish. As of now, I'm at over 13,000 words...and will probably add another 2000. That's an acceptable length for a novella. I may even take some of the beginning of BA-4 and add it to the end, because that one is on the massive side.
But no matter what, it looks like I may get this done by the end of the month.
I can't believe it. I am closing in on a workable first draft of Blood Angel-Three. Right now it's sub-headed Franz Revealed, but that's kind of a wimpy title. And this book gets vicious. For me...
Here's the rest of the first chapter, paring up with what I posted on the 11th.
-------
Franz was perfect for me. His golden beauty was matched by my dark good-looks, and don’t be surprised I say that. I’m not allowed any lies or false modesty. It’s merely a statement of fact. And we carried the same Blood Angel lineage. Granted, that made him a distant cousin, but it was well out of the range one might consider to be incest. So when I’d sent the telegram, I’d had no doubt the council would agree.
Now they were enroute to see for themselves...or explain themselves or something, and I had little time to make certain Franz was in top shape to face their questioning.
Of course, that had already been underway. After I’d laid him in my bed, still unconscious, and before Gregory and I’d had our little sojourn in the pond, I’d asked Tellis to sew the wound in his shoulder closed. While he worked best in his garden and the fields, I had also seen him mend trousers and shirts with a needle and thread, to the point the repair could not be seen without looking for it.
“My father was a tailor,” he’d said when I’d mentioned it, as he was repairing my cloak. That was back in the time of Francis the first, in France. Of course, we didn’t know at the time he would be the first; we only referred to him as The Father of Letters.
“I would have followed,” Tellis continued, in our Norman tongue, “as was his command. He thought my love of the fields and grain silly for a gypsy to want. Contrary to our nature. So...” And he’d pulled the needle up in a dramatic gesture.
“Why do you continue with it?” I’d asked, because I’d seen him wandering through meadows and fields on moonlit nights and even during storms, as if offering prayers. And he never fed there; only in the alleys of villages and towns.
“This is my contribution to our pack, until we settle.”
“You think we will? We’ve been more like your gypsy clans, the last few centuries.”
He’d shrugged. And even after we'd established the chateau as our home and provided him with fields to tend, he’d continued to tailor our clothing. So I brought him to Franz’s room...
Well, my room. I had kept the furniture light, in it; just a four-poster bed with curtains, side tables for candles, chairs, and a desk. A wardrobe held my clothing, carpets from Persia were spread over my floor, and thick velvet draperies covered the windows.
The moment he saw Franz lying under my duvet, he gave me a look of pure shock. I quickly said, “He’s been unconscious so knows nothing of us. He is the owner of the horse you are tending. I want him to heal, as well.”
He sighed and asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“There is a wound in his shoulder that should be closed. It might be best to handle now. The less fuss, the better.”
He looked hard at Franz and said in a voice so soft it almost could not be heard, “I sew clothing, not humans.” Then he cast me another look of uncertainty. “If you’re going to turn him, he will heal on his own...”
“I don’t know that I will, yet. I need permission and have only just sent off the request. I don’t want his wound to have a chance to fester before I hear from the Oiym.”
He eyed me, for a moment, then sat beside Franz and lifted the bandage away. “That’s a very neat hole...” He did the same for the gash to his head. “What is this red stain on him? It’s not blood.”
“Bromine.”
He nodded. “Reyndahl told me of this.” His fingers trailed from the wound in Franz’s head down his face to stroke the artery in his neck, then he looked at me. “I remember the first time I touched you,” he said, softly. “It was an odd sensation, like I was holding someone with blood unbelievably rich and exquisite, far beyond those I’d fed upon, till then. And since. It even held a bit of haughtiness. You don’t forget the first time you touch a Blood Angel.”
I just drew in a deep breath. “I would prefer silence on that matter.”
He gave a slight nod of his head. “Will we be departing from you, now?”
“No!” shot out of me so fast, I didn’t have time to even think of it. “You and all the others, you are so much more than merely my pack. You’re friends. Lovers. Family to me. Why would you think I’d toss that away?”
“Considering how your sister treats her court...”
I huffed. “She surrounds herself with idiots.”
“Not all.”
“Well...save one,” I said, grinning.
“Who is another Blood Angel.”
“You are surprisingly aware.”
“We talk to each other, Léon. All of us. Even Gregory, who often says more without saying anything. When I woke, this evening, I found him sitting in the corridor, with Meron. The way they held each other...”
“What’s going on, here? Are all of you lonely? In need of mates?”
“Léon, I work with animals and plants. I’m easiest with them. That Doric and I have connected in a way that is more than sexual is a surprise, to me. It kept me from loneliness, and Doric, as well. But I sense it in Loronce, who wants Stephane to want him, and Stephane, who wants Reyndahl to love him, and Renydahl, who wants a female mate as well as a male and doesn’t know how to work it out.”
“I think he wants an outlet for his sexual needs more than a relationship.”
“Which he gets. He doesn’t kill all of his conquests. But then...men are more prone to evil than women, so their endings are easier to excuse.” He took another look at Franz’s wound and nodded. “I’ll get my thread and needle, soak them in that bromine, and close it as best I can. I doubt it will be much healed before you hear from the Oiym.”
I’d only smiled at him then gone off to meet with Gregory.
Oh, it was going to be so rough and raw and insanely erotic, and I had it all roughed out. But when I actually started writing it, the direction shifted to where the Oiym come and talk him out of his infatuation by showing Franz is a straight horn dog who got four girls pregnant before his father shipped him off to be a cuirassier with the Prussian military.
Problem is, the Oiym can't let the guy go back into the normal world; he knows about vampires, now. So Léon decides to track Gabrielle down and offer Franz to her in exchange for Dmitriy.
After all, she likes boys and he likes girls, and she's been looking for a mate since Dmitriy revealed he was gay after she turned him. He and Léon already like each other, so he thinks she will be willing to release the guy to him. We'll have to see how that goes.
This slashes probably 4000 words out of the story...and transitions into Leon's hunt for Gabrielle much more smoothly. Right now I'm at just under 10,000 words and have one...maybe two more chapters to write.
I think it's going to include Léon getting the upper-hand on one of the Oiym who doesn't like him--Luahl, another gay BA. How I will do that, I don't know, yet...
But I got some ideas for the story to reject...
