Self-indulgence is good...

The job is packed and ready for pickup, tomorrow, and I am a wreck. Mainly from age, I know that. Feet hurt. Back, too. Brain fuzzy. So I found a McDonald's and had a Quarter Pounder Meal, sized up to large for a late dinner and found myself wonderfully decompressing.

I'm going to have as much fun as I can reworking The Beast into Dyarvos and the Cannibal Queer. For example, part of the reason Dirc winds up becoming Dyarvos' helper is because the ET was messing up the instructions on a cookbook it had. 

Dirc was dead but being rejuvenated to be alive enough to feed Dyarvos' space craft...only the process shifted his entire psychological, emotional, mental and attitude enough to where he became the missing ingredient in prepping men to be nourishment. And he continues to be after Dyarvos deserts him.

Later, Dyavos verifies the recipe with Irin, who becomes another helper while Dirc is being tried as a serial killer. The ET needs someone to furnish supply for its interstellar diner. Now I'm not toning down on the sex, so much as clarifying it. Making it simpler. The best meals come from regular ingredients, not all them foreign ones...and buff guys are as basic as it gets.

That's why diners are usually better fare than 4 Star restaurants. Simple food, well-made and filling, unlike haute cuisine, which is more pretty than nourishment.

I'd always rather have a BLT than Châteaubriand...

Warning?

Damn, the powers that be did not want me to come to Seattle. Flying into Chicago to change planes was smooth and easy. Arrived to the airport an hour before boarding began. Checked my bag and had a muffin. Left on time. Arrived on time. All well and good.

But the part actually taking me into Seattle? Jesus, Christ, everything that could go wrong did...pretty much. The plane boarded on time. Packed flight in a smaller 737, but I got a good seat. Two people sat next to me with masks on, but kept to themselves...

And once the plane was loaded, it all came to a screeching halt. And not one word about why we were just sitting there for over an hour and a half. Finally, the ground crew said the plane was overweight and they needed 7 people to get off, and offered $2500 to each one. BAM! They got their seven.

Then the bags of those seven had to be removed from the hold. Finally, after minimal explanation and lots of irritated people grumbling and moving about, we got the okay to leave. Went out on the tarmac...and sat for another half-hour. In total, we left two and a quarter hours late.

Then...this plane that only has 2 toilets, is suddenly down one. The only lavatory working is the one by the cockpit, where you're not allowed to congregate. So there's a line all the way down the aisle of people needing to go after sitting there so long.

Of course, in the seat in front of me was a crying baby...and that couple also had a toddler who'd been given an accordion-like tube and she was compressing it together then pulling it open. Very loudly.

Fortunately, the crier cried herself to sleep, and I almost joined her until accordion child grew tirde of

When we landed, we had to sit on the tarmac for another 15 minutes because a plane was at our gate. Then the person operating the jetbridge must have been a newby because she inched forward, inched back, inched to the side, inched forward, again, and inched left, again...so that it took ten minutes for the door to even open.

On top of this, it took half an hour for my bag to show up. Then came 40 minutes in line waiting to get a bus to the car rental facility...only to find when once there they'd had a power outage. The only reason I was able to get the SUV I needed was because I'd printed out the reservation.

Even more fun? I used GPS to take me to the warehouse we're using so I could pick up some boxes...only to be taken to a spot on the other side of some railroad tracks from it and told to walk, because the road they were on was closed to through traffic. I had to use Google maps to work my way back to where I could get to them...and they didn't know anything about why I was there.

I had paperwork with their own job order on it. Which they finally began to pay attention to. But I still had to get the office to email them saying it was okay for me to get the boxes so I'd have something to work with, tomorrow.

Of course, on Southwest there is no food, just snacks. And foolish me had figured, since we were due to arrive in Seattle at 10:15, Pacific Time, I'd hold off lunch till we got there. I went from that 5:30am muffin to finally having dinner at, effectively, 7:30pm.

If that is not the owners of the ether telling you, We'd rather you not come. Be careful. Back away, slowly. Everything is dangerous. Then I don't know what is. But stubborn little me is here. God knows what will happen, tomorrow.

Gettin' on a jet plane...

At six-fucking-am, so I have to leave at 4:30, latest. But it's that or I don't get into Seattle till evening, going from Buffalo. That's traveling by Southwest. JetBlue isn't any better, while American and United are too restrictive and more expensive. Same for the return trips. I'm at the point I'd rather drive than take a plane, right now.

I am driving to the job in Detroit. It's not that far, like going from San Antonio to Dallas, and doing that is one hell of a lot more flexible. I can get there through Canada and come back by way of the 90, if I have leftover packing materials.

It was one of those days where things kept messing with me. Including my car. Its muffler is making noises that make me very uncomfortable, but I can't do anything about it, right now. I saw a doctor about my liver who didn't have much to say except, "Lose weight and exercise more."

The medical office I go to says I have an outstanding balance, for which I've never been billed. And I can't figure out how much it is because the receptionist gave me one total, my online chart said something else, and my insurance doesn't have that information yet because it's not put together till the end of June.

So I treated myself to ribs at Chili's...and regret it. $25 for a half rack, a handful of fries and a small bowl of mac & cheese, with a Coke Zero (add $5 for a tip). Not even a fucking beer. I could have made me a burger at home with cheese and onion and everything, and fries, and Kraft Mac & Cheese for less than a third of that. And felt better, afterward.

Now I'm about to hit the bed for a nap, setting my alarm for 3am. Grrr.

Sometimes I hate adulting...because I don't do it well...

Quick turnaround...

I got the eproof for the paperback edition of APoS-HNH and submitted the corrected PDF...and it was shot back to me within the hour. Looked great, so I approved. Now I also need to order a physical copy to make sure. And that will be that.

Dealt with the guy setting up my website...and learned WordPress won't let him do it unless I upgrade to their $300 a year business model. He's looking into options, right now, but this is going to take a lot more effort than I thought. And money. But I've already sunk $108 into WordPress, and I don't want to lose that.

When WordPress says you can work up your own website without any trouble, they mean so long as you're a fucking techie.

Also started the online push for my paperback editions of APoS on Instagram, Facebook and I linked them to Xitter. I'm also pushing them in Ingram's catalogue and, once the website is up, really slamming them through that.

Which is draining me, financially. So I can't stop working, yet. Going to Seattle on Wednesday for one job and the end of the month driving to Detroit for another. A third is upcoming in August. And even though they tire me out, I need the money to give APoS a solid start.

I guess I could return to playing the lottery. It's got as much chance as anything at making me solvent.

It's a Universal Law...

My writing is a pier jutting out into the ocean, and typos are the fucking fish beneath it, there but unseen...until they're caught...

I uploaded the text and cover for A Place of Safety (vol. 3) Home Not Home, and all went fine. The only hiccup was I had to do a reload when Ingram's site went a bit wonky, but that took care of the issue.

Then I went onto Bowker to update the assignment of the paperbacks' ISBNs so they can go into Books in Print...and started thinking I might have misspelled McGabbhinn in the text of the book. So I went back in and did a Find, to check...and sure enough, I did. Twice.

Shit.

Now that it's uploaded, I can't change it until I get the e-proof. Then I'll have to reject it and upload the corrected pdf. Which puts me behind, a bit...but better to notice now than if it's already been printed.

Now, of course, I'm wondering if I did the same thing in the hardback text and the ebook. Both of which are on an external drive that I have to dig up and plug in and deal with. TBH, I'm nervous about checking that because it will cost me more money if I correct the hardback text. So still thinking.

It's really not all that big a deal, I guess. If I did go in and update them, I'd need to do all the typos and I didn't keep track of them. So I'd have to go through the books, again. Which makes me feel like an uptight freak. It doesn't matter in the telling of the story. Or does it...?

God, I don't know! I feel like such an idiot...because I'm pretty damned sure these typos were made after I'd had the book proofed and I made some changes.

My first protest...

I went to a No Kings protest in Tonawanda, a suburb of Buffalo, and stood on a sidewalk holding a sign that said No King in America that I'd made myself. It was a busy intersection by Boulevard Mall, and cars were whipping past, most honking for us, some drivers flipping us off.

There were a few pro-Felon47 cretins across the street from us, but we outnumbered them at about 100 to 1. It was a lovely day, still I should have brought an umbrella for shade. I positioned my sign in such a way as to provide cover for my head, which grew tiring holding it up that high.

The crowd was very joyous and unwilling to be brought down in any way. And I managed to make it through without needing to pee till after it was done. What's nice is, my car was two blocks away and a Wegman's was close by so I could have something to eat and relax.

I'm now back to going through APoS-HNH and will upload it to Ingram, tomorrow. I hope to get an online proof by Tuesday, since I'll be off to Seattle early Wednesday morning. But once this is done...once I have a physical copy of the book in hand...it will be completed and all that comes now is getting it read.

I whine about the money I've put into it, and having APoS be a best-seller would be nice, but what matters most is people read the books. That's what will make it worthwhile.

Shift focus...

I got the file for the cover of A Place of Safety-Home Not Home and it looks great. So I went into the Word doc of the text to make sure everything was set...and found a fucking typo. Those things are out to get me.

A bit of dialogue did not have a quotation mark at the end of it. So being paranoid me, I'm reading the book at 200% size and verifying nothing more is there...and did find a word that should have been deleted. That, however, was in a bit of dialogue by Brendan's mother so almost seemed to be deliberate, to emphasize the confusion in her drug-addled mind. Except it wasn't. So it's out.

So...I'm through page 130 of the book and so far that's it. Still I'm not uploading it until I've rechecked every page that I've rechecked and had proofed. Then the fucking typos will have to really be sneaky.

Which I'm sure they will be. It's a law that when I get the physical copy of the book I find at least one typo still in it.

I'll be back on it a bit late, tomorrow. I'm attending a demonstration for No Kings over by Boulevard Mall for a couple hours. It's not enough just to fight the growing fascism in this country online; sometimes you have to show up in person.

I'm not changing the text in the hardcover or ebook. I'm already thousands of dollars into publishing and promoting this novel...and I just can't afford it. I can barely handle the coming costs of two packing jobs in the second half of this month...not to mention two specialist doctor visits. 

June's turned into a work of madness...

My usual thing...

I'm rewriting and rewriting the first section of this new book. Current title still being Dyarvos and the Cannibal Queer. I'm acting as if it's on the level of Les Miserables or A Tale of Two Cities.

I'm clarifying how Dirc gets started in his escapades and setting up what's to come in the later parts. Very, very important.

I may offer it up like I was doing with Blood Angel, in short bits on Smashwords...which is now D2D. But there's no guarantee they will accept it. I've already had one run-in with them when I tried to set up Carli's Kills as a paperback through their system...and they turned it down.

Can't say they were being homophobic; it's very heterosexual...but also very violent. Which surprised me. Straight people love the ultra-violence. I guess they didn't like a woman in control of the death and destruction instead of a man...or maybe they were upset she castrated some of them. You never know.

Of course, I actually have two women doing the violence thing, one being Carli, the other being the Sheriff. The bitch who initiates the situation that brings about so much death dies in the first chapter.

Maybe that's what upset them. She's just finished fucking her married boyfriend when she gets pushed off of a 25th story balcony, naked, and crashes to the pool area. I wonder if the nude death offended their delicate sensibilities?

Kirkus Review for APoS-Home Not Home

APoS-HNH preview of cover

I'm not displeased or unhappy with this review. Overall, it's very positive and has some quotable statements to use.

In Sullivan’s historical novel, a young Irishman flees the violence of his native land for America but returns years later to see his dying mother on a trip fraught with danger.

Brendan Kinsella grows up in Derry, Ireland, during the tumultuous years of the Troubles and does his best to avoid the acrimonious partisanship despite his mother’s rabid nationalism and his father’s likely ties to the IRA. Nevertheless, he is drawn into the fray, and after he is involved in a bombing gone wrong that nearly kills him, he escapes to Houston, Texas, to begin a new life under the assumed name Brennan McGabbhinn.

When he discovers that his mother is soon to die from cancer, he comes home to see her, traveling under yet another alias borrowed from a friend—Jeremy Landau, a Jewish American conducting academic research. Brendan, who was 16 years old when he left, now returns to a “city of ghosts” eight years later— “eight bloody fucking years of death and destruction” —in a grim homecoming powerfully described by the author in this emotionally piercing novel. Brendan’s siblings don’t even know he’s alive (his bother Eamonn is in prison for his work against the British), and his mother receives him with an icy coldness, still embittered because he never wholeheartedly joined the cause (a reluctance she interprets as “superior and condescendin’”).

Sullivan poignantly depicts Brennan’s immense psychic struggle—he is torn apart by the discovery that his murdered father might not have been who he believed him to be, and that the girl he loved and presumed dead might still be alive. Moreover, he is still a hunted man in Derry, by both the Irish and the British.

The author brings the crackling volatility of the times to vivid life, especially the infamous hunger strikes. Unfortunately, Sullivan’s prose can lose its luster when he turns, somewhat ponderously, philosophical: “We are born. We live an existence of meaning to ourselves, alone. We die. All else is illusion.” Still, this is a moving portrait of a tragic cycle of violence and the lives it consumes.

A historically exacting and dramatically arresting novel.

I do have to admit I'm a bit taken aback, because it's the first time I've ever had some of my writing referred to as ponderous. And he used something Brendan says in the last paragraph to make that comment.

I'm almost...damn, I am...I'm actually finding it charming.

Officially changed...

Draft2Digital, which owns Smashwords, has migrated all my ebooks to their new platform. I'm still navigating it because not one part of it is similar to what I had. So this will be fun.

I also am getting a new FB page, KMS Writes, going, through someone who knows how to do this, and this is my new banner. Which she came up with and I really like.

So here are the new e-book links for my mainstream books. The gay erotica I'll deal with, tomorrow.

A Place of Safety-vol 1-Derry

A Place of Safety-vol 2-New World For Old

A Place of Safety-vol 3-Home Not Home

Bobby Carapisi

The Alice '65

The Lyons' Den

The Vanishing of Owen Taylor

Carli's Kills

New title?

As I'm reworking this massive book about a man helping aliens set up an outer space restaurant where they can eat people, a possible new title popped up. Dyarvos and the Queer Cannibal. It's a bit goofy, and Dirc never actually dines on any man, but I can't say he doesn't eat guys because that would be a lie.

This book, as depraved as it is, gives me a respite from the chaos building in this country. Felon47 called out 2000 of the national guard to take over LA, bypassing Governor Newsom, even though it was unnecessary. Then Pretty Pete of the racist tatts, who heads defense, called in 500 marines from Camp Pendelton. So Felon47, not to be outdone, called in 2000 more national guard.

What's insane is, those two assholes aren't even providing supplies to the national guardsmen. No funding for food or shelter. They're sleeping on floors. It's completely unacceptable.

All this to take over a city that is resisting the Gestapo tactics of ICE. This is a deliberate escalation of violence meant to instill fear and uncertainty in the US population, and it's cheered on by the MAGAt Class. I don't see how it cannot lead to death and destruction.

Democrats are talking a lot about how wrong it is, and Newsom's filed a lawsuit against TACO to stop him, but that's been it in the way of political pushback. There is no more GOP, it's all MAGAt, so nothing to be expected from that group of cowards and whores.

All I can do is post about it, attend a demonstration on the 14th against this, hope that doesn't go wild, and focus on a book that not only talks casually about killing men for food but also rips into the government for its cruelty, corruption and collusion. There's violent non-con m/m sex in this, but also anger at how fucked up our system of justice is.

Which there is in all my gay books. Nothing new about that.

The Dyarvos Bones

I'm liking the new title and the story is coming together in a much smoother way than what I'd posted on GayDemon. Dirc is a bit snarkier but I need to punch that up. I'm not good with humor, but I'm trying...

I like this illustration by Moebius, who did some elegant work for Heavy Metal Magazine, back in the 70s and 80s. Sort of has the feel of Dyarvos' travels.

---------

It's funny. I called it the alien for lack of a better name...till we settled on calling it Dyarvos. Which I think sort of compares to U N Owen in its manner of communication.

Meaning, if you haven't figured it out by now, it was an ET, not some being from Satan's domain. Though it never did tell me where it’s from. Hell, it never actually told me anything. The way we communicated was, one of its whips would circle my head and tingle against my right temple, and then I knew whatever Dyarvos did, almost like I was remembering it as it remembered it.

While it had been on earth. More than that was blocked from my brain. The only other thing I knew was, it was neither male nor female; they didn't have that designation in their world.

It had developed some kind of trouble, I'm still not clear what. Earth was seen by its kind as sort of a pit-stop to go to if you needed food or fuel, both of which humans could provide. Like a 7/11. The problem was, it had crash-landed into the cave under the motel before it could send out an SOS for help, and it needed sustenance to begin rebuilding itself.

It had been lucky and caught a couple of hikers who were following the Manasseret Trail up into the hills. A trail that wasn't really popular because it was just rocks and desert. Not even pretty vistas as you went higher.

Those two were male, in their twenties, both indigenous. One with longish black hair, piercing eyes, golden skin and a fine physique. The other was more basic but still attractive, his hair longer, his face not as finely etched, and his body more average. He also had more hair on his chest, arms and legs than his compatriot.

They had camped on the hill above the cave, overlooking the old motel. No tent. Sleeping under the stars, fully clothed. Backpacks as pillows and no blanket. Really roughing it like real guys do.

Dyarvos had slipped up and wrapped its tentacles around them both. The pretty one had managed to get a knife out and cut a tentacle off, but the whips took full control of him. Both guys had been carried down to the entrance, but were struggling so hard they almost got free before they were in the ship. At first I thought Dyarvos hadn't worked out how to fully control them, yet, but then I realized it had simply been weakened by the wreck.

Long book...new title...

I've gone through 50 pages of what I've begun to call The Dyarvos Bones, up to the point where the alien and its ship abandon Dirc to the police. They leave behind a huge pile of bones that used to be human beings, stripped of all meat.

This flummoxes the legal system because they can't figure out how Dirc could do that. Instead, they decide to just ignore anything that doesn't fit with their narrative that he's a queer serial killer.

Dirc tells them about Dyarvos and is declared incompetent for trial...for now. Part Two picks up after he's been found guilty of multiple murders and sentenced to death. But he knows Dyarvos is returning with a business proposition so he's not too worried.

There's a total of 310 pages in this book. Works out to around 102,000 words. That's a bit long for a book of erotica; I may want to split it up. I'll think about that.

This may all be moot. I might not be able to publish it. It's far more sexually violent than any other book I've written, and a couple of them are not available through Amazon and Barns & Noble due to that. Even my heterosexual one, Carli's Kills has had issues.

The MAGAt Class is in the process of taking the country over, and Democrats are doing little more than protesting. Which Felon47 is calling rioting and all that bullshit. His coup on January 6th didn't succeed, but this one might.

Because LA had lots of protests, so he now has his excuse to call out the National guard, bypassing Gavin Newsom, and use them against demonstrators who were cursing the gestapo goons of ICE.

Someone's going to get killed in this deliberate chaos, but it won't be the fascists. They have military hardware and protection. All we have is our voices and ineffective leaders.

The Battle for Bogside was pretty chaotic, at the beginning. Residents just wanted to keep the Constabulary out of the area, and were doing it with rocks and petrol bombs. It wasn't till people like Bernadette Devlin came in and started organizing things that they proved to the Protestants they would not be taken down. Westminster had to send in the British Army to separate the sides.

Catholics won, for the moment, but then came thirty years of death and destruction. We may be aiming for that, here.

Dyarvos comes...

Worked out a name for the beast/creature/alien, finally, and kind of like it. As Dirc puts it...

--------

I was referring to it as the alien for lack of a better name. It never told me who or what it is, or where it’s from...though we did settle on calling it Dyarvos. Which I think sort of compares to Unknown in its manner of communication.

Meaning, if you haven't figured it out by now...it was an ET, not some being from hell.

Oh, and it wasn't possible for me to talk to it, nor it to me. The way we communicated was, one of its whips would circle my head and tingle against my right temple, and then I knew everything Dyarvos did. Almost like I was remembering it as it remembered it. While it had been on earth. More than that was blocked.

The only other thing I knew was, it was neither male nor female; they didn't have that designation in their world. So it wasn't interested in sex, except as a way of prepping its meal.

It had developed some kind of trouble, I'm still not clear what, and had crash-landed into the cave under the motel. Earth was seen by its kind as sort of a pit-stop to go to if you needed sustenance or fuel, both of which humans could provide.

The problem was, it hadn’t had the chance to grab anybody before it went down, and there were very few humans around in is area. It had been lucky and caught a couple of hikers who were following the Manasset Trail up into the hills. A trail that wasn't really popular because it was just rocks and desert. But that was nearly a year ago...and it had been hungry when it grabbed me and my pack.

---------

Dirc continues telling about how Dyarvos managed to survive and wasn't happy about the meals Dirc's friends made. It wanted to turn one of them into a familiar to provide it with more men but that wasn't working, either...until it happened to think about bringing Dead Dirc back to life. That made all the difference and turned him into an amoral monster.

Something unexpected...

I haven't showered in two days. Haven't gone out. Haven't done anything to make myself presentable. Normally, if I don't bathe before bed, I have a hard time getting to sleep. This time? No big deal. And that surprises me.

I slept till near noon, yesterday, and ten-thirty, today. Pulled together the last of the pricing for one job, and have yet to hear back about the other. And worked on Hunger...which might become Deadly Hunger or Murder for Hunger or something silly like that. The Hungry Hunters? I'm still working on it and am up to chapter four, and it's far more vicious, now.

And irreverent. Dirc makes flippant comments about his victims. For example, he's murdered by a cop named Molinaro, who becomes the first man he helps the alien kill.

His description of it is raw and detailed...and very self-centered in how it makes him feel good. Then once he's done and the man has been fed to the space craft for sustenance, he snarks, The son-of-a-bitch shouldn't have killed me.

Even as he acknowledges his own death was really unintentional. Molinaro was freaking out at seeing the alien and his gun went off and hit Dirc in the back. But he was being a dick before that, and had 88 tattooed on his left bicep. So he deserved it. (88 is a nod to HH, as in heil Hitler.)

I need a name for the alien. I don't like just calling it the creature or beast. And a title that really grabs the feeling of the book. I'd say it's black humor but don't know if I can pull that off. Maybe. Depends on how hard I push it.

But this has my attention, now. We'll see how far I go with it.

BTW, that picture is of Garrett Nolan, not me...but he does offer a nice idea of what Dirc looks like.

Madhouse day...

Spent most of the day working up costing for two rush jobs. Both have deadlines of getting done within the next month, and both are fair-size libraries. I'm trying to work around a couple of doctor appointments I have in the second half of June as well as the Fourth of July, but it's going to be tight.

I was still at cross purposes from everything, yesterday, so this was a good distraction. Then for some reason I read the first chapter of The Beast Dines Out, my gay erotic SCI-FI horror story posted in parts on GayDemon. And the casual viciousness of it made me feel better.

Dirc, the MC, is killed by a cop but gets brought back to life by an extraterrestrial trying to feed and heal its space craft. It's experimenting on how best to do that...and happens to conclude Dirc is the perfect vessel to bring it what is needed.

Healthy men. Well-marinated by him raping them. It's like a seasoning, which the space craft likes. This gives the ET an idea. Once the craft is healed, it opens a restaurant in space, an otherworldly truck stop, and makes a deal with Dirc to bring it more men to go on the menu.

Eventually he finds out he's not the only supplier, but he does bring the highest quality guys...

I'm going to rewrite it. Smooth over the story. Tighten up the timing. See if I can put in some more irreverent humor. Right now, it's kind of a mess...but does wind up getting to an HEA point, which I'm keeping. I also want to polish up the inconsistencies and removing some repetitions. Then I'm going to publish it as a whole book under a new title. Maybe Hunger...though that's kind of lame. So are Feeding the Beast and The Beast Dines Out.

Any suggestions would be welcome.

Overwhelming...

Funny thing happened as I tried to work on PvSH. I grew too angry to focus. Then depressed. The murder of Jonathan Joss in a town I lived in for decades has affected me in ways I'll need to work through before I can return to the story.

I kept telling myself to channel my anger into what happens with Simon, and I did manage to get a few pages done. Adding in the police getting a warrant to search Simon's apartment based on a complaint about a man who only vaguely resembles him. Seeking child sexual assault materials.

It happens after Simon is killed but before his body is discovered, which is not supposed to be found. But it is due to him having an AirTag in his backpack and his new attorney's phone in a pocket. They lead ReShawn, his attorney, to his grave.

ReShawn blames himself, thinking he should have taken Simon straight home. At least kept him at his house. And it's becoming clear the local media has been fed the story about the pedophilia investigation and is running with it. Like they are in the smearing of Joss' life. Making his murder his own fault.

It was at this point everything became overwhelming and I had to stop. I was close to losing it...or something. I don't know what. I just didn't....couldn't handle it. Which makes me wonder if I'd be able to handle the coming culture war between the MAGAt Class and the rest of us.

I don't know. I just know...have to acknowledge those people do not care who they hurt or how. And I'm afraid I would feel the same way about them. And if that happened, I feel I'd become as sub-human as them.

I think that would kill me.

Murder

Gay Pride Month began with the murder of a gay man, after his home had been burned down and his dog decapitated. In San Antonio, Texas! A town I lived in for much of my life. And this was after he and his husband had complained to police, consistently, about the homophobic harassment by a neighbor. Of course, the cops did nothing about it.

I don't understand this. Even back in the 70s and 80s, with the sodomy laws in force, San Antonio's gay community was strong and vibrant. Very Latino based, but the bars were open to everyone, and there were also a couple that mixed gay and straight. Like the Bonham Exchange.

Same for Austin, just 70 miles northeast of San Antonio. When you got tired of the vatos, you could scout out the frat boys, 90% of whom were as WASP as they come. Pun intended.

I had very Catholic tastes, back then, which probably stemmed from me being an Air Force brat and growing up around all kinds of kids. I'd hook up with Latinos, Jews, blacks, anglos, and once with a guy who I think was Japanese...if I liked you, I was up for it.

But that is no more. Thanks to that Felon in the White House and the MAGAts in his coven, it has become open season on us...on anyone not white, Anglo-Saxon and Protestant. Don't you dare think you're safe if you're a white Catholic; too many Protestants still see the Catholic Church as the Whore of Babylon.

I know this because when my mother lived with me in LA, she would watch a Presbyterian minister named John Hagee with his sermons on cable, Sunday mornings. I came home one day to see him doing a presentation that explained why the Church of Rome was the seat of evil.

I loved my mother, and she could watch anything she wanted without complaint from me. I'd just go to a laundromat to do my laundry so I wouldn't hear that vile man's shit. He was our version of Northern Ireland's Ian Paisley. Both of them diseased, hateful monsters who used fear and prejudice to build their power and wealth.

Ian Paisley helped prolong the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Those like John Hagee have given the haters ground to believe their evil actions are just. And it always winds up in murder.

Always.

Pride Month

It's the first of June, which is Pride Month, and shortly will follow all the whining straight WASP men asking why there isn't a Straight Month...as if the whole goddamned year isn't theirs. Selfish, pathetic lads pissed because we want a slice of the pie they have chosen to keep for themselves, only. Well, fuck 'em.

Just for fun, I made crepes for brunch. Out of Bisquick. I actually have a recipe. And I have Nutella and bananas, so I made 6 of them wrapped around those little beasties, and they turned out very nicely. Not as nice as the ones I'd gotten at the Farmer's Market, in LA, or a kiosk in London, by the Thames, but still damn good. They weren't pretty, so no pictures...but belly very happy.

I wrote another 1700 words on PvSH, today, and am having fun fucking around with the straight male psyche. Brian Walstead arranges a secret meeting with Frank Paley about the story Simon wrote and they commiserate over ribs and beer, and without saying it come to the decision Simon must be killed. Then Brian tells Judge Denton about the story and they come up with a strategy to minimize it, as if nothing else has been decided.

Something else came up in Brian's talk with Denton that I'm not crazy about so will probably cut. I had once thought of having Denton and his wife be Brian's godparents, but that seems a bit off. Still considering it...but now it's like an unnecessary distraction.

Anyway, what this has done is cut away about 20% of the outline I'd worked up and dumped having the prosecution present falsified evidence to claim Simon had been arrested before. It was coming across as awkward, and now is no longer necessary. So bye-bye.

Since I have no travel plans, now, I may get a first draft of this book done this month.

Piecemeal...

Y'know, in all the mess of my head, something bright sometimes stands out. And while eating my tacos, I had a moment that wasn't in my original outline.

I'm at the point, which is early on in writing the story, where when a moment for PvSH hits me, I write it out and worry about fitting everything together, later. But this one amplifies everything that happened to after the trial...and does away with a part that seemed too ridiculous.

As a way to work out his anger over the case being prosecuted against him, Simon writes a story about the arresting office and the ADA becoming lovers, with the Judge watching them having sex. Initially, it was just for him, so he used their real names as he wrote.

But then...with the Judge's help, the ADA pulled a dirty trick on Simon in order to minimize some evidence he's presented showing the Cop was lying about his actions. So in anger, he posts it on a gay website.

This is all prelude to the scene I wrote. Simon's been found guilty and sentenced to 6 months in jail and a thousand dollar fine. Four months into his sentence, a friend of the ADA reads the story and tells him about it. It's even getting some excellent reviews. He goes to the jail to demand Simon remove it...and that ws the bit I wrote.

Nearly 1500 words and more to come, where Simon refuses, and reminds the ADA that since the story's been popular, it's probably been downloaded and shared so removing it would do no good. Things escalate and the ADA attacks him. The guards have to stop things. 

What surprised me most was how the guards quietly revealed they're on Simon's side. And they surreptitiously make sure the full jail knows Simon was injured by the ADA's attack. It causes a stir, and the Judge winds up releasing Simon early. Everyone thinks this is great...

Only it winds up leading to murder...

Avoidance...

I did errands, today, after a surprisingly good night's sleep. Recycling now gone. Dishes all done; they'd been piling up. Got fully dressed and drove to Wegman's to get things I needed to make a hoagie and an Ambrosia salad.

Had some California Roll sushi, while there...which is a big deal for me. I'm not a sushi fan, but this looked pretty good...and was. What's even better? I ate it with chopsticks. I want to get to be good so when I'm in Hong Kong I won't embarrass myself.

What's funny is, the main thing I needed was milk. So I got all these groceries...and forgot that. Have to go out for it, tomorrow.

The hoagie turned out nice. I used a short baguette, olive oil, cheese, slices of ham and turkey, lettuce, tomato, onion, dash of red wine vinegar, and a bit of mustard...and it wound up being too big. I ate it all, but I was stuffed. Don't like that, any more. I've got some smaller rolls for any followups. Haven't made the Ambrosia, yet.

I got the physical proof of A Place of Safety-New World For Old, and it looks good. Derry is due to be delivered on Monday, even though it was shipped beforehand. No surprise.

More ideas are coming for PvSH. Simon wants to actually needle Brian more. Not just that little poem, but even write an eroticc story and post it, to see if Brian or Elissa find it. He's sixty-nine years old and doesn't give a shit...and thinks this will be fun. He just doesn't realize him having proof of his innocence won't mean all that much once the trial gets going.

Or how far the prosecution will go to come out on top.

As usual...

All that work, yesterday, for nothing. A suggestion I made two weeks ago that was tossed aside suddenly became the way to go, meaning I'm not traveling, at all. Which, in reality, is good because it was going to be a difficult situation to deal with. So part of me is relieved.

BUT...part of me is pissed off. I've never been to Oxford and wanted to go. I'd have had a day there before continuing the trip, and it's always lovely to go places on someone else's money. 

That...kicked me into into a nasty mood...which Simon was enjoying. He's taken on more of an attitude, and now actually wants to snipe at Brian Walstead instead of ignore him and his associate, Elissa. Wants to piss them off. 

Before they enter the courtroom, Brian and Elissa technically surround Simon on a bench in the hallway. Initially, I had just Brian doing this and Simon refusing to engage with him. But now? Brian brings up Simon's gay adult poetry, thinking he'll put the man on the defensive, saying:

“We can use these things against you.”

Elissa almost smiled. “They could show inclination and maybe even intent. You might have been planning to do something to Officer Paley, once you got him to your hotel.”

Simon looked at her in awe. He’d actually thought she was smart. Instead, she’s the worst aspect of a team player, who knows what’s doing is wrong but puts her intelligence aside. Brian’s made his decision and she will back him up, like a dutiful wife or victim of abuse.

He sighed and said, “I’ll give you a list of my work. It’s not just on Gay Portal. There’s Plumbr. BDSM2. Gay sections. My blog on WordPlay has some of the more palatable ones, for you. Oh, and GayTrip as well as 2Queer2, too.” 

“You’re pretty cavalier about what these could do to you, in that courtroom,” Brian said. 

“Again, pay attention. My name is on them all. That should tell you something, not just how they found them so quickly. Google me and the first one that usually comes up is The Best Way to Make a Straight Man Gay. It’s been banned a few times. People thought it was a how-to manual.” 

Elissa tried to keep her voice snotty and mean, but Simon could sense surprise behind it. “It’s not?” 

He rolled his eyes at her. “Another reason you should read my work for yourself.” He turned back to Brian, smiling, “I wrote one little ditty that would fit you perfectly. 

Big bad boy Paley decided to gloat
That he’d seen how Brian would quietly dote
On him walking by, then he’d sneer and quote,
“So, Bri, it ain’t sex if I cum down your throat.”

Brian stiffened and all but snarled, “I’m not gay.” 

“As you say.” Then he put his portfolio in his backpack. 

“Simon,” he said, his voice low and growling, “if we don’t deal, here and now, I’m aiming for jail time.” 

“I prefer to be addressed as Mr. Halloran.” 

“I mean it. Six months to a year, thanks to the special enhancement. Thousand dollar fine.” 

Simon rose, laptop in one had, backpack slung over his shoulder, saying, “It amazes me that you graduated from Harvard Law. And passed the bar. Even taking into account you were just a legacy entrant. That school has lost all my respect for it.” 

Elissa circled Simon to return to Brian’s side. “You’ve been doing your own research.”

“And it’s better than yours, obviously. Courtroom’s open. I’m going in. I prefer you both stay away from me.”

Travel used to be easy...

I spent much of today working out a plan for possibly flying to the UK, specifically to go to Oxford and Belfast, and not only is it not cheap, it's not easy. Airlines' schedules are not meant for humanity. Rental cars are like gold, even if you get a stick. Ferries are inconvenient. Hotels are double the price because it's tourist season. It's damn near impossible.

I finally settled on a complete circle of a plan--fly into London, do Oxford, hop over to Belfast then down to Dublin and back home. Airlines do, at least, offer multi-city schedules...that often work out to be cheaper than direct back and forth.

One good thing is, this led Simon to tell me he wants to be a writer...and he's interested in poetry, not narrative. At least, I don't think he wants to do narrative fiction. But the poetry he does is very brutal and...well, it's pretty much punishment. Revenge. Reimagining his life in a way that he's not always a victim but instead a hero for himself.

Some of it was published on some gay threads and ADA Walstead finds out about it. He then makes a vague threat to use it against Simon if he doesn't take a deal. Suggesting that maybe he was planning to hurt Officer Paley in some way. Get him alone and drugged kind of thing.

I'm thinking of using a long form poem I wrote and posted some time ago, as Simon's work. Freddy. It's on the raw side and could be neatened up, a bit. But it fits.

Of course, Walstead's ploy doesn't work. The one real thing Simon has going for him is he's too old to give a shit, anymore. My name is on that work. That should tell you something. Rather like me and my gay erotica. I refuse to hide it as if I'm ashamed of it. That always comes back to bite you in the ass.

But it might be interesting to make up some more poems like that, for him...

Baby steps...

PvSH is coming out in small sections. Today I worked on Simon returning home from Barrington after the trial being continued for two weeks. He's all but proven the case against him is bogus, but ADA Walstead wants time to verify the evidence he presented. Just more tricks by the DA's office to protect some lying cops. But Simon is aware enough to know this will not go well.

I'm using a situation in NYC, some years back, as inspiration. A cop was in a small wreck and blamed the driver of the other car for hitting him. The driver was arrested, booked and threatened by the DA's office over a situation that should have been handled by a written citation. He was facing a couple years in jail if he didn't take a deal.

Thing is, there was a home security camera that caught the whole thing. It showed that the cop had gone the wrong way down a one-way street, was being forced to back up by an oncoming garbage truck, and he hit a legally parked car.

What's more, the man he arrested wasn't even the driver of that car. He was in the passenger seat and had to climb over to the driver's side to get out. And what did the DA's office do when face with this evidence? Fight it...then finally just dismiss the charges. And the cops are still on the beat despite filing a false report and lying under oath, as best I can tell.

There are stories like this all over the country, so I'm no longer worried about this seeming like it's crazy or overdone. I just need to make sure it reads right,

Anyway, this part includes Simon growing depressed and stopping to take a nap in a text stop on the freeway, where he remembers why he finally accepted that his lover, Doyle, was an abuser. Which was what made him quietly move to Houston. No word to anyone about where he's going...or maybe he'll lie about it. Not sure about that, yet, but that may make more sense.

So I guess I'm going to keep writing piecemeal until it starts to blend together.

Back to the writing grind...

While part of me wants to take off from writing for the rest of the year, PvSH is making itself a nuisance. I wonder how the cops find out where Simon is staying after he's finally been freed from jail? Well, up pops a podcast reporter who tried to interview him. He was told where to locate Simon by his sister-in-law, who works for ReShawn's law firm, Kaplan, Wilde, and Green, and is homophobic.

Of course, Simon won't talk to him, so the reporter goes to one of the cops involved in the case, to get his side, and inadvertently lets him know Simon's whereabouts. A snippet of which winds up as part of the man's podcast.

ReShawn sees the podcast, can't get in contact with Simon and finds the gravesite. He calls in the state police and they call in the reporter, who is live-streaming when he arrives...and is ecstatic at seeing Simon's body. It means his podcast will now go viral.

The state cops keep everything low-key, so the local cops don't know about the murder investigation until the live-stream explodes across the web and they're asked about it. Fun, fun, fun.

What this brought up is, how does ReShawn find Simon's body? Through an AirTag. He has one in his backpack due to a theft situation. The jail's guards claimed they didn't know where it was, when he tried to reclaim it after being released, so he used ReShawn's Iphone to track it and force them to get it out of the property room. Money in his wallet's gone and his laptop and phone are busted, but he doesn't cause a scene. He just wants to leave. And ReShawn uses that to lead him to Simon's grave.

I also rewrote Simon's death scene. Made it his POV...and it's...well, I'm going to make it as close to poetry as I can. Dream-like. It ends the chapter...and really the second act of the book...and I want it to kick ass.

So...The People v. Simon Halloran is moving along, despite me. I both love and hate when that happens.

Website work

Here are the new synopses I worked up for APoS' three volumes:

APoS-Derry

Derry, Northern Ireland, 1966 

Partitioned from Ireland since 1921 and dominated by Protestants, the Catholic minority has grown weary of the casual discrimination against it and begun a push for equal rights. One- man-one-vote. Decent housing. Good jobs. The most basic of requests. Yet these are still too much to accept, for those in power. Protests, confrontations and demonstrations erupt, growing more and more dangerous and violent. 

Caught in the middle of it all is Brendan Kinsella, a Catholic boy who is thought of as ... odd. The third of six children, he is quiet and observant, with an innate wariness and skepticism, and prefers to go his own way, even though that leads him into trouble, on occasion.

The story begins with the murder of his father just days after Brendan's tenth birthday. He is not sorry the man is dead; he was a vicious drunk who kept the family in extreme poverty. However, the man was killed by a pair of Protestants, which made him a martyr to Ireland and set Brendan’s mother, Bernadette, on an expanding path to Irish Nationalism. And she is dragging his older brother, Eamonn, with her.

Brendan, however, is reluctant to fall in line. So Bernadette constantly berates him as simple-minded, despite his knack for repairing just about anything, and seems unwilling to accept he just wants to live his own life.

Despite his efforts to remain apart from the growing turmoil, Brendan gets caught up in the countless civil rights demonstrations in Derry; the Battle of Bogside, where Catholics forced the Protestant Police Force out of their neighborhood; the arrival of British troops to separate the warring factions; internment without trial; and Bloody Sunday, when Paratroopers massacred Catholic marchers.

Mingled into this is Brendan’s budding relationship with Joanna, a Protestant girl from a well-off family. A relationship that must be kept secret to prevent any reprisals. She is pretty, fun to be around, has a life of relative ease, and is certain she is bound for university. She helps him see there is more to this world than hate and distrust, that his hopes, wishes and dreams could become reality, and they might still find a place of safety, even as their world careens into chaos. 

APoS-NWFO

1973, Houston

Seriously injured by a horrific bombing, Brendan is caught in an Akinetic Catatonia, where he is barely aware of what is going on around him. The Provisional IRA wants him dead because they think he tried to warn the targets of the bombing. The British Army believes he helped set the bomb and wants to interrogate him.

But a scribbled note he left for his mother, the UK passport he had just received, a job offer on a ship in Cobh, and the train ticket he had purchased, one-way to Dublin, all suggest he’d left town prior to the explosion. So that is the story all parties settle on.

In truth, while his wounds were being tended to, it was discovered he was born with a heart condition that needs attention. So he was snuck into the US using the name Brennan McGabbhinn, a distant cousin who died as a child, under a medical visa.

Kept hidden in an attic room in Houston, Texas, Brendan slowly mended out of sight of everyone except his Aunt Mari, Uncle Sean, and cousins -- Scott, Brandi, and Bernadette. But while Brendan’s body may be healing, his mind is still torn by horrific memories of that day; the understanding that Joanna, the girl he loved more than anything, is dead; that his family’s still caught in the brutality of The Troubles; and that he is not allowed to contact them.

In an attempt to regain his center he starts to repair items for the neighborhood help – irons, toasters, lawn mowers and the like. He also develops tentative friendships with Everett, a graphic artist, and Jeremy, a high school friend of Scott’s. And while he is not fond of the extreme heat and humidity of a Houston summer; he begins to believe he has found a place of safety in a city of wealth and promise.

But soon he comes to realize that appearances can be deceiving...and promises are not always kept.

APoS-HNH

Derry 1981 

Brendan is called home to see his mother before she dies of cancer. Using the chaos of the hunger strikes, he sneaks into Derry despite knowing the British forces still want to interrogate him over the bombing that injured him.

Now he must navigate the anger growing around him, even as he discovers he's been lied to about Joanna, learns his father may have been far more than a simple drunken brute, finds his youngest brother, Kieran, hates him, and he is caught in a very casual betrayal that could easily kill him.

Yet in the face of the growing turmoil and exploding violence he continues to fight to determine the direction of his life.

I took a day...

...And ignored the world. Well, pretty much. I was ensconced in my bed under the covers, with a nice chill breeze going outside and window cracked enough to whistle at me, using my art board to prop my laptop on, when I think about getting a lap table. I check online, and Michaels has them for under $10.

So I hop up, shower (since I didn't, last night), and drive the 4 miles over there. And get one. Then I think about a nice back cushion like I used to have, years ago, and find that at a store next door. And now I'm home and re-ensconced in my bed using the table and my cushion and feeling very cozy. I even have a cup of tea on the night stand.

My ass is getting to be a bit sore, but everything else is great.

I'm pulling together information for a guy I know to work up a website for me. Got samples. Got suggestions. Got links to Smashwords and Ingram Distribution. And got my last book cover set for APoS-HNH. Just waiting on the Kirkus review...which won't show till June 19th, according to their site.

Tomorrow's laundry so I won't have a chance to repeat this till early afternoon, but I'm enjoying it. I've started a beef/vegetable soup on the stove that's at the point of simmering. It's a holiday weekend so there is nothing that needs to be done for Caladex...though I did update the anticipated cost of flying down to DC for another pickup and flying home. Not much change. Just waiting for the dates the client wants. Last word was, it'd be in August.

Something I neglected to do while out was get the makings for tacos. I may need to hop over to a grocery store, tomorrow, for that. We'll see.

Careful what you eat...

I made some macaroni salad about 10 days ago, with carrots and green pepper and pickles and onion, and even threw in some chopped olives, mixed in some mayo and chopped eggs. I like how it tastes. Kept it in the fridge...but apparently it doesn't keep as well as I thought it would. I had some for lunch...and got sick a couple hours later. Which probably means I'd left it out for too long, sometime.

I wound up taking some Imodium to calm things down, and threw out the last of the stuff. Not what I needed, right now. I hate wasting food. So now I'm sitting in bed under some covers, feeling sorrier than usual for myself. And doing nothing. I've begun to think I'm just burned out with writing, for right now.

Well...I'm not quite doing nothing. I spoke with a guy I know who can work up a website for me. I just need to find an example of the kind I want to start him off. What I'm looking for is a simple site that will have an image of my books, a short logline, a pdf to download with a sample of the book, and links to buy the book at Smashwords and Ingram Direct. Build my promotional campaign off that.

But I can't find anything similar to it to show him. In the writing groups I belong to on FB, the writers all use the groups' blogs to link to Amazon for everything. I don't do Amazon, and none of them seem to have standalone web pages...so I have to keep looking.

I'm sleeping better, at least. And dreaming in the usual way, where I know I did but can't remember it enough to write it down. Except for one, this morning. One that sort of continued one I've had before, I think. In an airport that's like a Vegas Casino and no one is wearing shoes and I'm trying to find my gate but the bus has already left...the usual nonsense that makes sense while you're dreaming.

I almost got a couple of packing jobs in Belfast and Oxford, but the more I learned about them, the less likely it seems they'll happen. Just 6 boxes in Belfast, and might already be in bankers boxes. I've asked for more information, but they seem reluctant to provide it. So the universe is fucking with me, on top of me being in burnout.

I'm trying...

But not really succeeding. I haven't been sleeping well, the last couple nights, which makes my moods more difficult to deal with, and today the viciousness of the world just washed all over me. 

So I simply don't want to do anything. And that's a sign of depression, isn't it? Or is it just that I'm too much of an empath and the cruelty of people is finally cutting past my defenses?

I looked up what an empath is, to make sure I understood it right, and it's a person highly attuned to the emotions of others, often experiencing them as intensely as their own. Meaning not only can they understand the emotions of those around them but also physically feel them, absorb them, take them on and feel them like they're their own.

What made me think this was seeing clips from the battlefield of Putin's invasion of Ukraine. Russia sends her men out to be slaughtered in a meat-grinder of death, some of them not even physically capable. That's awful, but what mitigated the evil of that in my mind was knowing about some of the horrors Russian soldiers have inflicted on the people of Ukraine. Evil, evil things. Inhuman.

Ukraine's fighting back in ways far more technologically advanced, using swarms of drones to kill the advancing forces. And this one clip showed soldier after soldier being tracked down by a drone...and running and trying to hide and waving off the drone and doing everything they can to keep them away...until it blows them to bits. Over and over and over.

I could feel those men's terror and desperation through the videos. Men who may have done unspeakable acts to civilians in Ukraine...yet I hurt at seeing them die. It's so cold and uncaring...even though it's probably the only way they'll be able to keep Russia from overrunning Ukraine and doing even more horrible things to her people. Like they have in the past. But I can't reconcile the horror of what I'm seeing with the need for it.

There's also the bill the House just passed, cutting Medicaid, SNAP, environmental protections and so much more. Which will cause untold suffering and death in America, and the MAGAt Class cheers while Democrats dither and lecture and whine. It's like we're trapped in a runaway train with no brakes and the end of the track in sight.

So PvSH is sitting there waiting for me to get back to it...and I just can't. I just can't.

Wellness...sort of...

I pretty much stayed away from social media and the news, today. It only pisses me off. Instead, I reviewed the e-proof of APoS-NWFO and found it's fine so approved it for sale on May 27th. Derry is now available through all the big boys, but also direct from Ingram at a discounted rate. That only works in the US and UK, but it's something to keep the price down for most people.

Working with Ingram and selling through a group like Amazon, I have to price the paperback copies high in order to make even a dollar a copy. Some of the older books, I'm not even making that much. Linking straight to Ingram to buy is a much better deal for seller and buyer, at 20-25% off the price.

I may order a dozen of each title, once Home Not Home is up and see if I can get local book shops to carry them on consignment. And I'm going to check and see if the public library would be open to adding the hardcovers to their stacks.

I spent hours trying to set up a website on WordPress, myself, for APoS hardcovers...and it looked okay, but when I hit Publish and tried to see it without having their website builder open, it just goes to the Let's get started page. None of what I did shows up. It does when go back into the builder, so I'm missing a step, somewhere. But I've watched Tutorial videos and got downloads of step-by-step manuals that do not really fit the current form of WordPress, and I cannot figure out what I did wrong.

I already know I'm technologically inept; no need to rub my face in it.

FWIW, I also wrote 1200 words for People v. Simon Halloran...known as PvSH, from now on.

Cover for the 2nd volume

Step by step I'm closing in on the finish of publishing A Place of Safety. Soon I'll just need to figure out how to sell it. I know I'll never make my money back on it, but that's not important. Having the story out and available is. So next comes publicity.

I'm already publicizing it in Ingram's catalogue. And I'm planning a website where I'll have it done for me because I suck at designing one. Clumsy and simplistic is my high end.

I'm taking tomorrow off from social media. It's too fucking depressing and wrecks my will to create in today's political climate. I know enough history to understand shit like what the MAGAt Class is pulling has been happening since the dawn of civilization...I even reference it at the end of Home Not Home when Brendan talks about the story of the Six Nations in Canaan, sometimes called the Seven Nations. They used God as their excuse to exterminate entire peoples, and wrote that as if it was a good thing.

Something else...in 2018 I wrote Underground Guy, a murder mystery being told by Devlin Pope, who is not a sweet kind man. One part of it deals with an asshole like DJT-Jr ripping off Devlin's family and nearly driving them bankrupt, as well as almost driving his brother to suicide.

What Devlin does to get their money back is NSFW, but prior to it is a meeting between him, the asshole (whom I named Griffin Faure), and their lawyers...where Faure's side lies and threatens and stonewalls...but finally agrees to a partial settlement. Not because it's the right thing to do but because Devlin uses their own lies against them. Gets just as hard in their face as they're getting into his. Even so, it's only enough to keep his company solvent till they can regroup.

This stemmed from stories I'd heard about Felon47 driving contractors bankrupt, to the point a couple killed themselves. That's 7 years ago and fairly well-known, yet the MAGAt Class still worships that man, despite how he's hurting them. I've come to see it's a defect in the human race to be like this. To follow the liar and spit on those who tell the truth...and that really depresses me.

The legend of Cassandra also comes to mind, and that's from before the Trojan War. So I'm working on uploading New World For Old to Ingram and prepping the website, tomorrow, and ignoring the world as best I can. I need the time to regroup, emotionally.

Fucking life...

Not much writing done, today. My doctor called. I may need to have my gall bladder removed, something learned when a scan was done of my liver...which is also not in great shape. I have a polyp in the former, along with gallstones, and the latter is fatty to a bad degree. Scarred and in need of time to repair itself.

Which pisses me off. I don't really drink, maybe a beer with lunch or dinner, now and then. Never did drugs...though I did try pot, once, but it messed with me like cigarettes did, so I never smoked. Either of them. I'm not very active but I'm not inactive. And while I'm not a great lover of salads, I've eaten more in the last six months than I had in the previous six years. And all I lost was five pounds and my body's taken a fuck you attitude.

All this denial and aversion to fun and games, for nada. I could've been an alcoholic writer blaming his craft for his drinking problem. Or artist using LSD to bring him visions for his canvas. Instead, I'm an old fart who's falling apart and have to fight to create decent stories, now. Makes me very grumpy.

I remember one occasion, where I wrote the first draft of a script...Find Ray T...I drank a few beers a day for a week to see what I'd come up with. And it turned out pretty solid. The structure was set. The characters, too. Details have changed and aspects were enhanced for humor's sake, since, but if you read the first draft and compared it to the final draft, you'd be able to see one flowed from the other.

I could've done that so many times. Maybe I should try it, again. I think I drank Corona, that time. Or was it Dos Equis? One or the other. And I held down a steady job at Book Soup...or did I take a week off? I don't remember that part. I just know the idea of an actor forced to help the Mafia find a snitch who was in Witness Protection came from watching Johnny Depp on a talk show, revealing he'd met Joe Pistone, the guy who was Donny Brasco, to research his part...and it fell together.

I like how it turned out...humor, action, suspense, romance...but no one else was enthused.

New new title...

Okay, I didn't really like Simon's Murder as the title because it was too Agatha Christie-ish. So came up with The People v. Simon Halloran. It's more connected to the story, since the whole thing begins with Simon being arrested for a Class C Misdemeanor, with an enhancement. It's claimed the event was within 1000 feet of a school, so a physical arrest and booking is in order...even though it happens at midnight.

I expanded on the memory Simon has of Doyle, drunk out of his mind and finding him in Houston. Simon sees Kaposi Sarcoma lesions on Doyle's leg and hip and realizes he has AIDs. Doyle acts like he doesn't know, but there's no question. Apparently, the man wanted to pass that disease on to him, and that's when he decides to make sure he sees the bastard die.

In fact, he wants to make certain Doyle suffers through the entire disease. The whole process. Which can take a couple years. I have a hard time with him being this way...but I can't change Simon's reasons and meaning. He is what he is.

But what that memory does, coming after his laptop's been wrecked, is show how...when he decides to do something, he does it. And he decides to destroy the people prosecuting him. Which he does.

There won't be anything big and overblown in this story. No grand revenge. In fact, it's seeming more and more like Simon lets them destroy themselves through their arrogance, blindness and homophobia. Some may walk away less damaged, but no one will be unscathed.

Setting myself up for a real fun writing project...and already wondering how I can add humor to it to keep it from being too stark or bleak. Not easy; I don't do funny well.

Simon's Murder...

I wrote nearly 1600 words of a scene where the DA tries to talk to Simon during the lunch break of the trial, and it doesn't go well. Simon refuses to discuss a deal and his laptop gets damaged thanks to the DA grabbing at him. In the middle of the trial. Of course, the DA takes no responsibility for it.

But it brings up the moment when Simon decided, many years ago, to make certain he knew Doyle, his abusive ex-lover, died from AIDs. The man found Simon living in Houston and followed him home, drunk out of his mind, peed himself in the middle of Simon's kitchen, and wound up vomiting on a prized stereo setup. Ruined it. And that is when Simon decided he had to witness the man's death for closure.

Which he does, but of course, it never works out exactly how you plan, does it?

I found this poem on Tumblr, I think...and it fits Simon. I copied it...but neglected to note who wrote it. Wasn't me...but it does speak to me...

and i think maybe i was designed to be alone.

like my heart was never meant to fit into someone else's hands,

like every love i have ever known was only meant to pass through me,

not stay.

maybe i was crafted with cracks too deep for anyone to fill,

with walls too high for anyone to climb.

i wonder,

was I always meant to be the one who watches from afar?

the one who loves deeply but is never chosen?

i watch the world around me,

see how people connect so easily,

and i wonder if something is wrong with me—

if there's a part of me that keeps me alone,

something broken that can't be fixed.

maybe i was made to be the one who understands

but is never truly understood.

maybe i'm just meant to listen but never be heard,

to love but never be loved the same way.

maybe my heart was made to hold more than it should,

to hurt in silence while the world keeps going,

not even noticing.

if that's true,

if i was meant to be alone,

then i just hope i can learn to accept it.