My usual rewriting...

The is the opening of Book 4...so far...

------

I had last bothered to have contact with Gabrielle, when she tried to steal Reyndahl from me. It was twelve years earlier, after nearly dying in Hamburg. One of those ministers who froth at the mouth over witches and demons and immorality and evil in the world had led a number of his flock to break into her flat near the docks, one morning. Killed two of her retinue before the rest could escape, and burned the building down...nearly with her in it. 

She had seen to it neither that minister nor any of his followers had escaped the flames. It was quite the talk of the town. 

Of course, she had a townhouse in Stockholm and had been planning to purchase a manor house near Hampton Court, outside London. So she and her retinue had a place to go. She’d had to sell some of her jewels to finance the journey since their money had also been destroyed. 

Of course, word got back to the Oiym and they met with her to discuss upgrading her security measures. Which was why she asked...and asked very nicely, I might add...if Reyndahl could come look both residences over. Make certain they were as secure as could be. 

I left it up to him, and he chose to assist her. I expected him to be gone for a month, maybe six weeks. He remained with her almost half a year. 

I finally travelled to Stockholm to bring him back but discovered Gabrielle and her retinue had transferred to the manor house, so went there, next. 

To find Reyndahl happily ensnared in Gabrielle’s bed. I had long known he was not solely invested in relations with men, but I also knew my sister did not share anything. Toys. Food. Lovers. 

One of her group was very unhappy with this new arrangement. Bergeron. A blond beauty of a man she had turned in the late Twelfth Century. He had long guarded his place in her bed, jealously. It was he who had taken me to her chambers. Where she was lounging in her bed. 

Naked. 

While I have no interest in females, sexually, I had to admit she presented a very beautiful image. Physically. 

 Reyndahl was lying on his side, next to her, just as naked...and erect. And casting me the same mocking smile as she. 

That would not do... 

“I can see your security concerns are well-handled,” I’d said, not even trying to keep the sneer from my voice. 

“Very much so,” she’d responded. 

"Then it is time he returned home."

He’d shifted to where he was lying face down but propped up on his elbows so that his very pleasant face could watch me and his very fine ass was very visible. She smacked it and continued with, “I’d like to keep him.” 

Bergeron was right behind me, and I could sense he was not pleased with that suggestion. What had been truly interesting, however, was a flash of irritation crossing Reyndahl’s eyes. I had a feeling him remaining as her boy-toy had not been discussed. 

So just to be cruel, I’d said, “If you give me Dmitriy...” 

“Trade a simple vampire for a Blood Angel?” she’d sneered. 

That had made Reyndahl look back at her, insulted. “Simple vampire?” he’d snapped. “After all the times I’ve pleased you?” 

Now one thing I will always give to my sister is she is no hypocrite. She’d looked him straight in the eye and said, “The exchange of Blood Angels must always be equal. And being good in bed does not make you so.” 

So...he had had huffed and puffed...and returned to France with me. Bergeron was happy to see us go. But Reyndahl's rejection had angered Gabrielle, and she had let me know I was no longer welcome for any form of visit. 

All Reyndahl would say about their time together was, “I enjoyed her bed. She enjoyed me in her bed. What more is important?” Except being there I realized one serious issue was, she'd had no doùlos in the retinue, who would serve as early warning for attacks. When I’d mentioned it to him, his sole response had been, “She will, now.” 

And that is where the discussion ended.

Freak out...

I need to be more careful in what I eat. I've got Type 2 Diabetes and handle it with Metformin. I've also done better on what I eat. That's probably why I dropped from 245 lbs to 220 over the course of six months. More salads. Half portions.

But every now and then I let loose, and last night...I hate to admit it, but I ate 2 6-packs of Oreos. Loved 'em. Had them with tea. Felt very happy.

Then I woke up at 4:30am, nauseated. I came very close to vomiting...and I do not vomit. The last time I did was 20+ years ago. But diabetes can bring that on.

I found that by just standing up and remaining still, I was fine...and eventually the sensations went away. So I went back to bed. Got up at 10:15, still feeling a bit ragged, and tested my blood sugar. It was 227. Should be a hundred points less.

I drank a can of Perrier...tested it again, half an hour later, and it was up to 266. I waited an hour and tested it, again, and it was 285. I was close to hitting Urgent Care but I was also in the middle of working up an estimate for a library pack and ship, so waited till 2pm to check it, again. And it was down to 223.

I ran some errands, got the paperwork I needed for next week's job, bought salad makings and fixed up a decent one. Then checked it at 8pm...and it was 125. So panic over.

I've never been good at self-denial unless I absolutely had to...like when I was between jobs in LA and had to live on eggs, cheese, and just enough milk for hot tea for a few weeks because I had no money. But now I need to lay off the sweets completely...and it's not easy. I already drink DPZ and my hot tea is half as sweet as it used to be. But it's zero out or I'm doing a crash and burn, and I'm not ready for that, yet.

Getting spooked was good, I guess.

Continuation...

More of Léon's talk with Gabrielle about Dmitry and Franz...

-----

She finally looked straight at me. “I’ve heard the gossip about you and your German."

“Probably heightened to a ridiculous degree,” I said. 

“Not in our world, Léon. We’re not affected by that human need to justify ourselves or make our actions look better. We can be nothing but truthful." 

I hesitated then asked, "Are you willing to house-train another puppy for life in your world?" 

I waited as she crossed to the barrel of water and washed her hands, using a bar of scented soap. I eyed it then her. She smiled. "Orange blossom." 

"Very nice," I said, "but also strong." 

"Not to humans," she chuckled as she removed her riding habit...and I saw she wore trousers and a waistcoat under it! 

"Gabrielle," I said, in awe, "you don't like bustles?” 

She sneered, "Have you seen the new ones? They make you look like a bloody camel. Women are fools to tolerate the things men make them wear. All right, so swap Franz for Dmitriy? But I hear you have yet to turn him, so why should I bother with you? I could take him..."

I took a deep breath. “You still need the Oyim’s permission, and they will...” 

She was back to casting me her usual condescending stare. “You may fear them, but I do not. My retinue, they can order about...but not me. Not when a Blood Angel is my target.” She stood at a narrow window and looked down at the river, then said, “Still you think you can barter...” 

“I have to. His blood calls to me because...because of something I did, and it cannot be denied for long. If you take him, first, he will be yours. And a worthy companion. He knows the rules of court." 

"Then what is wrong with him?" 

"He prefers women to men. That is not what I seek."

Her look turned to near pity. "You are so different from me," she finally said. "You want your mate to love you. To be yours, but this man cannot be. Your mistake was based on wishes, as well." 

“Almost a mistake.” 

“You have decided his future, Léon.” 

"There...there was more to it than that." And I must admit, my tone was petulant. 

"Oh. Of course. I beg your pardon." So mocking a response, I had to grunt with irritation.

Her eyes drilled into me, like they had even when I was a child as she added, “You know, aside from that small issue you would have made a fine mate, for me.” 

Which took me by surprise. “Brother and sister?” 

“We’re Blood Angels. We are all related to one extent or another. Such middle class concerns are immaterial.” 

“Another reason for me to be glad I am who I am."

"I warned you, once. Never let lust determine your partner." 

"Yes, and you chose Dmitriy for his intellect." 

She laughed. "He proves the rule. Do you still want him?" 

"Yes. Why? Is he still being troublesome?" 

"You should be around him, for a while. Get a better sense of who and what he is. I grant you his beauty, but he is very expensive to keep. And his appetite? Difficult to quench." 

I smiled, remembering our nights together. "I know. I saw him, in London." 

"And now he is now at the barricades in Paris, rabble rousing with the communards. The young and the restless. They did not fare well. But Dmitriy did." 

She shook her head then added, "You may not yet have him." 

"My offer is to swap..." 

"I know. But I will need him to help train your Franz. Give me a month, maybe two, and I will let you know if I will keep him or agree to your plan." 

I made myself chuckle. "You are too good to me." But inside I was seething. I half-suspected she would keep them both. 

She sensed my thoughts and smiled. "You don't trust me."

"I have seen too much to trust too much. I'm only willing to allow this because you're my older sister." 

"Where is Franz?" 

"Alexandria." 

"So there is where I will journey. But be warned; he may soon be begging you to be yours." 

"Would you allow him?" 

She let that damned inscrutable smile of hers cross her lips as she said, "We'll see how he pleases me, first."

And that made me trust her even less.

Revelation...maybe...

Here is some of what Léon's sister is revealing...

----

I finally sensed Gabrielle was in the Gwangseong Garrison area, so rushed there as quickly as I could. I did not feel the presence of any other Blood Angel in the lower peninsula, so that was promising. 

I traced her to a Hanok that appeared to have been long abandoned. The exterior of its plain rectangular structure was cracked and dirty, and tiles were missing from its roof. Overgrowth covered a courtyard and threatened to return its walls to nature. It actually shocked me, considering how particular Gabrielle could be about a residence. 

But inside was another story. It might be only two rooms, one for cooking and eating, with the other for sleeping, but it was whitewashed into brilliance and the packed earth floor was surprisingly cared for. There was a sturdy, dynasty-style, four-poster bed in the back room; the cooking area had stools and utensils, a barrel of water sat beside the hearth, and four ring-necked pheasants hanging by the fire.

I knew at once she had prepared all of this for her chosen mate...to help in her seduction of him. But he was nowhere nearby and...

And then I saw Gabrielle.

She was seated in a corner by the bed, dressed in an elegant black riding habit. Looking remarkably beautiful. And for the first time in my life, she did not cast me a glare of derision when I appeared at her door. In fact, she did not even look at me. 

In her hands was a book, nicely bound in black leather with the form of a raven cut into the front, red and white bits fitted in to highlight its eyes and parts of its feathers. She held it in a way that seemed almost tender. Never before had she appeared  to be so vulnerable. 

I remained silent, from respect. She would speak to me when she was ready. 

For several minutes we were motionless before she sighed and said, “I despise humans and their stupidity. Sometimes I wonder if it might be best to round them up and keep them fenced in compounds, as they do cattle, rather than let them roam free.” 

I could not argue the point. I’d seen enough of man’s vile behavior to man. 

She let her eyes shift to me. “You know why I am here.” 

As it was not a question, I merely gave her the smallest of nods. 

She continued with, “My arrival was delayed. The Korean navy refused my ship berth. Both in Inchon and Pyongyang. Nor was I close enough to land to transport myself ashore. I was forced to port at Tangshan and enter through China. By that time...it was too late.”

Too late? Had I been lucky?

She opened the book. I moved close to see an elegant sketch of a man’s face, in profile. Flowing hair. Strong features. Good chin under a light beard. Strength and beauty radiated from it. 

“Gabrielle, this is glorious.” 

“It’s but a representation. I look. I draw what I see. Let others determine what it means.” 

"Have you tried this new thing called photography?" I said, as tenderly as I could. 

She nodded. "Since the Daguerreotypes. But the technology is too limited, still. Perhaps when they advance." 

"I've heard some say it will take the place of art." 

Now she snorted with derision. "More evidence there are far too many stupid people in the world." 

"No disagreement, here." 

She hesitated...to my shock; I had never seen her hesitate on anything, before...then turned the page to another sketch, this one of the same American officer collapsed against some rubble, clutching his groin, covered in blood, his uniform and shirt torn open to reveal his chest, lost in death. A Korean soldier stood over him, seen from behind, ancient rifle smoking, triumphant. 

“Did you see this?” I asked. "You gave me the impression he was already dead."

“He had been killed the day before I crossed the frontier. I did not really understand until yesterday. I found the man who fired the shot. Saw it all...” 

“So rifles provide stories the same as swords and daggers?” 

She nodded. “This is my recreation of...of how he died."

"I’ve made many sketches like this," she murmured. "Representations of men I have fed upon. This is the first of one whose death I had nothing to do with."

She caressed the sketch then continued with, "Did you know that while assisting with the Bayeux Tapestry, I was criticized for not working my thread in the same manner as the other ladies? I used it in ways to make each character come more alive and suitable. Our sister made great sport of me, for it. Thinking she was hurting me. When she realized I didn’t care, she saw to it I was dismissed. I didn’t mind. I prefered to sketch and paint.” 

“Do you love it, still?” 

She was silent for another minute, her hand resting on the sketch, then shrugged. “For me, it is a record...a log of my history. A reminder of all that I have done...and of how angry I can be. And I did grow angry. So very angry. More than I have been in...oh, in centuries."

Her expression grew cruel. "I destroyed that man's entire regiment...or whatever it’s called. Did not feed. Would not debase myself. Only slaughtered them like so many cattle. In ways as creative as I could be."

Which almost made me cringe. "And now you are sad."

She finally looked straight at me, her eyes cold and black as she said, "No...now my anger is quiet..."

Gabrielle speaks...

To my surprise, digging deeper into Léon's feelings as he sets off to find his sister and try to broker a trade for Dmitriy, Gabrielle has also opened up to me. Mainly because she was angry...something she rarely allows herself to be.

She got to Korea too late. The young naval office she wanted had already been killed in a skirmish with the Korean army. Her plan was thwarted so she made the Korean garrison pay, dearly.

When Léon locates her, he finds her almost melancholy. Upset with herself for giving way to anger. The last time she'd felt such fury was in the 12th Century, when her husband pledged their wealth and two-hundred serfs to the fourth crusade.

He was a baron, so she could do nothing to stop him. Instead, she made his steward a vampire, and while he was off to assist in the great campaign, they absconded with the remains of his treasury. He's still one of her retinue...Berenger.

"I will cut him loose, when I return," she told me. "He warned the Oyim of my plan."

"Did they need warning?" I asked. "They always seem to know what is happening as it happens."

"Not with me. And I will have no traitor in my midst."

"You would foist him on me, instead."

She shrugged. "He despises Dmitriy's proclivities. Being one of your retinue would be a most delicious punishment."

She also shows him sketches she made of the officer and talks of why she was dismissed from assisting in the making of the Bayeux Tapestry.

"My manner of sewing was different from the others. And our sister made great sport of me for it, calling me self-indulgent. Which I have no issue with. I see it as making my mark. Leaving a trail of what I have done, as with these sketches I made of him. He was very handsome. He would have made me a wonderful mate."

And this leads into her agreeing to take Franz...on the rebound, as it were.

Slash and burn...

I'm going through BA-4 cutting chit-chat over nothing. I had a long bit where Léon and Gregory discuss how to make their business better by using rail to Calais instead of Marseilles...and it added nothing to story except a vague bit of history.

Seems Marseilles was a hotbed of Republican fervor who were anti-Prussia and also anti-Napolean III. Nice to know, but so what? There went more than 500 words.

I'm up to the point where Léon is heading for Korea, via the Suez route. Gabrielle is en route there. to waylay a young American naval officer, who has the same blood as them. If that happens, any deal with her about Franz is off the table. Meaning Léon will not be able to trade for Dmitriy, whom he very much wants as his mate.

But even though the Oyim have forbidden any vampire to turn one of their victims without their permission, she intends to do whatever she damn well wants and dares them to punish her. She knows if she turns that officer into a fellow Blood Angel, the Oyim can do nothing to control her.

Overall, I'm trying to pump up the drive of the story, instead of letting it meander about in the fields of history. And also make sure my timeline is correct with historical facts. Can't be too ignorant of reality.

Unless I mean to...

Remembrances past...

I was chatting online with someone who had purchased a fine copy of Tom of Finland's work, published by Taschen, and it was nice conversation. Discussing what Tom's drawings  meant in the history of the LGBTQ+ community. Other gay artists we appreciated...and writers.

He had a huge influence on the look of gay men in the 70s and 80s. There's a foundation dedicated to his work in LA, in Echo Park, that has a lot of his materials on display.

Turns out the person was based in Germany, which where Taschen is headquartered. They've done a number of lovely books, but you cannot rely on them for accurate information. I bought three of their books on film...Noir, Horror, and 100 Great Films...and I've found occasionally the descriptions are just plain wrong.

Turns out they've just reprinted reviews written back when the films either came out or were in retrospectives, pre-1980, for the most part. So some of the writers were relying on memory, which is not reliable. But still...the mistakes could have been corrected.

For example, in Jörn Hetebrügge's discussion of Francois Truffaut's Les Quatre Cents Coups he claims Antoine's father catches him stealing a typewriter then it's actually the night guard who catches him as he's returning the typewriter he and a friend had stolen. Not because they felt guilty but because they couldn't sell it. 

A small point, but still raises questions about the accuracy of everything they publish.

BA-4 is working in my head, again. And Gabrielle came up with a comment I find quite awkward and yet honest. If Léonidès hadn't been gay, he'd have made a perfect mate for her. Never mind them being brother and sister. 

"We're Blood Angels," she tells him. "That's immaterial. We're all related to an extent."

His response is, "I'm glad to be who I am." And means it.

Horror of horrors...

I've lost half of my documents for Blood Angel. They're gone. Completely. I've dug through my USB memory sticks and an external hard drive...and the folders are there but nothing is in them. Not a goddamned thing. Two dozen completely empty folders.

The only fortunate part of this is...what's lost is mainly images and documents from the early phase of the story, dealing with volumes one and two. It was from just before I started keeping everything on those memory sticks to have easy access to them, since traveling on a plane made it impossible to pull documents down from the Cloud. Well...unless you're willing to buy second-rate WiFi on the flight. Which I am not.

Prior to that, I had saved everything I could onto my big, bad plug-in hard drive. But every BA folder dated prior to June 2023 is just plain empty. The only thing I can think of is the documents didn't get pulled down from the Cloud when I shifted them over. And trying to find them on the Cloud is proving to be impossible.

I HATE this new setup. I prefer to have my files kept on my laptop's hard drive. Period. But Apple didn't give me that choice and now I'm fucked over by it.

At least I had printed out the important ones and put them in a ring binder, so they aren't a complete loss. And everything I've done since volume three is on a dedicated thumb drive, so I don't have to worry about that. I also double-saved it, as well, on the external...and verified the documents are in the files.

But shit...I fucking hate the techies who thought this shit was a good idea.

Here we go again...

I don't like the direction BA-4 is taking. It's bland and nice and has a little sex in it but is close to boring. Things happen in good order yet are almost predictable. Which I do not want.

I'm halfway through the redo and think I may chuck the rest of it. Léon's angry with how Gabrielle treated him in their meeting, so he's telling me he wants to watch her turn Franz into her mate.

I can't decide if Gabrielle would accept that requirement...or if she'd refuse. Or if he doesn't bother telling her and just cloaks himself, hangs outside her window, and does the peeping tom route. Which would actually be fun to write. Throw in a curious cop and the snottiness of Gabrielle's retinue...

It would also set up what happens in BA-6, which takes place in New Orleans, post-Katrina. Gabrielle finds her one true mate in Tristan, a damaged lad who plays horn in his father's joint. At one point she's convinced him to join with her...but before she can seal the deal by turning him, they're interrupted. And now he's wary of her.

BA-6 is in screenplay format so already written. BA-5 is story format, plotted out and taking place in the early years of WW2, in Poland with Russians as the bad guys. BA-7 is modern day and filled with danger and betrayals, but only plotted, not written.

So I may need to start from the beginning and rework all of BA-4 to suit that. What I don't like is the amount of work it will take. Well...not so much the work as the time and focus.

Today, I was also dealing with tax prep, and have that 95% set. And no jobs till the second week of April. So we'll see if I can use my time more wisely than usual.

Work required...

Whipping BA-4 into decent shape is proving to require more work than I expected. I had the full section written in first draft and it's pretty straight-forward in the telling of the tale...but I keep finding inconsistencies and spots that need changing to match up with the preceding section...and cut more paragraphs.

I did a fair amount on the flights home, which were on time...albeit packed solid. I always get an aisle seat unless the flight is under 90 minutes; that's so I don't have to bother people when I need to go to the toilet. But it's tight. SW now charges extra for the emergency row seats, which provide more space. I used to pay for Business Select so I could snag one of them. No more.

Upon landing I was feeling good so got my car, decided to get a DPZ and grab a salad at Panera's. I stopped at a convenience store for the soda...and as I got out of the car somehow my cargo pants leg got caught on some part of its door and tripped me. Fell flat. Not really hurt, but my pants ripped open at the leg pocket.

That kicked me off center. But still got my DPZ and kept to the plan. I got to Panera and ordered the Fuji Apple Salad, but with turkey instead of chicken...and they were out of the apple chips that go with it. I was almost put off but went ahead with the order, and it still tasted all right, but not quite the same.

By this point I was in a foul mood. Like the universe was telling me something. I'd planned to stop at a grocery store for some things but decided I'd better just go home. 

I did that because I was veering into my self-flagellating mode...and fighting to remind myself that I wasn't a complete failure. That I'd done right by certain people. Like Kelly. I'd given him money to keep him off the street for eleven years. Over ninety-thousand dollars, total. Took me to the point of bankruptcy.

My sister also pitched in. I have no idea how much it cost her, but it wasn't that much less. She bought him a second-hand RV to live in and paid for his dental and cataract surgery. I focused on rent for his RV lot and running money. Just $700-750 a month. It wasn't till he got early Social Security that he was able to get state aid for a real apartment, and that was thanks to a nephew.

She and I did right by him, including paying for his cremation and interment...but I still had to scream that at myself to beat back this growling sense of not having done enough...all because I fell and tore my fucking pants.

Maybe I need therapy.

Life is changes...

Dear God, I peopled out, today. The memorial at 10am, lunch at Schilo's and dinner at Rudy's after sitting around and watching a series on Prime that used a sort of AI rotoscope to make the actors graphic-drawn characters. I'm now in my hotel room finally relaxing.

I did some of the same, yesterday, after my flight landed. Sister picked me up and we had dinner at my nephew's, where I got my first mosquito bite in years. Dammit.

(BTW, this image is from TwinSauce, twins who do great clips of dances; I just don't know if it's Paul or Mark.)

Don't get me wrong, I love my family. But I'm happier off by myself. Which is half the reason I like living in Buffalo. No one to bug me, up there.

Tomorrow is back to home. Hopefully. TSA was fine going into Buffalo's airport and might not be bad going into San Antonio's...but I'm changing planes in Nashville. Never done that before. Fortunately, ICE is not prancing around, there.

Shit, I wish I had money enough to leave this country. Live in Canada, Ireland or the UK. I've even thought about Norway, but I don't know the language, at all, so even though I can show lineage back to 1656, I don't think that will get me in. And my SSI isn't enough to pay my way.

I've got a fair amount of work to do to fit BA-Long Journey into what BA-Revelation set up. It's mostly continuing the story as if Leon had turned Franz and found him to be uncontrollably evil. No longer the case.

I've cut about 600 words, so far...which is making it better. It will be around 18,000 words, which is in line with the other parts.

I'll need to start considering a cover image, soon. Maybe after this pass and before I start the next edit. Going through BA-Revelation, I found a couple of typos. Not good...but not surprising.

At least I did my duty.

In San Antonio...

On the plane down, I read some of Will Durant’s The Story of Philosophy and he said something in it that struck me, hard. “I have seen too much to believe too much.” It speaks to me in ways I haven’t felt since I read Voltaire’s Candide, many, many...many years ago. 

The more you see of people’s actions, the less you believe anything they claim or say. The more you think no one can be fully trusted, no matter how decent and moral they seem, because you’ve seen how their own history puts their claims to lie. 

The Catholic Church lied about its priests molesting children for decades, all around the world. They'd move the offenders from one parish to another without warning, yet they still try to lecture others on what is moral and correct. And too many people go along with it, attacking the church’s victims. 

 That monster in the White House is practicing genocide against the Cuban population with its embargo, just like Stalin did to Ukraine in the Holodomor, a hundred years ago. No oil allowed into the island for months, killing the energy infrastructure so hospitals cannot function and food is spoiled. People will die of disease and starvation, and no one cares. Same for Iran. It's obscene.

People are being told not to trust vaccines that have saved untold numbers of lives over the centuries because some nut job says they should, just like people were convinced by the church that cats were in league with the devil, seven or eight centuries ago. So they killed them or ran them off...and were overrun with rats carrying fleas that passed along the bubonic plague. Which wiped out up to half of Europe’s population. 

It goes on and on and the more I learn about history the more I see us committing the same stupid mistakes, over and over and over. We don’t learn. We don’t try to be better. We only look for new and improved ways of committing the same attrocities as our forbears. And we’re so fucking good at it, we think we’re advancing instead of just coughing up more and more death and destruction. 

I think I’m turning into a curmudgeon...if I wasn’t one, already. What keeps me from losing total faith is my characters and stories. I try my best to do right by them, and sometimes I manage...sometimes. 

I just read Blood Angel 3 - Revelation and like how it turned out, so now plan to work on the next part in the series, sub-titled A Long Journey. Where Léonidès goes looking for Gabrielle in hopes of trading Franz for Dmitriy. He goes to England then Korea through the Suez Canal and via Hong Kong and China...and finds she is as much of a bitch towards him as ever. 

...Sisters...

More travel...

Off to San Antonio, in the morning. Getting up at 7am (ugh!) to be at the airport by 8am in case TSA is going to be a problem...since my flight's not till 9:35. But I'll have a book to read and my laptop.

Three hour layover in Baltimore then a nearly 4-hour flight to SA. Getting in about 5pm, central time. The return trip is about the same, just changing planes in Nashville, instead. I'll be nice and cranky.

There may also be a trip down to Washington DC in July, but as of now that's the only other trip on the horizon. Which makes me happy. I used to love to travel, but it's become such a chore...as well as so damned expensive...I'd sooner stay home.

Being done with Taking Nicky brought on my usual vague depression at the completion of a project. Since I'll be too busy to worry about starting anything new till I'm back from SA, Tuesday night...maybe not even through the whole week...I'm hoping to just skate past it.

I'm so tired of how things are in Washington and around the world. Seeing the monsters on the loose, everywhere, and knowing how many jackals exist to support them. It cuts deep. Hard. 

As I was inputting this, Henry Fonda's speech at the end of The Grapes of Wrath was playing on my phone. I'd scrolled to another video clip and when that one was done, this followed. From 1940...and not a damned thing has changed.

He was robbed at the Oscars...even Jimmy Stewart said so.

Meta confusion...

Yesterday's post on Blogger was hidden behind a warning wall and I have no idea why. They claim I violated the community standards, but won't tell me in what way. There is nothing sexual about it. No nudity. I don't threaten anyone or call for violence in any way. I mention my fear Felon47 will live to be a hundred, but that's it.

I thought it might be due to the image I initially used was of a shirtless man in jeans, seated and holding a beer can...and for some idiotic reason the algorithm thought he was holding his dick. But replacing it with two men kissing didn't change a thing...so I just made it a shirtless working man.

I am so fucking sick of this nonsense, where you get spat upon with by technology with no recourse except to take it or leave in a huff. Supposedly, I can ask for an appeal, but there's no place on the site to do so and the email is one of those no-reply ones.

And it's not just on Blogger this is happening. I like to stream Metropolis, a music program on KCRW. because it comes on at 10pm, in LA, Saturdays. But they've updated their website and it is now extremely difficult to find the latest show. 

The backlist is completely out of order, by date...and some don't even have a date overtly posted. You have to go into the file to see when it aired.

I've sent emails asking about it and complaining, and I don't even get a response. And that's with me being a monthly donor.

I'm like the black cat seeing all the tricks being pulled by the orange one and wondering WTF? Maybe the world has moved on to some other plane of existence from mine and I just haven't caught on, yet.

FWIW, Taking Nicky is all uploaded and as of tomorrow will be completely available.

Done.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Nasty headache...

Wrote too much...so here's some of TN's Chapter Twenty...uploaded today. There will be at least one more chapter, maybe two. This is after Rett has been gang-raped by Vance's men and abandoned in the Santa Monica Mountains. He's called Ben and Liam to come get him.

--------

I put my phone in sleep mode then picked up my clothes and did a long, quiet listen. Had to force the noise in my head to settle...but I finally made out the soft sound of water splashing somewhere close. They’d never removed those heavy socks, so I was able to follow the sound as best I could across the dirt and stones with minimal discomfort...and lo and behold, there was a little brook close by. 

I stripped off the last of the rape clothes and used them to scrub myself with its water, as best I could. I let the wind dry me, even though it was chilly, then I pulled on last night’s clothing. No underwear or socks, but I did have my shoes...and my wallet and money were still in my pocket, as were my keys. 

I stumbled back to the half-moon tent and scrounged through it to find some granola bars and a half-full bottle of spring water. Looked like my rapists had been chilling up here, for a while. So I sat at the picnic table to eat and let my mind drift and return to itself. 

Under other circumstances, where I was would have been a lovely place to camp out. The rolling hills that were almost mountains. One after the other into the distance. The scrub and shrubs all over, colored in a vague military green. A few trees. All very dry and probably set to go up in the next fire season. Still, I could sit there and wonder at the beauty of hawks and buzzards dancing through a clear blue sky that was whispered with feathery clouds. 

A deer and her fawn wandered past a bit down the hill, cast a curious glance at me then continued on. I think I heard chipmunks, but to be honest I don’t know what they sound like. Might have been gophers. Still, it was all so tender and uncaring and just plain perfect I could have wept. 

So...Vance thought he owned me. Thought he’d made me into just another porn actor whose claims for anything could be dismissed as a junky out for money. That he’d been able to pull this together with so many people so quickly told me he had some deep connections in the So-Cal porn world as well as mainstream Hollywood.

Which told me he’d probably upload the edited video to some kink site, giving me a fake name but having it ready to broadcast if I didn’t let him run my life. Destroy what little reputation I had in the business and send me packing back to Laguna Beach. 

As if. 

Of course, I couldn’t think of what to do in order to counter him, at the moment. I was still too messed up, mentally, physically and emotionally. I needed to find a safe place to sit and think and plan. Which meant not returning to my condo...not just yet, and... 

Suddenly, I saw Ben and Liam strolling up the path and waving at me, as if only a few minutes had passed since I called them. I was shook, but I still managed to wave back. 

Ben noticed the rope Vance’s boys had left, some still tied to the table...and saw the skin of my wrists was rubbed raw. But all he said was, “There’s a parking area just down the path.” 

I nodded and rose to my feet, a lot steadier than I thought I’d be. 

“What about all that stuff?” he continued, moving towards the tent. 

I just shook my head. Let the next fire get it. Or maybe some homeless person. I wanted nothing from it. 

We slipped down to Liam’s car...which to my surprise was an old, sleek Chrysler 300. He noticed how I looked at it with admiration and said, “Got it from my dad. He bought a Tesla to replace it...before he knew the guy was an asshole. Now he’s got a Kia.” 

But what was even more of a surprise? My little SUV was parked close by. 

I actually gave myself a mental kick for not thinking they’d have brought it and left it, for me to get home. They had my keys and it couldn’t stay in Niko’s parking area for very long without some questions being raised. 

Common sense was not with me, at that moment. 

Thing was, I didn’t trust myself to drive it, right then. My brain was still too skittery. 

The boys were looking at me, silently waiting for some explanation. Your car’s here but you had us drive all this fucking way? What the fuck, Rett? 

“One of you want to drive it?”  I managed to croak. 

Ben nodded. “Where to?” 

Oh, right, someplace to stay. Hide. Regroup. Bring back my peace of mind and sense of control. 

I handed him the keys. “You know that Motel 6 by LAX?” 

“Yeah,” said Liam. “405’s gonna be a bitch.” 

Ben nodded. “Do Sepulveda, off the Ten.” 

“Traffic lights!” Liam fake whined as he got in the 300. 

“Or fast as a snail,” Ben shot back. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

I slipped into the passenger seat as Ben got into my HRV, and off we went. And I said nothing as we drove.

Shock value...

Jesus, I spent so much money, last year, promoting A Place of Safety, setting up the paperbacks with professional covers, ads, website, reviews...10% of my total income. And I haven't seen it do anything. It's turning out to be one of those books that you break your heart to write and when it's published...it just sits there. No matter what you do.

I am so damned proud of the book, and I'm still spending money to build awareness of it...but I'm at the point I just can't afford to, anymore. I haven't sold a total of 100 copies of the three volumes, combined.

I do a lot better with my MM erotica. HTRASG/Curt is my best seller, thought Hunter is close behind. Sales in the 5-figure range. Not NY Times Best Seller stuff, for sure, but brings in something. Gives me justification for deducting all my publishing expenses.

But do I want to put myself through that with Dair's Window, next? I need greater motivation than just the story wants to be told.

Christ, I hate doing taxes. They make me so depressed, seeing the state I'm in, financially. I may need to take a trip...oh, fuck...I'm heading down to San Antonio on Sunday for my brother's family memorial on Monday...if I'm able. TSA is starting to quit thanks to the GOP being a bunch of assholes who won't pass a Democratic bill to pay them.

I so fucking hate Republicans.

Ah, life...and taxes...

I started pulling together my tax information, today. six weeks later than I usually do. I haven't even contacted my CPA, yet, to see when she can fit me in to do it. Not that I'm in any rush. I'd have to pay something, as usual...but I'm thinking I may refuse.

I don't want my taxes used by Felon47's administration for anything they do. The war in Iran. Handing my tax dollars to billionaires. Paying to have that bastard's name emblazoned over everything like we're fucking North Korea or the USSR under Stalin.

Hell, I may not even file a tax return, this year. See what happens. Except I already know. I got into trouble with the IRS once, nearly 40 years ago. I made a mistake on one tax return for $200 and they acted like I was trying to bankrupt the country. Took a couple of years to get it settled, and that was over nothing. That's also when I started using a CPA.

I don't know what to do, I'm so sick at heart at seeing what's happening to the country. I protest. I howl online. And write my reps demanding they stop politicking and start DOING something to stop him. And none of it works. So I spiral into sadness.

On top of it, Chapter 19 of TN was really brutal. It included things I really do not like, such as water sports and biting hard enough to draw blood. A touch of sexual terrorism. I know some erotic writers have no trouble with this; I've read sone and backed away. My core is still very vanilla. 

Hell, I'm having a glass of milk, right now, to help me center myself. That's always been my go-to when I'm spiralling.

Must be the Norwegian in me.

20 Chapters.

Taking Nicky is set at 20 chapters and just over 50K in words. I pulled an all-nighter and got it worked out. Went to bed at 7am and slept till after 1pm...but I'm glad I did it. I didn't hold back on anything. Having the heating pad on my neck helped me feel better.

Today, I'm letting it sit then I will go over the last two chapters to do my usual WTF was I thinking? nonsense. Change some bits. Intensify others. Add to the suspense. And make sure the Coda is clear and proper.

I'm sort of following the Oscars as the evening goes.Wish Delroy Lindo had won supporting actor and Ryan Coogler got director. Paul Thomas Anderson's always hit me as a bit pretentious and artsy-fartsy. Nothing wrong with that, but I just learned his film got Best Picture...and that feels wrong, to me.

I am glad for Michael B Jordan. Very glad. And at least Coogler got Original Screenplay, and Sinners won Cinematography...done by a woman of color, named Autumn Durald Arkapaw. That is great, because she's the first female and first person of color to win.

I used to watch the Oscars, almost religiously. I'd get a bag of Doritos, Frito bean dip, and a 2-litre bottle of Dr Pepper and that would last me the full 3.5 hours. But then I drifted away from going to movies. I left LA and didn't get to see many of the nominees, elsewhere. Now I don't even have a TV to watch it on. I just get posted updates and that's fine.

Oh, well...we all change as we get older...

Oh, for cryin' out loud...

I didn't go out yesterday or today. Stayed in due to the weather and to get some writing done. But I feel like a cold is coming on. Achy. Nose acting up. Head not quite there. Throat threatening me. And I don't know where it came from. 

I had a maintenance guy in to fix my bathroom sink's cold knob, but I wasn't really around him and he didn't sound sick. Or seem sick. He was here maybe ten minutes in the bathroom, and I stay out when they're working.

I did go to the office to pick up a couple of packages that came...one of which was that copy of Graeme Tomlinson's book...and some people came on the elevator going down with me, but they didn't come across as ill, either.

But here I am, close to shivering and a heating pad on my shoulders. And finding when I type I'm making all kinds of mistakes. Which usually happens when I'm not feeling 100%. I catch them, but it's irritating.

At least I got another 2700 words written and know where Taking Nicky is going from here. One more chapter, for sure...maybe a second as an epilogue. It's a case of Vance thinking he's gained control of Rett...only to find out he hasn't. My guy is a scorched earth type, when need be.

Okay...in that last couple of sentences, I typed he;s and heed instead of he's and need. I've been doing shit like that all day...as if my fingers are not completely connected to my brain, or my synapses are misfiring. I may need to have myself evaluated for brain issues. Alzheimer's runs in my family.

That is something I do NOT want to have to deal with.

(BTW, the artwork is by Mariusz Kulak)

Weather...whether...

It snowed today. Long and hard for over two hours. Unable to see more than a thousand feet. Layered the world around me in white. Soft and pure. Then it passed away...and an hour later it was pouring rain with heavy winds. And now it's all gone.

I stayed in. Thought about things. Slipped into a frame of mind that questioned why I'm writing. Why I've all but stopped sketching, let alone painting. Remembered I planned for years...through high school and after....to be an artist. 

Fell in love with abstract expressionism, but wanted to mix its subconscious non-representational emotion and gesture with the human form. 

Male human form. Everybody was doing women. I'd even begun seeing the Andrew Wyeth paintings of Helga, here and there, and started wondering if I could find some way of combining that precise beauty with the careful freedom of Willem de Kooning and lovely men.

But it never happened. Oh, I did paintings. Male nudes. Single. Double. Groups. Working in acrylics on board. Sold some to collectors. Gave others away. Did some off-beat designs of cityscapes that became t-shirts and posters. Then for some reason turned to writing.

But even in my writing I tried to paint images with words. And still, working on a piece of gay erotica, I'm fighting to build more than a picture in the reader's mind of what is there and happening. Not just the action and emotion, but the blending of background and foreground and colors and styles. A life, not merely a tale.

Then today...after thinking about what I posted yesterday, for Taking Nicky...I suddenly wondered if I've just been wasting my time on something that was counterproductive to my true reason to be. Words cannot take the place of images. Never. You can try and come close...and worlds can be build in one's mind and emotions touched...but nothing supplants actually seeing.

So I feel like I've spent 50 years riding the wrong horse...and now cannot even get myself to do a fucking sketch. To pick up a paint brush, again.

How fitting I'm feeling this way on Friday, the 13th.

Well, back to wondering what I'm doing...

I uploaded chapter seventeen of Taking Nicky and may wind up with three more, depending on how this goes. Rett learns Niko is controlled by Vance, financially and career-wise, and is willing to help him escape that control. How? I have no idea.

The chapter ends with them headed over to Niko's condo in Santa Monica to look over his taxes from last year. Maybe some financial statements. None of which will show a damned thing except Niko gets wayt overcharged for everything so has little money left over.

Rett's also got Ben and Liam back on his side, and he's willing to accept them...and that makes no sense to me. They worked with Vance to hurt him and he's fine with them still helping him out? Realistically, I can't see it...but I have a feeling Rett has his reasons.

That was something I learned a long time ago...that everyone has his good reasons. It's a quote from Jean Renoir's The Rules of the Game. Funny that the English title is in the plural; the original French is singular. La Règle du Jou. 

Perhaps I should take that more into account with my world, a simple change that means everything...and reveals the limitations of the world.

Goodreads...

Well...A Place of Safety-Home Not Home got a 5-star review on Goodreads...

This powerful continuation of the story pulls readers straight into Brendan’s emotional and dangerous journey back to Derry. The author does a remarkable job portraying the tension of the political unrest while also diving deeply into Brendan’s personal struggles with family, betrayal, and painful truths from the past. 

I was especially drawn to the complex relationships, particularly the conflict with his brother Kieran and the revelations about his father and Joanna. The pacing keeps the suspense alive while allowing space for reflection. It’s a gripping and thought-provoking read that blends history, emotion, and suspense beautifully. 

I highly recommend it to readers who enjoy intense, character driven historical drama.

Makes me very happy. And here's my website to locate all three volumes of the story, should anyone want to read it for themselves.

Backtracking...

Well...I let a minor character hijack Chapter Seventeen of Taking Nicky and take it to a place I did NOT like. Then he argued with me when I didn't want to go there. So...I cut all but the first 200 words of what I'd written and will start over, tomorrow.

I have enough brutal sex in the story, god knows I do. Especially Chapter Sixteen, which is nonstop. So I want a pull back to normalcy. Tenderness, even. I'm trying to find a way to have Rett's obsession with Nicko turn positive.

Which is crazy to want because he just raped the guy. So am I going for a Stockholm Syndrome deal between the two of them? That seems awfully fake...and I hate fake, even in erotica.

Unless...Niko turns the tables on Rett and gets him to become...what? His slave? Sugar Daddy? Bondage master? Benefactor? I dunno...

Screw it. I'm taking tomorrow off and giving myself time to think. May have to, anyway. I'm trying to get in to see my doctor about a sore that was healing but is suddenly back to being red and rough. Like it's infected. Nothing I'm doing seems to make a difference, so it's medical alert time.

Oh, and in the world of no good turn goes unpunished...I went to Walgreens for some meds and a homeless guy at the entrance asked for shampoo. I bought him a travel size of Pantene. Gave it to him. Then he asked for the receipt. 

I'd paid for the shampoo at the same time I paid for a couple of prescriptions, so told him I needed it. He tossed a fit, in the store. Screaming, "I said please!" Over and over. I was so startled, I dropped everything...and he grabbed the receipt and stormed off. I didn't chase him; I was glad he was leaving.

But fuck me if I ever do anything decent for another person I don't know.

I can never be a vegan...

Today I ate right. Shredded wheat for breakfast (good fiber). Leftover cheese enchiladas and rice for lunch (home made). Hopped over to Wegmans for their avocado rolls for dinner (had 4 instead of only 2). Got a great reading on my blood sugar (132, which is under the 180 requested in the evening). And my snack was fruit cocktail (in fruit juice, with bananas).

But by 10:30pm I'd have killed for a cheeseburger. Right now, I'm eating some leftover mac and cheese cooked with ground beef and chili powder...and feeling much, much happier.

Now rather than feeling guilty, I'm just going to pay more attention to a guy who goes by The Fitness Chef. His name is Graeme Tomlinson, and has a pretty even-handed approach to diet...and his deadpan discussions are lovely...

I'm not geared to veggies all that much. Broccoli gives me gas like you wouldn't believe, and if I eat more than a couple fronds sends me to the toilet. Salad's fine...a couple days a week. Spaghetti with my own meat sauce is lovely. I even like it reheated. 

Guess I'm just a carnivore, inside out. Raised on the idea your dinner has to have a meat, something green like peas or string beans, potato and bread. It's how I'm configured. So all I can do is try to eat less.

I had one hell of a time doing that in San Antonio, while dealing with my brother's illness and death. I put on about 5 lbs...which is good because I thought it'd be worse. And I've taken them off. This morning I was back to 220. So I'm going back to my old diet, just eating less of it at a time. I'd like to dip below 200, again, but it's been nearly 2 decades since that happened.

So I guess I'll get back to walking, as well...get some exercise.

And try not to be so grumpy doing it...

Evolving...

Chapter Sixteen of Taking Nicky is nothing but Rett finally getting to take Nicky...or Niko, as he's now called...and manipulates Ben and Liam to where they participate in it. And finds he wants more from Niko, now, now, now. Becomes obsessed.

But this is where the story shifts, again. Chapter Seventeen will be Rett finding out Niko had been sex-trafficked by his agent and Vance. The condo he lives in isn't his; it's where he's forced to stay by contract...at an exorbitant rent. That's taken straight out of his modeling fees.

In fact, his agency and others charge so much to him, he's lucky if he keeps 10% of his income. He's so broke, he can't even afford to have a dog, not that the owner of his condo would let him. The only thing he truly owns is his old Chevy Blazer.

He goes skating down the bike path to blow off steam when things get to be too much. And he knows he's been an asshole to people, but sometimes it's his only way to keep his sanity.

Funny, but I think Niko and Rett will wind up lovers living in Rett's condo. Maybe Niko will set up a social media platform about the true life of a model. Or go into business with Steve/Smoke making skates. No idea, yet.

But then, I had no idea this would go in many of the directions it did and still wind up here. I should stop worrying about how Dair's Window will turn out and just let it happen. Drop the structure I currently have. See where Adam and Dair take me.

Finally trusting Brendan to lead me right worked for A Place of Safety...

Lightning strikes...

One more pass through Taking Nicky's Chapter 15 to polish and check for typos...after having editor do a check...and up it goes onto GayDemon. I've also set up for chapter 16...and probably 17...and maybe 18. We shall see.

But by underestimating Rett, Ben and Liam have put themselves into a dangerous position...both physically and emotionally. Because Rett is out to teach them a lesson in not fucking around with people. Same for Niko.

Sixteen is that lesson being taught. Seventeen is emphasizing he is not to be trifled with. Eighteen, if there is one, is everything coming together with an HEA...so far...

Of course, reality is none of the people fucking around with Rett ever truly bothered to know or understand him. If they had, they'd have left him the hell alone.

Helps to have had a good sleep, overnight, and nice nap in the afternoon. And to be told you've got a 5-Star review for A Place of Safety-Home Not Home. I don't know where it's posted, but I'm told I have it.

One of the things I like most about writing, even when I don't, is how it keeps me from knowing too much about how the world is going...in real time. The evil of Felon47's administration just keeps getting worse, as does his defense by the MAGAt Cult...and it rips me apart.

I actually posted a comment on Xitter that I never thought I'd live to see America commit suicide, but here we are.

Yeah...here we are...

Change in direction, again...

The beginning of chapter 15 for Taking Nicky:

 
Okay, something people seem to forget is that just because I’m horny or obsessed over a guy...and just because that guy is kissing the shit out of me...and just because I’m enjoying the shit out of him doing it...I’ll get all stupid. Blind. Or maybe a better way of putting that would be, unable to pay attention to reality.

Which is really insulting. 

I mean, yeah...Niko’s kisses were the epitome of perfection, and him molding his body against mine was breathtaking in so many fucking ways...except for this one weird little issue. 

No hint of his dick pressing against me. 

He wasn’t hard. 

Not erect. 

My dick’s as solid as a John Holmes dildo, raging in my briefs and really obnoxiously so...but he’s got nothing. To the extent I’m beginning to wonder if he’s trans. 

Of course, I knew better, all the research I’d done on him. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering me. 

The sliding glass doors to the yard are still open, and you don’t let something like those stay open overnight. You’ll wind up with some homeless person sleeping on your couch or, as once happened to me, taking a dump on your coffee table while zonked out of his mind. 

So I tried to move him back so I could shift around to close it, saying, “C’mon, Niko, lemme lock the front...” 

But he grabbed my wrists and held my hands over my head while crushing me against the wall, pinning me. Shutting my words off. 

That’s when I chuckled, “Niko, come on, I...I need to close the door.” 

He silenced me with another kiss. 

Which was beginning to piss me off. So I yanked my hands away and pushed at him but he had braced himself against me by propping his legs at an angle and barely moved...and that’s when I noticed... 

Ben and Liam entering at the sliding glass door. Looking sneaky. And holding rope. 

Bam, inner wildcat took over. I kneed Niko in the balls...and it turned out he does have them. And a dick. Because he howled and dropped and I scampered back into the kitchen, where I grabbed a knife, and held it in my best serial killer way. Which stopped the boys at the kitchen door. 

“All right, boys,” I growled, “who’s going to explain this?”

Dammit...

I had my burger...actually, a small cheeseburger, small fries and a regular drink...at a 5 Guys simply because they're easy and on the way home and acceptable enough. But it was $20!!! Twenty fucking dollars! This is why I'm cooking at home, more and more. I just need to better prepare for my cravings.

I also tried out making a chocolate cake from an apple, egg, cocoa powder and dash of baking powder. Saw the recipe at Corey B's Facebook page. Smelled good. Looked good. Tasted pretty good. But the consistency was so wrong...like a cross between muerange and souffle. I ate it. Made my lonely mouth happy enough due to the choco-love. But no more; too weird.

One note about this -- if you're going to try it yourself, chop the apple up before you try to blend it. I've got a Rocket blender and it did not like big slices.

Worked another 5 hours today and maybe as much, tomorrow, then I'll return focus to Taking Nicky. I've got a solid idea of how to handle it and give the readers what they're expecting, thanks to a dumb move by Ben and Liam.

Those two join forces with Vance to teach Rett a lesson, but they don't so much bumble it as underestimate him. His comment is, They thought I was so locked in on my obsession with Nicky, they could take me, shake me, fuck me, and quake me... or something to that effect.

He turns the tables on them, all. Because something they did not take into account was his absolute unwillingness to be controlled. And how hard it would be to force him to do anything he didn't want to do. 

If all that makes any sense. Suffice to say, Rett achieves his goal and no one can do anything about it. Which makes him top dog in that little group.

Something Vance will not like.

Stupid...

Did you ever get hungry for something and talk yourself out of getting it because you have food at home and can make something but wind up not being able to and then kicking yourself for not just getting what you fucking wanted? That was me, tonight.

I got hungry for a really good, solid cheeseburger. But there's no place in my area of town that offers one. 5 Guys is okay...but not sloppy enough. Opposite of a place called Jim's Steak Out. Last time I got a burger there only half of it remained inside the bun; the rest slid out and around and I had to get a fork to eat it. 

I didn't want McDonald's, Wendy's or Burger King; theirs are so processed. And the nearest Chili's is 5 miles away in evening traffic. I was grumpy driving from the office and didn't want to deal with that. I'd have killed for an In-n-Out #2 meal, animal style, but they aren't in the mid-Atlantic states. So I came home.

Of course, all my hamburger meat is frozen and would have taken too long to thaw. I tried slaking my hunger with half a cantaloupe...but that only made me hungrier. I almost went out again just to hit the Chili's. Their burgers aren't the greatest but they're decent enough. Instead, I wound up making chili mac and cheese. And that was okay.

But I still fucking want a burger.

Maybe I'm pregnant...which would be a miracle in more ways than one...

Worked today...

Helping get paperwork set for dealers to return home in the US and abroad. Hopefully before the end of the world comes. I was only half joking when I referred to Felon47 as the antichrist. Apparently he took it as a challenge to outdo the devil and his spawn.

The positive thing for me is, I was busy till nearly 6 and bought dinner en route home. Same thing for tomorrow. Tonight, I had an avocado roll at Wegman's, which is tasty and held me okay, but after a couple hours I got hungry, again. It's better for lunch. Maybe I'll do Indian, tomorrow.

I don't really want to work, but I need the money to pay for all the trips to and time spent in San Antonio, not to mention helping pay for my brother's cremation and funeral. I cut costs as much as I could, but I'm still $1500 in the hole on my Visa. 

I've got an idea for the remainder of Taking Nicky. It has to do with Rett not being as stupid or gullible or desperate as someone else thinks he is. A double cross doesn't work on him. Once I have the time, I'll write it up and get it posted. I think three more chapters and the story is done.

I hope I can be as clever and smooth in my writing when I'm working on Dair's Window as I have been in my MM erotica. It's going to be a real challenge.

Of course...

I'm going through all the docs to be used to reformat my books into EPubs and finding not only typos but mistakes in attributions and inconsistencies in how they're laid out. I've gone through Hunter, Curt, the Blood Angel volumes, Rape in Holding Cell 6, Porno Manifesto, and Underground Guy...

And I've caught myself really liking how I wrote them. The way I phrased things and, in my mind, made the dialogue like something two or three people would actually be saying. 

I was especially pleased with a conversation between Devlin and his sister in law, Diana, in Underground Guy. When she tells him how she met his brother. Devlin knew the basics; she gives him the full story...and I think it's very well done.

-------

After another minute of watching me and sipping her tea and nibbling at her food she said, “Dev, you know how Colin and I met, right?” 

I had to nod. “He ... he got lost and you ... uh, you found him. Brought him home.” 

“You know where I found him?” 

I shrugged a yes. 

She smiled. “I always thought it interesting you never said anything.” 

I sighed and glanced at her, my mind beginning to focus. “I didn’t need to.” 

Her smile widened. “Y’know, the only reason I approached him was I’d heard my usual connection got busted and that I should assume the new guy’s a cop. So when I saw Colin — no way did he belong in that neighborhood. Fuckin’ rookie, was my first thought so I went over to play. Be a real bitch. But he looked at me with those lost dark lovely eyes and the first words he said were, Oh my God, you’re so beautiful.” 

She sighed. “I wasn’t. I was at the tail of a party weekend. But his attitude ... his whole manner ... it was so simple and straight and honest and sweet ... I fell apart. Sobbed. He said he was sorry and gave me a handkerchief. Cheap white cotton. Buy ‘em by the half-dozen. I still have it. Wouldn’t part with it for anything.” 

I turned to her. “You’re good for him. For both of us.” 

“Thank you for that.” She smiled and pulled out a tissue to dab her eyes. “It took me ten minutes to find out he’d met with a client and parked his car in a cheap lot to save a few bucks, but couldn’t remember which one and was close to falling apart. I offered to call someone but he panicked and said you were at school and your father off on business and no one could know how he’d screwed up. So we went to every lot I knew — and found it at the fifth one. By that point, he was shaking so badly he couldn’t drive so I got behind the wheel. And I stayed. And we have three beautiful perfect sons.” 

Then she looked straight at me to add with a near growl, “And I will never, never, never let anyone — anyone at all — hurt him or them. So if you don’t give me the complete and absolute truth, I’m here to have fun at a baby shower for an old friend, and then back to New York.” 

Where they would build walls to protect the business and I would be fucked.

Quotes...

I'm still working up info for the website. Finding quotes to use from the stories, to increase interest in them. I guess. Use this image for the header or banner or whatever it's called.

They might be a bit long, but the person handling the building of it is better are making them fit than I am, so I'm just giving samples...

Like the following, from Underground Guy, when Devlin is being interrogated by Reg:

“Would you call a lion who takes down an injured gazelle evil?” I growled, fighting to keep it low. “Does that word even apply to a hawk snatchin’ a field mouse that’s just a little too slow in gettin’ back to its hole?” ...

“Those other men. The dead ones. Is that how you excuse what happened to them?” 

I shook my head. “That’s a waste. Only a fool does that. You never know when you might want to — ” 

I stopped. I didn’t want to say what I was about to say. 

His look grew wary. “Want to what? Want to what?!” 

Dear God, I looked into his eyes, fought myself ... but I couldn’t lie to him so the words came out. “Feed, again.”

And this one from Curt as he's walking home: 

I followed him. 

I dunno why I did, I have to admit. Nothin’ hit me in th’ form of a thought as to what I was gonna do. I just saw how happy he looked, an’ how easy his life’d been an’ how perfect it would be from then on. So I followed him. Watched him jaunt towards this three year old Dodge parked halfway between two street lights. Watched his ass move under those jeans. Even th’ way he walked screamed at me how happy he was... 

An’ I knew I had to kill that walk.

Sometimes I wonder where this stuff comes from...because I know it's from within me...but still I wonder.

BTW, the painting behind me is one I did a few years ago.