Attitude works...

I don't know if Simon is really coming across as a 75 year old-man, in this story...because he's not taking shit off anyone and he's got a growling willingness to get mean. Not just even. Not just stand his ground. Pissy and vicious. While faking being in control of himself.

I think I'm going to use a version of a story I put in Taking Nicky to lead into it. Where he made an 8th grade bully leave him the hell alone. I don't like repeating it, really, but it works so much better for him than for being part of Garrett's background.

I may change the cause of it from two little monsters trying to blackmail him for drawing naked women for the boys to them just being assholes making fun of him drawing faces for some girls. Shorten it a bit from two occasions where he's suspended to one after he handles the situation in his own way.

But it feeds into him sneaking photos of Chris Walstead with his phone because the man is very good-looking. then he does with him what Tom of Finland once did with an amazingly beautiful man -- taking him from being your typical businessman to a leather punk. 

Though I think Simon's is going to be a lot sleazier because he is pissed about what Walstead is pulling. I haven't figured out how far he'll go, yet, but his attitude is, Don't try to hold me back. I'm too old for that shit.

And all I can say is, OK.

Some more of MQM...

Simon is back home after Walstead gets the trial continued for two weeks...

------

Simon had just entered his apartment when ReShawn called and immediately launched into, “I am so sorry for what happened. But we’ve been working this appeal for months and...” 

Simon cut him off with a cool, “Did you get my message?” 

ReShawn hesitated then sighed. “Um...well, yes. I couldn’t believe it. A continuance for a misdemeanor is highly unusual. But it is scheduled in the system so...” 

“Have you looked over the evidence?” 

ReShawn finally noticed Simon’s quiet but cold attitude. “Not yet. I’ll go over it, this evening and talk with you, tomorrow.” Then added with a hint of petulance, “If you still want me to.” 

Simon had no interest in playing that game. “Will you be able to get a copy of the surveyor’s report?” 

“Didn’t you get one while you were here?” 

“Judge Falwell told Chris Walstead to send me a copy by noon, today, but he didn’t. So Judge Falwell allowed him to tomorrow, noon. And will probably delay the requirement, again. I’d like to get it direct.” 

“...I can contact the planning office, tomorrow.” 

“Please do. And send me a copy, if one does exist.” 

He heard ReShawn take a deep breath before saying, “Simon, you seem angry about my not being here, the last couple of days.” 

“And you are being defensive.” 

“I wouldn’t say that. I just want you to understand...the case we presented before the Supreme Court is vital to...” 

“I thought as much. Which is why I am still talking to you.” 

“Oh. Well...it’s just...” 

“Please. Stop. I haven’t asked for any justification on your part. Though perhaps I should verify...are you still open to consider defending me?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Very well. Then I want you to have all of the information possible before we discuss my illegal arrest, because you are obviously still uncertain about it.” 

“Simon...” 

“Anything we say or promise or claim now is unimportant until you’ve decided whether or not you believe my story. Have you anything else to add?” 

It took ReShawn a moment to finally say, “No.” 

“Then thank you for calling. I’ll speak with you, tomorrow.” 

Simon ended the call, set the phone on his desk, took three deep breaths to dispel the growing anger within him, and stepped onto his balcony. He knew he’d been more rude than usual, but he had heard too many excuses in his life to tolerate any more. Especially when it was obvious the one making that excuse was only doing so from manners and not an understanding they had done something wrong. 

If ReShawn had asked Teesha to inform him their meeting was canceled while he was en-route, he would have been able to reduce the stress he was experiencing by trying to be there on time. 

Of course, if he had come down the night before and spent money for an extra hotel night, he’d have been truly peevish. So ReShawn was lucky he hadn’t. 

But it seemed like that’s all people had, these days, was excuses they thought made everything all right, accompanied by what Simon called non-apologies. An I’m sorry followed by a but to mitigate what they’d done and throw it back on you. And then the perpetrator would repeat the actions they’d apologized for...and apologize, again. Meaning they hadn’t meant it. 

Doyle had been a master of that and Simon had accepted it far too many times. All he cared about with ReShawn was whether or not he and his firm would provide a defense, if need be. Everything else was superfluous...and the more they delayed that discussion, the more certain he was they would not help him.

Contemplation...

I fell into a meandering little rabbit hole, today. Not sure why...but suddenly I was trying to remember the reason I shifted from art to film. I honestly don't know. It's like there was minimal thought behind it beyond the old this might be interesting concept.

I know I shifted to writing screenplays and then books because it was cheaper than making movies. It certainly wasn't an overwhelming drive or need or passion or anything along those lines. Nor was I ever exceptional at it. 

So the only thing I come back at the beginning to is how I happened onto Truffaut's book about Alfred Hitchcock and it included samples of his storyboards in the back...and I thought that was cool.

I found it in the basement of a book store/newsstand across the street from Frost Brothers, where I was working in the shipping department. They had their adult books tucked away in a partially enclosed corner and right next to it was a full shelf of books on film. I noticed it when I was about to sneak into the adult section.

This was in 1971, before I shifted to the display department. I was familiar with Hitchcock and liked finding out how he directed the film through his storyboards. After that, seemed it was up to his actors and crew to make it happen.

I'm fairly certain that's when I first started thinking about making movies could be a form of art. Of course, I knew nothing about the reality of the business; it all looked so easy.

And that could be the real reason I shifted...I was looking for the laziest way into it and thought I could make movies as my creative outlet.

God, I was so foolish, back then.

This should be fun...

I am now at a point where I have to come up with an entire chapter that deals with Simon learning more about the connection between Judge Falwell and the Walstead family, an apology call from ReShawn for not meeting with him, an article about his arrest in the Barrington Neighborhood Report, including reaction to an ad he placed, and him mailing a bunch of postcards...to whom...I have no idea.

To be honest, I'm not so sure about that last bit. It's something Simon came up with and I don't know why, yet. So this section is going to take a bit of time.

I also finalized prep for another roundabout trip, next month. Flying into Burbank for a packing job in Encino then hopping up to Seattle to handle move-out for our clients at the Seattle Antiquarian Book Fair, then home...

While in Seattle, I'm staying an extra day to check out some things for Dair's Window. I'm also spending an extra day in LA and would like to see some friends, if they're available.

Yesterday, I worked up the costing for a potential job in the UK, just outside London. I'm hoping it will happen before Thanksgiving. If it comes through. We have one last question that needs answering before the estimate is settled. I think I'll know next week.

After that is yet another trip to Hong Kong, first week of December.

I'm tired just thinking about it...but happy...

Simon's a doodler...

They're in the courtroom and other cases are going before the judge before Simon's is called, so he's sketching. It helps him concentrate. Another attorney sees him doing it and praises his work.

He also notices Simon does not back down in the slightest when called forward. The prosecution winds up delaying for more time because they tried a trick on him and he called their bluff.

MQM has begun to lead me deeper into the story and characters in ways I find fascinating, now. I love it when this happens...and hope it's not another wrong start.

I'm trying to keep this as close to reality as possible, so I can't go off on tangents just because they might fit the structure. Which is simplifying the story in many ways.

It's at 66,400 words, now, and may stay around that, because I know I'll be cutting some stuff later. For example, the bit where Dr. Aristian comes in to examine Simon, even though he's a Ph.D. and not an MD. That was too borderline TV-ish.

I'm listening to some light piano pieces on Spotify as white noise while I write. It's helping me continue with the forward movement. For a while, I needed complete silence to get my stories input...and sometimes I still do...but right now this works best.

Though I may start back to making sketches of my own...

Up to chapter 16...

Okay, I've gone through the first 15 chapters of MQM and am now at the point where the courtroom is open. Simon has accepted he's not getting help from anyone and that he is going to be tried for something he did not do, and has gone in to wait his turn like a lamb to slaughter.

I feel like the story is coming together in threads, similar to this work by Jeffrey Earp. Little bits at first that weave into the general design.

That's despite me being stupid about my own sleep/waking schedule. I didn't go to bed till 7:30 this morning...well, almost 8. I wasn't tired until then. Slept till 1pm and then a nap from 5 to 6.

At least I got all my books and DVDs listed on an XLS. Doesn't count the ones that are in boxes in my closet, no pun intended. I have three closets packed with boxes of paperwork I really should go through and recycle, like I've done, before. 

Copies of screenplays written in programs I can no longer access. Notes for things I'm never going to write. Ancient financial records. It's not like I'm ever going to be the level of writer where anyone wants my archives.

Jesus, all the sleeping I did and I'm still tired. One of the joys of getting old...

More of chapter 13...

At home, now that the paintings were done Simon spent the week prior to the trial sorting through all of his documents, images, and notes on the arrest to put everything in order. 

The Barrington Police Department continued to ignore his requests for Jansen’s arrest record, and the only way past that was with a court order. Which he would have to return to Barrington to get in time. As expected. So he shrugged that off as unneeded. 

Then the Thursday before the trial, he received a call from ReShawn Greene at Kaplan, Halliwell and Greene to talk about the case. There was no chit-chat; just straight into the situation. 

“This doesn’t make much sense to me,” he said in a smooth voice. “Teesha’s notes from your interview were very precise and that helps a lot, but could you do facetime to show me what more evidence you have?” 

Simon said, “Hold on,” then opened it up on his phone. He spread the documents on his dining table and scanned them with his phone. 

ReShawn asked for a closer look or a return to one or two, but overall was pleased with that he saw. “Good work,” He said after a moment. “It’s definitely outside the school’s safety zone...” 

“Which did not come up till I was being booked,” Simon said. 

“Okay...I see the trial is set for next Tuesday. Have you spoken with the Prosecutor’s office?” 

“Yes.” 

“Have you let Walstead know the street lamp was moved?” 

“Yes, but that made no difference to him or the judge. They claimed a surveyor’s report contradicted my claim, but the city planning office knows nothing of one. Or says they don’t.” 

“How did you contact them?” 

“Email and telephone call.” 

“It’s best to get things like that in person. It happened fairly recently so it may not have filtered through the system, yet.” 

“It’s been a few years...” 

“I know, but...” He sighed. “When do you plan to come down?” 

“Monday.” 

“Could you make it a day earlier? Meet with me on Monday? Two o’clock? We’ll go over your evidence, together. I’m surprised Walstead hasn’t already agreed this is a waste of time and resources.” 

“They certainly seem to think it’s important...” 

“It’s just a misdemeanor. Going through a trial for something this minimal? I doubt Breusch would go for that.” 

“Breusch?” 

“County Prosecutor. Very pragmatic.” 

Simon grimaced. He’d forgotten about that man, for a moment. Then he said, “But Walstead has a one-hundred percent conviction rate before Judge Falwell.” 

“Of cases he takes before him. He’s not averse to refusing to take a case all the way if he doesn’t think he’ll win it.” 

“He seems convinced he will with this one. Same for that woman who’s with him. Manville.” 

“I dunno,” he’d said. “Chris and Elissa are pretty easy-going. I’ve dealt with them in other cases. And Breusch makes it a point for his office not to try and force a conviction in anything trivial.” 

“Me being arrested is hardly...” 

“To them, something trivial. Misdemeanor, first offense? Without the school in range of your arrest, there’s no enhancement. And first offense usually means no jail time. Small fine. It costs more to try it than they’d get in return.” 

“That sounds like a business proposition.” 

“That’s today’s system of justice.” 

It made sense and Simon would like to have believed him, but something in his gut was telling him this was not a mere misdemeanor charge, anymore. It was more like a challenge of some kind, as if neither Walstead nor Manville could allow the possibility that a gay man might be innocent. The way they’d been so tense around him...stiff and formal, in contrast to how ReShawn described them. 

“Let’s say the trial does proceed,” Simon murmured, “and I’m found guilty. Would you be willing to handle my appeal? I’d pay you a retainer, up front...” 

The man sighed, saying, “You’d be giving me money for nothing.” 

“I hope so.” 

“You’re not a positive-thinking person, are you?” 

“Just a realist.” He almost added, Who learned to trust his gut in situations like this. But that might have led to more protestations and eventual rejection by ReShawn. 

“Let’s talk more, on Monday...” 

Simon sighed. “All right. I’ll see you then.” 

The call ended...and a sense of cold whispered through Simon. So even offering to pay his fee up front wasn’t enough to get an attorney in Barrington completely on his side.

Motivation deficit...

It took me hours to get the interest up to work on MQM, but then I went back to the beginning of chapter thirteen and intensified the creative emotion behind it...and...

-----

Simon tried to distance himself from a growing sense of futility by focusing on the commissioned artwork he’d been working on: Laurence Gantham pressed against a wall, looking away as his lover, Rene, tried to kiss him. Laurence’s open shirt with his pumped up chest and left nipple exposed had been the focus of the painting...but any connection to it eluded him...

Until a new meaning enveloped Simon. This piece was no longer hinting at a breakup but instead was of a man allowing himself to be worshipped while withholding his emotions. 

Or approval. 

So to put the red bit of paint on him was wrong. It lessened his hardness in the image. Instead, Simon added more shadow to Rene’s shirt to emphasize his own taut body, and shifted Laurence’s eyes to be focused on nothing. Then he put the red daub at the bottom of a shadow along the lobe of Rene’s ear...and hesitated.

Let it sit before him, for a while. 

It was right...but not right...yet right. And the more he looked at it, the more certain he was that it was wrong but was in the best spot possible. That anywhere else in the painting would be worse...until he added a red droplet to the top of Rene’s collar. 

Two bits of red against the stark black and white provided the balance it needed. Even after taking a photograph and inspecting it as fully as possible in a different medium, he knew he was right. 

He let it dry over three days then varnished it. Let that dry for another three days then wrapped it in glassine paper before setting it into an art shipper to send off, overnight via FedEx. Pricey...but he’d worked that cost into his fee. 

What surprised him was how much he hated parting with that painting. As if he was removing some part of his body...his soul...by releasing it. Even when the remainder of his fee came through with a note of praise and thanks, he’d felt like he had lost something irreplaceable. 

To counter it, he used the truck stop lad crouched before the cold drinks cooler to set a new work. But in this one, he used every layer of color he could in ways that were almost loving. Tender. Building an intimate vision of a young man crouched before a happily blazing campfire. 

That cut-off shirt, ragged jeans and rough boots made him seem vulnerable as black towering trees caught hints of the flames and lifted the eye up to a sky where pinpoints of light glimmered behind a pair of soft clouds and half a moon, providing gentle highlights to the lad’s back. 

On this, red dots touched his hair, almost like a reflection from the fire but not quite...nearly hiding within the image while giving him a vague form of grace. 

Once he’d reached the point where he knew if he added one more daub of paint to the picture it would be ruined, he stepped back and gazed upon it for close to an hour. Actually pleased with himself. Which, for Simon, was highly unusual. 

He wished he’d thought to find out who that young trucker was so he could send him a photo of the piece he’d inspired. That would have been the perfect bookend to it. Perhaps he could check back with that truck stop, to see if they knew. 

After this, he could not touch his brushes for several days. When he finally did, it was to work up a severe black and white image from Jansen’s photo under the streetlamp. This one was on a cured board, and he chuckled as he adjusted the image in such a way as to emphasize the slutty streetwalker aspect of it. He minimized the points where Jansen’s puffy chest threw the balance off and used the lightest of touches to add smoke from his cigarette as a sort of noose around his neck. On this, the red paint dripped from his fingers. 

He took a photo of it, uploaded it to his laptop, polished it in Adobe PS, arranged it in postcard format...4x6”...and added a small ditty in white lettering on black around it as a sort of frame. 

Big bad boy Jansen decided to gloat

That he couldn’t help but see how Chris would dote

On how good he looked, so he whispered a quote,

“You know, it’s not sex if I cum down your throat.”

He saved it as a high-res PDF and took it to a local print shop to make 100 cards. He paid for a rush because he wanted them before returning to Barrington. He had no idea why; it was just an impulse he gave into.

Simon alone...

Simon's just had a phone call with ReShawn and sees the man does not appreciate the seriousness of the situation...so goes onto his balcony to watch an approaching storm.

-----

The wind picked up and he noticed a thick wall of rain was fast approaching. It was going to come down hard...and that was why he stayed on the balcony. To watch. 

The wind gusted from the left, so he moved to that corner for a hint of protection. Moments later, sheets of rain crashed down and soaked the area to his right, for several minutes. Growling. Thundering. Almost joyous in its insistence, smothering the road and trees...

Until the wind died and the rain continued straight down. Heavy and strong. Like it had in Rashomon, at the temple as three men took shelter. And spoke about the impossibility of truth even in the face of evidence. 

The gentle hiss of droplets hitting the pavement was something Simon always found to be cleansing. Add in the aroma of it, he could usually grow calm and think...and his mind would settle. But this time it was being elusive.

He slowly slid to the floor, keeping to the corner, letting hints of the splashing water drift over to him from the railing. It dampened the lower part of his trousers. He was wearing socks, so removed them and pulled his pants legs up to let the tiny puffs dance over his naked toes and ankles. Even as a child, that had been his favorite part of a storm. 

Doyle had thought him mad, the first time he saw Simon do this. They had moved into a Spanish style duplex off Broadway. Downstairs unit. Decent yard. A wide park area across from them was only grass and a few trees, where people let their dogs run free. That day, the rain made the houses on the other side nearly invisible.

Simon had sat cross-legged on the tile floor under the section that was covered. He’d had on shorts, a cut-off tee-shirt and flip-flops when Doyle drove up in that god-awful Matador he'd thought was so cool. Then he’d scurried up from parking on the street. Dressed as perfectly as ever, but now soaked. 

“What the hell, Simon? Couldn’t you have met me with an umbrella?” 

He could have, but it hadn’t occurred to him. 

“You goin’ out to dance in it, next?” Doyle had sneered, shaking the rain off. “Get yourself hit by lightning, next?”

Simon had just shaken his head. The silence was too nice, at that moment. He didn’t even need to get up and let him in; the door was open. So Doyle had headed inside, dripping wet. 

That was the only time he’d ever left Simon alone with it. After that, at such moments there was always something Doyle needed from him or needed him to do, so Simon had grown to where he would get up whenever he saw the man coming. 

And have an umbrella handy. 

Like a well-trained dog. 

After Doyle died, Simon had made it a near ritual to just sit and watch the rain. Almost like an act of defiance. Or a declaration that he needed no one to be whole and complete. 

Being alone is considered a failure in so many people’s minds. Like if you can’t accept not wanting to be bothered by someone who’s invading their space...or if you can't be happy without a relationship to help them through life...or you needed a husband or wife or lover or a man in the sky looking down on you with benevolence, for support...you weren't human. 

To cap it off, if you still were not of the same belief as them, you had to have something wrong with you. They could not accept the idea you could be strong enough to just live on your own. It was too frightening to them. 

He had finally understood, after many years, that was something Doyle had been scared of. Being alone. Not having control. Of himself, mainly, but also needing to believe he was strong enough to control another. 

And Simon had supported that nonsense for far too long.

Lazy slob...

This was one of those days where I was so down and tired it was a fight to get anything done. Started with me realizing I'd forgotten to get quarters for laundry so had to go to a laundromat to do it. I'm morally opposed to just going in to get change so I put my whole 2 loads in the car and went to one...that was super busy.

So I went to another that was pretty open and got $20 in quarters...and paid $12 to wash and dry my 2 loads when the machines in my building would have cost me $5. Thing is, I couldn't not do laundry; I don't have that many clothes.

Then I got some groceries...nothing serious, just milk, DPZ, Icy Hot, Advil, laundry soap, and a couple other things...and it was fucking $116!

That's on top of learning my Aetna premium is increasing by 50% and my copays are going up. I'll need to look into alternatives...if available.

So I got all mopey. Tried to get out of it by adding another shelf of books to my list...this group pretty much all for Dair's Window. Poetry and books on stained glass as art and such...and it made things worse. I started work on that story back in 2008, when I took a writing course at the IFC...well, Film LA or whatever they're calling it, now.

Did make some notes for The Murder of a Quiet Man. Changed a couple points. Turned out ReShawn wasn't able to meet with Simon due to something that came up so Simon's on his own when he confronts Walstead and Manville before Judge Falwell.

But overall...it was a shit day. And tomorrow is the dentist. God...

FWIW, I had my third shot of Ozempic, last night. Maybe that's part of it.

Back to the plan...

Okay...added two shelves of books to my list, now getting into those dealing with Dair's Window and some general fiction. And feeling happy with myself. Which I shouldn't but...

I also shifted a meeting between Simon and ReShawn, a lawyer who might take on his case, to before he returns to Barrington for the trial. Initially, it's facetime so ReShawn can see all the evidence Simon's gathered to counteract Walstead's claims. ReShawn is surprised that the Prosecutor's office hasn't just rejected trying the case so thinks it will go well for Simon.

But that voice inside of Simon is telling him it won't...mainly due to the chumminess between Judge Falwell and Christ Walstead. So he tries to retain ReShawn to handle the appeal...but the man is reluctant. Thinks it's a waste of money.

Thing is, if Simon is able to get the enhancement removed from the charges against him, that makes filing an appeal a hundred times harder. He has to show misconduct on the part of the prosecution or judge, and even then only if Superior Court goes along with it.

But this is where Simon's willingness to go to the mat when being wronged comes into play. He knows exactly how to handle that...and knows when he does it will wreck the careers of the judge and Walstead, both. Even if it's a lie.

But sometimes in order to end the bad practices of others...you have to be as rotten as they are. Something Democrats seem unwilling to accept when dealing with the MAGAt Cult.

Taking Nicky is published...

Finished it. Set Taking Nicky up on D2D. Because it's gay erotica, it'll only be available through Smashwords, and even they may freak out once they really look into it; they are still in the process of setting it up and the Puritans are on the march.

But now I have officially published a novel this year. A bit of a cheat, and yet not. This was all more of a rewrite and polish...but still, I added another actual book to my resume. Even if I did post it for free on GayDemon at the beginning of the year. This is what counts.

The book wound up being just over 57,000 words. I'd inadvertently uploaded a chapter twice when I was linking everything together. So it's s good length for an ebook.

The MC, Rett, gets into a lot of good and bad trouble throughout, but always winds up on top. Partly because he is an amoral little shit...who has standards. And is smart enough to realize he can't always do everything on his own.

He gets a couple of cute sk8ter boys to help him, Ben and Liam, even though they may be double-crossing him to help another more powerful man gain control of him.

But Rett's snarky, vicious, contradictory and is no holds barred. That's why he's successful as a screenwriter...everything I am not. Dammit. I could never get myself to do some of the shit Rett does. And even if I tried, I'd fuck it up. Like I have so many things in my life. But that's why I write...to rework my past and present...

Anyway, this is not a night for maudling self-hate. I'm getting a nice meal, tomorrow, to celebrate...then back onto MQM.

Forward...ever forward...

Even if baby steps. Did two chapters of TN and reworked Simon's murder in MQM to where it happens at the beginning of a light snowfall that replaces a drizzle.

It's funny, but doing that added a layer of peacefulness to a horrible scene. Simon knows when he's arrested en route to the bus station that they intend to kill him.

His hands are cuffed behind his back so he maneuvers the seatbelt strap around his right wrist, and when they try to drag him from the car it tears at him and actually cuts into his skin and dislocates the bones. This way, they won't be able to fake him committing suicide.

That sounds a bit on the crazy side, but throughout the part of the story that I've written, so far, Simon shows he has a streak of cold-blooded stubbornness and will not back down even in the face of being hurt.

So they wind up burying his body and spreading the story he jumped bail to keep from facing new charges of child molestation...based on a claim where the assailant is only described as old and thin.

Not sure how this story is going to come together...and I may change this, again. I never know until it's done and published...and even then I might make adjustments.

I'm doing that with Taking Nicky. Finding typos and missing words to fix, of course, but also moments to clarify what's going on. It was posted in parts on GayDemon back when I was caught in dealing with Kelly's sickness and eventual death, so I'm not surprised I made mistakes.

Now I'm combining the 22 chapters into one file to offer through D2D as an ebook, for $0.99. Hope it does okay.

What schedule?

Threw mine off, today. Not a in a bad way. I wound up working through 3 chapters of Taking Nicky and 2 chapters of MQM...and did not even try to list more of the books I have on my XLS. Instead, got a request for a quote to pack a difficult job in Oxford, UK and I really want to go. I've never been to Oxford.

Thing is, it's mostly one-sheets in mylar so would need to be shipped flat, not rolled, and I need to figure out how to do that using a packing materials company in the UK that thinks it's Uline but is nowhere near as capable. I futzed around with it a bit, today, but shoved it off till tomorrow.

Instead, I'm watching Harry Wild, on Acorn. That streaming group has been pretty hit and miss. For example, I disliked their adaptation of Witness for the Prosecution, hated the update they did of Towards Zero, and recently tried the first episode of The Assassin and was so sick of its stupidity I stopped 40 minutes in.

Which I don't usually do. But that one was like someone fed 100 action/comedy screenplays into ChatGPT and it spit out a script with every idiotic cliche in the book, including poor characterization, flat humor, and no connection to any form of reality, not even its own.

But...I did like Murder Before Evensong, they have the full Midsomer Murders series, Agatha Raisin and My Life is Murder, and Harry Wild is very enjoyable. Probably because Jane Seymour doesn't mind playing a true bitch...with a heart. And what they did with And Then There Were None was truly elegant.

Besides, Harry Wild is set in Dublin and I'm enjoying that, too.

Still this new chaotic mindset has brought out some ideas for MQM...like when Simon is killed. It was going to be during a rainstorm, all meaningful and dramatic. Lightning! Thunder! Heavy clouds! So fucking obvious.

But getting disgusted with The Assassin helped me see I was sort of doing the same thing. So I got the idea that maybe it happening during a gentle snowfall would be better. First snowfall of the year. None on the ground, just gentle flakes drifting down like bits of stars from above, comforting Simon as he drifts into another world.

I kind of like that...

(BTW, no clue was to why I can't upload an image to my blog, this time...)

Working it...

Simon is contacted by a gay semi-weekly paper and meets the reporter at a coffee shop:

--------

He noticed a sweet-looking young man with skin the color of his tea and shaved head enter the shop. Slim and a bit curved like he was trying not to seem as tall as he probably was. He looked around with a pair of the most beautiful eyes Simon had ever seen on a man, as well as the gentlest smile, and Simon rose to his feet. 

The young man saw him and approached, saying, “Simon Halloran?” 

He nodded and motioned to a chair. 

“I’m glad to meet you,” he continued. “I’m Zakariah Oldman, editor and writer for the Barrington Neighborhood Report. Zack. It’s great you had time for us to get together.” 

“Happy to,” Simon said as they sat across from each other. “You’re not getting something...?” 

“Oh, they know me. You’re having tea...” 

Simon nodded. “I never was able to get into coffee.” 

“God, I run on it.” An a moment later a barista brought over a latte and a biscotti. Zack signed the receipt and that was that. “Monthly tab,” he said. 

“You do interviews here, a lot?” 

He nodded. “Five this month, so far. Mind if I record this?” Simon shook his head so Zack set his phone on the table, a small mic plugged into it. “Mind saying that it’s okay?” 

With a light chuckle, Simon said, “You may record...if I may take a photo of you.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, I like your face. I’m an artist and I might want to incorporate it into something I’m working on.” 

“Wow. Sure. Sounds great.” Simon did portrait shots from three angles as Zack continued, “We heard that you were arrested, last week, by Ivan Jansen.” 

Simon nodded and sneered, “Public indecency. Solicitation. Resisting arrest for asking him why he was doing it.” 

“The local news says it happened near a school.” 

“It was outside the safety zone.” 

“That was Lincoln Primary, right?” Simon shrugged. “And the arrest happened at Tran’s Shop and Save?” 

At that, Simon nodded. “By the lamp post. Corner of Lincoln and Hughey.” 

“And it was a physical arrest, not just a summons?” 

“No, no summons.” Then Simon told him everything about the arrest and his meeting with Chris and Elissa. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” said Zack, finally. “If the school wasn’t within a thousand feet, it’s just a misdemeanor. Why are they pushing it so hard? Because you’re from out of town?” 

“I don’t see how he’d have known that. You said Jansen harassed other gay people, here?” 

“Yeah. Some drag queens. A trans woman for using the wrong toilet when she it was the gender neutral. Some older men from out of town. Stupid crap. He’s probably gay and in the closet.”

“My gaydar didn’t go off on him,” said Simon, frowning. “I think he’s just your basic bully and homophobe. People like that hate backing down. You said he’s arrested other older gay men?” 

“Yeah, for the same reasons. Solicitation. One fought it. Said he wasn’t gay. Still wound up in jail, a few years ago.” 

“No one’s fought back, since?” 

“Word got around. Don’t bother.” 

“That’s sad.” 

“How?” 

“Men like Jansen hate to be confronted and usually back down when you do. Like regular bullies.” 

“Didn't that time.” 

Simon shrugged. “The only way to stop that is to keep fighting back. Make it too much trouble for them to continue. They can’t be making much money out of this, so I doubt it would take a lot of pushback to make them stop.” 

“Is that what you’re doing?” 

Simon nodded. “I won’t give in just to make everyone happy.” 

Zach sighed. “Cool. But have you considered...I mean, you’re not just an artist. You’re also a writer.” 

Simon smiled. “Done research on me?” 

“Yeah, I...I did. Title that showed up most was How to Make a Straight Man Gay.” 

Simon had to chuckle. “My first book...years ago. It’s been banned a couple of times.” 

“Don’t you think this will play into your trial? Could it be the prosecutor’s office thinks it’s a how-to book and are going after you for that, using the arrest as an excuse?” 

That brought a laugh from Simon. “They'd have to know who I am and that I was in town.” 

“But your arrest happened near a school, and a book like that...it sounds like you’re suggesting all men can be turned and...” 

Simon looked at Zack, for a long moment, then quietly said, “It’s the story of a straight man being talked into letting himself be serviced by a gay man and finding he prefers his blow-jobs to sex with his fiancé. Which continues even after he’s married. Until it’s exposed and all hell breaks loose. No kids involved. All adults. You should read it...” 

“Oh, I...I couldn’t order that for delivery, not here...” 

“I’ll send you a coupon for the ebook.” 

Zack seemed to wilt before Simon’s gaze. He took in a deep breath then said, “Me raising that’s got you angry, doesn’t it?” 

“No,” Simon said, not meaning it. “It’s just typical. The prosecution has already tried that nonsense with me and it fell flat with them, as well.” 

“Threatened you with the title? That’s not scary?” 

“Whose name is on the book? On all of my books? I don’t hide who and what I am. That tends to surprise people.”

Multi-tasking...

Omar Chaves Vitero, artist

Doing three projects at one time qualifies for that, doesn't it? If not, it does now.

Project One -- The Murder of a Quiet Man. I worked through chapters 8, 9 and 10. which used to be two chapters but worked better being rearranged. Now 8 is 11 pages, 9 is 12 pages, and 10 is 6 pages with room to grow. This all happened today.

Project Two -- making a list of all my books, working shelf by shelf. I've done 7 and have 8-9 more to go. I'm breaking them down by fiction or nonfiction books on Ireland, general fiction or nonfiction, graphic novels and art, and my mm adult novels.

Project Three -- turned out to be making a story I posted on GayDemon into an ebook. It's titled Taking Nicky and I wrote it while dealing with my brother dying. It follows a gay screenwriter named Garrett who becomes obsessed with a skater-boi named Nicky (who's in his thirties) and how it leads him in and out of trouble.

I worked on most of it while sitting in his hospital room as he slept. Kept me grounded. And I posted it in snippets. Now I've pulled all 22 chapters together and am going through to proof it because I really didn't, at the time.

What's even better is how it's reminded me I wrote a full novel at the beginning of this year, with TN. 59,000 words. I was feeling like I'd accomplished nothing till I reminded myself of that. Publishing it will feel good, even if it is only for adults into MM general sex and non-con.

Now I need to be careful. I'm getting happy with myself and that usually means I'll fuck up somewhere somehow to remind myself of how fucked up I am.

Mistakes can make things better...

I was working on Chapter 8, today, and it was bland and tedious. The information in it needed to be brought out, sure, but it was still boring. 

It was of Simon pulling together his evidence to show Office Jansen lied about his arrest. That meant researching all over the place about Manville and Walstead, too.

But there was nothing being added in the way of meaning...I guess. It was just exposition, and I couldn't figure out what to do to make it interesting...or even work.

I grew tired so lay down for a short nap, that turned into 2.5 hours and got me dreaming about being at a banquet with people I knew but never knew and going into the kitchen to find a container to take some of the leftovers home...while talking with a woman about enchiladas, and who I think was flirting with me. I was digging through drawers of junk when I woke up.

And I was very down. Seriously apathetic. I'd skipped dinner but still was not the least bit hungry. And I was kicking myself for not setting a timer to keep from sleeping so long...

When it washed up on me. This was what Simon would be feeling after pulling together all the information he could and coming to believe it would make no difference. That cops and DAs have each others' backs and will gladly destroy someone innocent to protect themselves from accountability.

That was what I was missing. No progression in Simon's emotional state as he learns that Walstead and Jansen were friends at a high-end prep school. Both were also connected to a story about a guy arrested for the same offense Simon is accused of. Jansen busted him and Walstead handled the prosecution.

That man was let off despite evidence he may actually have been inappropriate with children. Which pointed out the rich in town had protected themselves by making sure their friends were in office.

So I added a page and a half of Simon fighting to keep from becoming despondent as this all becomes more and more apparent. He tries to convince himself to just take a deal and leave the town forever, but he can't. There's something in the core of his being that says No, it's not right. And he cannot get around it. 

All he can do is hope Walstead and Manville will see reason and step back...but he's not certain they are willing to.

And more...

Some of what I worked on, today. From Chapter 7. Eberhard is a lawyer who handled a similar case...

--------

Addison Eberhard turned out to be a jolly man who was like a clean-shaven version of Santa Claus. Rosy cheeks. Belly full of jelly. Perpetual smile. And completely uninterested in fighting Simon’s case. 

“It’s just a misdemeanor,” he’d chuckled. “Don’t mean a thing. I’ll get you a deal that will wipe it clean after six months.” 

“But I’ve done nothing wrong or illegal,” Simon replied. “This is no better than extortion.” 

“Call it what you want. But you lose? You get jail time. And that don’t get wiped clean.” 

“No...no...this isn’t right.” 

“Look, Simon, I’ll fight it if you really want me to, but it’s a lost cause.” 

“Even if I prove that the school they referenced is more than a thousand feet away?” 

“Can you?” 

“I think so. I did an informal count and it was forty feet more than the limit.”

“A limit that’s not hard and fast.” 

Simon sighed. He was beginning to lose patience so just said, “I see. Thank you for your time.” 

“Think on it, Simon. Give yourself a little space. You’ll see what I’m telling you is right.” 

Simon rose, saying, “Whether I do or not is unimportant. Good bye.” And he left. 

Drove straight to that shop. Parked in back and went inside to find, yet again, that Mr. Tran was not in. 

“He left at five,” said the sad stringy boy. 

“Will he be in tomorrow?” 

“Yeah.” 

Simon thanked the lad and got the counter from his car. He went directly to the corner of the school, set the counter up, and ran it straight up the sidewalk to the lamppost by the store. 

One thousand, one-hundred and six feet. Even allowing for moving around, that was well outside the law’s parameters. 

He took a photo of the reading, then ran it back up to the school, recording it with his phone. This time the reading was one thousand one hundred and two. 

He returned to the lamppost and checked the somewhat new sidewalk around it. No evidence of where the lamp might have been before, but even assuming it had been even with the storefront, that only removed eleven feet. Which still put it outside the threshold. Which was nonsensical. 

What made the arresting officer...Jansen? Yes, Jansen. What made him think his arrest had been within what the law proscribed? Was there a city surveyor’s office that had misread or mis-entered its measurements? Had other men been arrested here and scared into making deals? This was a lot to have to process. 

He drove on to his hotel, emailed Amir and Olivier the tracking information for the shipment...as well as a copy of the XLS list...then sat there. 

Just...sat there. 

Staring at his laptop. 

His now blank laptop. Devoid of any folders aside from Olivier’s, a generic one titled Simon’s Everything, and one he called Fun. He opened the last one. Up popped more than two dozen Word documents and three more folders noted as being from the past three years. One was for little poems he's written about men he'd titled Ditties. Most of them quite naughty. 

He decided to add another to a Word Document...

Revenge is a dish that should never be chill.

It hurts both the good and the bad, to instill

A deep-rooted chaos in hearts, meant to fill

Completely with fear which no man can make still.

He opened some images from his file of jpegs and found one showing a young man caught in a beam of light slashing down one side of his body, highlighting his musculature in a chiaroscuro style. It looked somewhat like the sketch he had done of the young trucker.

He imported it to the word document...then sat there, just looking at it. Unmoving. His mind drifting. Trying to decide whether or not to make that into a sketch, as well. But he could not focus any further.

Eberhard was probably correct, when it came to the normal actions and attitudes of most people. Just bad luck. Get it taken care of. Over and done. And then he'd never have to come back to this goddamned town, again. 

But Simon could not work like that. There was some sort of glitch in his makeup. Or DNA. Or mentality. He didn’t know which. And it was not a consistent thing...not, at least, on the surface. 

There were occasions where, when he believed someone was trying to take unfair advantage of him, his inner self would erect a brick wall and he would not let the perpetrator past it. Could not. Period. No matter what the threat. 

He would simply say, no way in hell...and mean it...as he did now.

And that little voice in his head was now telling him, I told you not to come.

Difficult day...

I didn't want to do anything, today. Just sit and mope, and I have no idea why. It wasn't lack of sleep. Nothing was being overwhelming. I simply did not have the will to do anything.

I finally did go through chapter 5 of MQM and it's another 10 pages, but it took a lot of effort...and I wound up going out to get groceries after my first pass through it. Did another after I came home.

I also needed a planner for 2027, so drove to an Office Depot about 4 miles away...and didn't like anything they had to offer. The closest I came to one didn't have room in the spiral binding for me to slip a pen into. So I left with nothing.

Went to a Tops Grocery Store and of the three things I wanted, they had none in stock. So I left, tried to talk myself into grabbing dinner but couldn't think of anything I wanted to pay for, so went to another Tops, wound up having a DP and Doritos, and bought over $100 in groceries before coming home.

And I moped the whole time. I'm sure I looked like a cranky old man...because I was. But now I have food enough for another two weeks.

So I'm through part of Simon's cataloguing and packing job and he's had his first consultation with a lawyer, who tells him to take a deal and live with it. But Simon won't. Actually can't. There is some aspect in his genetic makeup that locks in place and refuses to let him back down when he's being abused.

As of now, he's been back to the store and walked the distance from the streetlamp to a nearby school and the claim he exposed himself to Jansen within the school's safety zone is easy to disprove. He's hoping that will persuade the prosecutor to withdraw the charges.

I have a feeling this is a weak part of the book and may need another pass or two, already...maybe even a full rethink...but I'm going to stick with my plan to do a chapter a day and not go back to rewrite what I'd already done until I'm done.

At least, as best I can.

(BTW, the artist is Omar Chaves Vitero)

More progress...

Okay, Chapter 5 is gone through and is 10 pages, though it could become 11. It's right at the edge. This part has Simon smoothing things over with the man whose books he's cataloguing and packing, and he's determined not to give in to what he considered little more than blackmail by the prosecutor's office.

I did go back into Chapter 4 to clarify a point and add a detail that would be good there. I also worked up a bit more description about where Simon has his run-in with Elissa. I'd just put foyer, but that means nothing, so now it's a corridor leading to the exit, and Elissa comes in and meets him, partway, to talk. But that's it. I doubt I'll need to do any more of that.

I'm now over 62,350 words so even though I'm cutting I'm also adding. For example, I expanded the meeting between Simon and the public defender, Franklin Granger, to emphasize how wary the man is about fighting the charge.

I already have nearly two-dozen named characters in this book, and probably more to come. But I can't just refer to people as Public Defender guy or Bank Clerk if they're going to be important in any way to the story. I won't do this for everyone, just the select few who warrant it, in my opinion.

I also input another row of books relating to APoS onto my spreadsheet. Now have 150+ over 5 shelves. Only have 10 more shelves to go. And I have 6 tabs set for the lists. Books on Ireland, Houston, Irish Fiction/NF, Dair's Window (which I may break down to Adam and Dair), general fiction, general non fiction.

That's proving to be a lot more work than I thought...

Progress...

Chapter 4 is done. another 10 pages. Simon has his first run-in with Elissa Manville, an assistant prosecutor who works with Chris Walstead. He's also had his first taste of the laziness or cowardice exhibited by a public defender who takes the side of Ivan Jansen, the cop who arrested Simon.

I'm also making a list of my books, like I already did for my DVDs and CDs. I have 4 of my 12 shelves of books input, so far. Just over 110 titles, all of them related to my research on APoS. I still have more to go, but doing this helps give me a sense of accomplishment.

It looks like I may have a quickie job in LA, the end of the month. I want to go, but travel is not going to be easy. The airline schedules are ridiculous, let alone the prices. The best one seems to be Southwest, whether I like it or not, because I'm flying into Burbank. They aren't the cheapest, but I don't have to route through Denver.

And since when did JetBlue start selling tickets on United? Which wants to take me through O'Hare. I got stuck at O'Hare for three days, once, thanks to United. I have avoided them ever since. American's not all that great and also likes the O'Hare route, though DFW is a close second, while Delta helps ICE with deporting people so I am morally opposed to them.

Guess we'll have to see how it goes. At least my credit card balance is down to zero so I should be fine.

Chapter Three...

Guess I'm aiming for each chapter of MQM to be 10-12 pages. Double-spaced in 12 point Courier, of course. Makes for much easier reading and gets me to work harder at brevity. I can get chatty in my work, and I think that will be a mistake, in this project.

Chapter Three is where Simon is arrested, and I shifted it from being a sexual misunderstanding to the cop being paranoid because Simon took a photo of him standing under a streetlamp. He thinks Simon's going to use it to mess with him in the gay community, so overreacts.

I changed the cop's name to Frederick Jansen...but may go for Ivan Jansen, instead. Not sure which best suits him, yet.

I do indicate he looks like a juice junky and Simon wants nothing to do with a man like that. He only liked the image Jansen made thanks to the shadows cast by the satreetlamp hiding most of his puffiness.

Next comes Simon being booked and then appearing before a judge for bail. A public defender handles that for him and he's allowed to go free...but that's Chapter Four.

I'm doing the Ozempic injections...well, injection, so far. Did it Saturday night so I'd have Sunday to deal with any side effects. So far...just a bit light-headed, but it's the minimal dose. 0.25mg. Doing it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, but that was helped by me being able to use my right thigh instead of my stomach.

I may work myself into using my belly, but not sure. I'm still scarred by getting rabies shots in my stomach as a child. God, I've had so much rotten shit in my life...