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...

Another Chapter...

I think I may do one chapter a day, write it through, go over it once for clarity, and move on. I might be able to keep that going. Here's some of what I wrote, setting Simon up as neatly as I can. He's en route to Barrington (and I used Reilly Golden for this)...

------

Fortunately, a Flying J Truck Stop was approaching so Simon pulled into it. Partly to break his train of thought and partly to take a piss. He also thought he’d purchase an ice cream sandwich. These actions, together, should help him regain control of his memories and focus on preparations for this packing job. 

He was at the freezer case picking through the offerings when... 

A young man entered the store. 

A gorgeous young man. 

Tall. Cocky. Swagger just right for a t-shirt slopped over a wide belt and buckle around well-worn jeans. Boots that were anything but new. He was trim and cool, with perfect proportions. Taut muscles bulging but not overly so. Good flow from his back to a nicely rounded ass. And that I’m too fucking hot for you attitude that always brought out the prowling alleycat in Simon...

Who had been using the stop’s WIFI to check emails on his phone, so opened his camera and snuck a dozen photos as the young man strode past. Then stopped to peruse the soft drinks. Then squatted down in a manner that was close to balletic to grab an energy drink. Then sauntered back to the cashier with the sensuality of a cougar strolling through its domain. All without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction. 

For a moment, Simon was unable to think of what he should do next. He just gazed upon the lad until he left the building. Then he took in a deep breath, paid for his ice cream sandwich, and followed him out...

Just in time to see him climb into the cab of a long-bed semi, bring it to life, and pull out of the parking lot back to the highway. 

Simon stood in place for nearly five minutes, watching after the semi until his sandwich had all but melted out of its wrapper and all over his hand. He tore the wrapper open, shoved the entire mess into his mouth, ran back inside to wash his hands, then scurried over to his CRV. 

He had his sketchbook with him and a fine pen, so sat in the parking area for an hour, working up an image of the lad off the photos on his phone. He settled on one of him standing before the door to the cooler. Three-quarter pose, expression intent on the selection. Surrounding him with shadows. Sharp illumination blasting on him from the front with only a hint of reflection to show the lovely form of his back, ass and legs. All as if he were outside caught by the headlights of a passing vehicle. Done in the loose black and white graphic style he so loved. 

Of course, he emphasized the lad’s crotch a bit more than it really was, added a baseball cap, and made his nipples perky enough to notice. But by the time he was done, he had a good preliminary sketch to transfer into acrylic on canvas. He just needed to figure out how he would show the light source. 

But that’s easy, Simon thought. Open door to daylight. Hint of a room in the shadows. Facing the world in full.

Like I never have.

And here we go...

The first chapter of MQM is redone, and I've cut 600 words already. Lots of it chitter-chatter, but too much background had been loaded in, too. And something else...I am writing this whole story to the end before I do any more rewriting. So now this part is done till I am done.

Of course, I know I'm rewriting the parts I have already written, but there are blank areas between the disparate chapters and I want those completed. Meaning I'm rewriting and then writing and then rewriting to fit all the writing and what I've rewritten. Makes sense...sort of...

So...it still starts with Simon being talked into going to Barrington, Ohio, to pack a collection of 100 titles for a book dealer he knows in London. It's an easy job, and they'll be going to the dealer's NYC shop, so no need for extra paperwork or special care beyond the basics.

But a voice in his head is warning him not to go. That it will not turn out well. He's in his 70s and getting too old for this work. However, he needs the money and can think of no logical reason not to accept the job. And so begins the end of his life.

I wonder if I should write a pamphlet about the proper packing of antiquarian books for shipping. I started to, once, then got sidetracked. I even did illustrations...god, way back when...whenever. I may go through that, again, since I'm getting to the point I really cannot continue with this.

Doesn't need to be extensive...just careful in its explanations...

Simon returns to lead...

It's funny I say that, because what I worked on today is the ending third of the book. Which takes ReShawn's pov as he begins to figure out what happened. Again, it's from his immediate viewpoint, like with Brendan, but this is what Simon wants.

I can indicate what's happening around him as he marches to his fate. And maybe set up aspects that ReShawn doesn't see which might lead to the punishment of those who killed him. 

But now that we have an understanding, Simon and I, I feel more optimistic about the story. I can see the blocks fitting into place.

As of this moment, I have 61,500 words total. Maybe 10% will be cut because they no longer fit, but I have a lot to add to the story. So it may wind up as about 75K. Which is livable.

The meaning behind the story seems to be, The universe is what it is, and has no moral center. Only humans do, and far too many people ignore that in themselves in exchange for momentary comfort or satisfaction...and shrug justice off onto some vague notion of karma.

Simon is at an age where he can see that now, and reacts accordingly when he's taken into the woods. And everything needs to lead up to that...as I already knew. But now I can see how to do it.

I'll still whine and complain, but suddenly I can see the end of this project when I couldn't before.

And I hope it will resonate.

Am I dishonest?

Or am I full of shit? I have to wonder, sometimes. I can think of nothing I've done where I truly feel I did my best. It's always done just enough....and that is not good.

Even with APoS, I think I avoided digging deeper into the story and characters by limiting it to Brendan's immediate awareness. Which also limited the scope of the story. Much is seen, but so much more is hidden.

That's not to say I'm not proud of the book; I am, very. It's an achievement I hold on to when I'm careening into my moments of self-loathing. And sense of worthlessness. And just plain anger at myself for not being fully present in my work.

If that makes any sense.

Anyway, until just after noon, I was feeling completely lost, unable to focus on either MQM or DW or anything. Really just bouncing off walls. But then a potential job in LA snapped me back into gear. Just a couple hundred books but of high value...

...Just like what Simon is doing. And I saw what I needed to focus on.

So I worked up an estimate for me to go there...and FWIW, air fares are insane and the schedules offered are ludicrous. Now they'll submit it, and we'll see how it goes. But at least it gave me a kick in the ass from the MQM side.

Simon is ready to work. I was close to junking the whole structure, but doing so would have collapsed the story into chaos and trying to make that work was affecting me and that's where my freak-out began...and he simply said, It's my story; shut up and let me tell it.

He wants me to keep the storyline I'd started and work off that. Make it fit in as smooth a way as possible. And he has provided the beginning of the meaning behind the story.

There is evil in the world, and it works in ways so soft and quiet you never notice it until you're trapped by it...and you have to become it to fight back. If you can.

Or something like that.

Trying to understand...

Simon came knocking at my brain, today, with a little dittie he wrote.

You live your life with care and grace

And in the end you have to face

The fact it never was a race

And soon you’re gone without a trace.

Then we chatted a bit, and the subject of preferences came up. He pointed out that while Dillon was a very attractive man, Simon wasn't interested in him. And used Michael Yerger as an example.

Very good-looking. In great shape. Available under the right circumstances. Probably even circumcised, which is important to him (and me). BUT...neither he nor I are the least bit attracted to the guy.

It's something that just happens. There have been many instances where I see a gorgeous man but have zero interest in getting to even know him let alone want to have sex with him. And I don't know the reason for that feeling. It's just...automatic.

And it's usually visceral. There are certain actors I don't like the second I see a photo of them. Jonathan Rhys-Myers is one. Robert Pattinson is another, and his bit in Harry Potter... was hard to get past. I just automatically want nothing to do with either of them...and that includes watching any program they're in. Same for Kristen Stewart.

I don't know why that happens; it just does. Simon doesn't dislike Dillon because he's the assistant prosecutor. He flat out does not trust him from the second he meets him. Doesn't want to turn his back on him. He feels warmer to Paley, who lied and busted him over nothing.

I don't even begin to understand why...but it's the reason he refuses to take the deal Dillon offers.

Which may be leading MQM in a whole new direction...

Tim Curry, too?

Jesus Christ, who's next? Michael Caine? Robert De Niro? Judy Dench? This nonstop loss is hurting me.

I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show in San Antonio while at Trinity University. 1977. There was an ad in the school paper, showing Frankie in full corset and fishnets, and I had to go. If I remember right, it was at the Northwest Theatre, off Loop 410 and I-10. Six screens.

I was at the first midnight screening and it was full but not all that participatory, yet. I got to hear the whole film without the crowd's responses. Those started up within a few weeks. I brought a water pistol and bought popcorn and a Hershey's chocolate bar with a soda by the third time I saw it.

Fifty years later and I can still quote it...probably because I've seen it dozens of times. And I still love the message: Don't dream it, be it...no matter what the consequences.

That was Tim...and I had such a crush on him. So lean and frisky and just plain out there. He had no duplicate. No shadow worth noting. He is, was, and always will be one of a kind.

I got to meet him when I was working at Book Soup, handling the newsstand. The moment I saw him, I choked up. Couldn't speak. He was so very gracious and smiled and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you," in his melodious purring voice. Even though we hadn't actually officially met. And all I could do is nod like an idiot.

I know he's been ill for well over a decade, but still...him leaving on the same day as Dolly is so fucking hard to bear.

Dolly Parton 1946-2026

 Why do the good ones leave too soon?

I stole this from John Helfgott...

Dolly Parton is dead at 80, and her video announcing it she asked her own nephew to record years in advance. Bryan Seaver, Parton's nephew and her head of security for more than two decades, said she died peacefully Tuesday in Nashville. Then he passed along a request she had left with him. 

"Dolly called me and said she wants to rest in a beautiful bed of plush cotton because after a life wearing heavy rhinestones, she finally deserves to be comfortable and have some rest." 

Five days before she died, Parton said publicly that she had been dealing with health issues she "didn't pay attention to when I was watching over Carl," her husband Carl Dean, who died in March 2025 after 58 years of marriage. Earlier this month she pulled out of a Dollywood appearance, saying her Nashville doctor had "kinda clipped my wings." 

In 2023, as Tennessee lawmakers pushed through a stack of anti-trans laws and tried to ban drag performances in public, Parton said trans people cannot help being trans "any more than I can help being Dolly Parton." "I just want everybody to be treated good," she said. 

To the Christians who came after her for it, she had already answered: "If you're the fine Christian that you think you are, why are you judging people? That's God's job." 

When Austin drag performer Brigitte Bandit spent that same year fighting Texas's anti-drag law in court, in full drag, Parton sent her a signed, bejeweled guitar. 

In April 2020 she gave $1 million to coronavirus research at Vanderbilt. Dr. Naji Abumrad, the friend who told her what the lab was working on, said her money made the research go "10 times faster." She took the Moderna shot on camera and told the holdouts not to be "such a chicken squat." 

Her Imagination Library has mailed more than 300 million free books to children. She built it for her father, Robert Lee Parton, who could not read or write. "He got to live long enough to hear the kids call me the Book Lady."

😭😭😭😭😭

Have I gone as far as I can?

I'm a bit down, right now, because today I fell into looking back over my life and having one of those brutal moments of clarity at just how stupid I've been, over and over and over. I've never really thought things through before doing them, and never really understood their implications until years later.

Seriously, I bounced between one event and another without any plan or a clue as to what I'm doing. That helped fuck up a movie project in Houston. Helped me decide to go to college for film instead of just moving out to LA and learning it from scratch, when I was young enough to be able to do so and could have lived with my folks.

I used to think a lot of this was due to fear, but it wasn't really. It was usually just the easier path, and I always knew I could retreat if things got to be too bad. Like they did in NYC after I was accepted to NYU's Graduate School of Film. Like what happened the first time I moved to LA, years later. 

Both of those would have been work, and while I claimed I had an attack of ego over NYU, then swore part of it was due to fear...it was really just a blank inability in my brain to consider ways to make it come together for me. Either time. I had no real plan. I'd just gone feet-first into it and not liked how it didn't gel for me so paddled my ass back to shore.

On top of this, I've been an asshole so damn much, I should use it as my middle name...or my title. Asshole Kyle M Sullivan. How would you abbreviate that? As? Ash? Aho? Instead of Mr.

I never know when I'm being one. I just look back and wonder, Why the fuck did I do that or say that or act like that?

And now I'm old and in pain and cranky and cannot figure out what the fuck I was doing with my life except just tumbling from one moment to another. And hurting people as I go. Half the reason I prefer to live alone is so I can't hurt anyone or anything, anymore.

That's not a legacy to be proud of.

A nothing day...

Got to bed at 4:30am. Slept till after 1pm. And the whole of today was nothing. Just...I dunno. Nothing. 

I did manage to make myself go out and get milk, at least, since I wanted tea and didn't have enough for it. 

Right now, I'm watching episodes of Murder, She Wrote from 1985...which are mindless entertainment.

I also read more of Second Foundation...and I can sense some decisions being made in the back of my brain about what project to fall into, next. Nothing definite, yet...just me waiting for me to tell me what I am going to do until I decide not to, again.

I read an interesting comment in a post on someone's Facebook page -- Technical perfection can impress the mind, but emotional purity alters the soul. It hit me that in my head I keep trying for the best English grammar and story structure possible, thinking that will mean I'm doing right as a writer. But deep within I want to affect the reader emotionally. I wonder if those are mutually exclusive within me.

I try to paint images with words. Use words to lead to emotions. And sometimes I get carried away in the argument between them. Because it is an argument. I've read books that are of "great meaning" and demand you understand glorious point they are making. Things like Carl Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy and John Fowles' The Collector. I can acknowledge the precise language but find them emotionally inert. They're so intent on telling you what to think, you can't.

I like to believe the chapter in Bobby Carapisi, where the title character reveals he's about to kill himself and is begging forgiveness for it, hits better because it's not great English; it's a man at the end of his rope and in chaos.

And when Jake finds out what happened to his uncle in The Vanishing of Owen Taylor, and all he can do is sit in a hotel room and sketch image after image of himself, in a mirror, in order not to have to think about it...the absence of me explaining his emotional state hits harder than if I spent paragraphs detailing it.

So is that what I was trying to do with The Murder of a Quiet Man? Find the emotion before knowing the story? It's possible.