Wednesday, June 21, 2023
The fates intervene...
Tuesday, June 20, 2023
Latest draft done...
This does count as a rewrite, since I did some serious restructuring. I moved a memory Brendan had of seeing Danny and his father arguing behind the church they attend. His father works there, and Father Demian is the priest. Brendan was eleven, at the time.
I had it happening late in the book but it felt wrong, so I shifted it to earlier, when he's first begun to notice how moody Danny has become. Both are about twelve years old and Brendan begins to suspect the priest was molesting Danny, but then Father Demian is replaced with Father Jack and everything becomes more even-keeled, for everyone.
Now, at the later point, when they're fourteen, Brendan knows the truth but also learns Danny knows he's been seeing Joanna, a Protestant girl. Brendan thought he was being clever enough to keep it a secret. Of course, Danny won't tell on him, but it's still a shock. Now the structure feels better, since this all leads up to Brendan being ordered to end the relationship, in the next to last chapter, and he decides to leave Derry, instead.
God, I have no idea if the story makes sense or reads true. I haven't for a while. I just keep trying to make it better and better. I do think it's conceivable I could publish it in January. So far my push to find an agent has only gotten me silence or rejection. So...aim to publish all three over 2024...and see how it goes.
Maybe I'll do a box set, too.
Monday, June 19, 2023
64 pages left...
I've done some restructuring and cutting. There was one moment I had Brendan repeating some gossip, albeit for a good reason. He needed to find out what was going on with a friend of his who has having a crisis...but it just rang wrong for him, so I cut it. Completely. The chat they have now is disjointed, a bit, but still says what it needs to and makes Brendan think he might have hated his father over something the man could not have controlled. And it jolts him to his core.
He and Joanna catch a ride down to Dublin to look at Trinity College. She's thinking of colleges to apply to and Brendan was hoping she'd consider Trinity, but she unimpressed. She's leaning more towards Queens College, in Belfast. He hates that idea because he wants to get away from the Catholic/Protestant divide in the north. I added in a hint that the reason he gets a tattoo of her name on his shoulder is a way to nudge her to go for St. Andrews, like he wants. Rather passive-aggressive of him.
I'm also developing the suggestion he has a heart condition that is undiagnosed. He starts off with a quiet cough but in a couple of vicious situations he comes close to what seems like a heart attack. One man even tells him he needs to have it looked at, but he never does. It won't be found out till the end, just before he's sent to Houston.
So tomorrow I'm digging into the Bloody Sunday part of the story, which to Brendan turns from a pleasant Sunday into complete chaos and he sees people murdered right before his eyes. I'm treading carefully, here, and keeping it as close to the facts as possible. Making sure I haven't stepped out of line. But that's what convinces him it's time to leave Derry.
Sunday, June 18, 2023
Smashwords sale July1-31
Smashwords is having their summer sale, 1-31 July 2023, and some of my ebooks are participating, but not all. The ones which will be part of it are going to be free. Sales are weak and I want them read, and apparently the only way to get people to pay attention to your work, these days, is to put it up on Kindle Direct and deal with their crap, or offer it for free. So here are the ones I'm doing.
Just another kind of promo that I hope will help jump-start interest in the books, again.
Saturday, June 17, 2023
Brendan and Joanna...
Friday, June 16, 2023
Halfway...
Working on this book has clued me into just how blind people can be when they want to be. And how easily manipulated. Ian Paisley caught on to the growing Protestant fear that they'd be disenfranchised if they gave Catholics any of the same right they enjoyed and used it to build a mob of thugs who loved to wreak havoc on those they didn't think could fight back. And for 45 years there had been little pushback. But with the civil rights movement, everything changed...and those in power couldn't see it. Hell, even the IRA's leadership of the time couldn't see it.
Or wouldn't. Or were too stupid to understand. Or a combination of all three. And followed 30 years of bloodshed, hate, division, lies, anger, and blame until both sides were too worn out to continue and came to a compromise. After wasting billions of pounds sterling and ruining the lives of untold more people.
Sometimes I wonder if we're slipping into a similar situation, in this country. We've got hardcore radical right wing religious nuts, like Paisley was, trying to shove their agenda down the throats of the rest of us, even as we fight back. I hope it doesn't descend into the same level of bloodshed, because over 3000 people died in those 30 years, most of them between 1970 and 1975. The population of N. Ireland was 1,500,000. That would equal to well over 600,000 dead in a country our size.
But that's about how many died in the Civil War, so it's not inconceivable.
Thursday, June 15, 2023
Moving right along...
Wednesday, June 14, 2023
Family stuff of my own...
Still, it takes focus away from what I'm doing here. My hope is this will be nicely settled by the end of the week and I can be easy, again. He's never been the easiest person to get to do things for himself. He needs a steady push, but careful so he doesn't get to feel like he's being treated like a child.
In a bookend situation that only seems to happen in novels, Kelly and I were born with health issues, some pretty severe. I managed to grow out of mine enough to function like a normal person, though I do sometimes think I'm an undiagnosed dyslexic who's worked out how to cope with it on my own. Not easily, and I still take longer to write because I keep reversing letter and numbers and leaving out entire words...but I recognize it as I go and do what I can to correct it, then.
Anyway, I'm my mother's first child and Kelly is her last, while my middle brother and sister were born fine. Developed normally. None of the quirks Kelly and I have. He turned out to be wired up different from the rest of us but functioned well-enough. He's always had minimum wage jobs in grocery stores and convenience stores and apartment maintenance but they've done fine for him. However, now he's older and his abilities have deteriorated while his cognitive processes have become limited, so he doesn't have what people want to hire, anymore.
At least he's going to get early Social Security when he hits 62, this coming January, and maybe Medicade. Which will take a huge financial burden off me, finally. I've been his main source of income for the last ten years...and it's been rough. But he never had to worry about living on the street, thanks to additional help from my sister.
So tomorrow I go back to APoS and Brendan's march to his destiny.
Tuesday, June 13, 2023
Mark Hertling on the Orange Bastard's Treason
I am beyond livid at what The Former President has done with America's secrets. I kept away from the mass hysteria of him traveling to the courthouse and being charged, though apparently not arraigned, if I understand it correctly. No bail required. No travel restrictions. No need to turn over his passport. Not even a fucking mug shot. Handled with kid gloves.
I'm not going to rant and rave on what he's done; I'm too fucking pissed off. Here's a much better discussion of it from Mark Hertling's Twitter posting today:
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A former President is being indicted - for the 2nd time - & there's non-stop coverage. Some good analysis, some not so good. Many keep bringing up how "those in the military are likely the most upset about Trump absconding with intel secrets."Yes, but there's more. Having read the indictment (4x's now), the amount & type of classified information Trump took, hid, did not secure, and refused to give back is, IMHO, gobsmacking. Many analysts have called them "war plans."
I doubt any documents fit into that specific contingency category. The documents were likely extremely detailed intelligence assessments, w/ potential foe (& friendly) capabilities & weaknesses & US capabilities we would not want anyone - especially foes - to know.
Many have said, this isn't a document issue it's a national security issue. I have seen intel agencies, military units, foreign service officers put sweat & blood into providing these documents, making sure they are accurate. All those individuals KNOW they must get it right, because their work, their assessments, are provided to key decision-makers. Those who view these docs - the President, high-level military leaders, State Dept officials & others - use these assessments for critical decision making. FOR our citizens, FOR our country.
One phrase in the indictment struck me like a bullet. Trump saying: "my boxes." None of these are "personal papers." These documents provide information/intelligence - gathered through the use of US capabilities, put together by really smart, dedicated, patriotic individuals - to be used by US officials to defend against all enemies, foreign & domestic. Strategic leaders see and use these documents when they are in a position to serve the American people. They don't get to keep them, or review them, or show them around, or not keep them secure, when they are no longer in the position.
As a military leader in command of different organizations, I "used" each kind of the type of documents found in the trove at MAL. Each kind: Secret, Top Secret, TS-SCI, TS-HCI, NOFORM, TK, even the kinds of ones that were "redactted" (mostly likely various code word). I was ONLY allowed to see them because they helped me make better decisions, plans, or conduct more effective operations.
When I left the military or a specific job, I was "read out" of the clearance. That's what happens to everyone, including the President. Yes, the President has declassification authority. But that requires a process that then protects a LOT of people. Anyone who says otherwise is a moron. And anyone who says someone can do it after leaving their leadership role is even more moronic.
There's a reason I reacted viscerally to the "my papers" statement. To claim they are "his" - as if they've been given to him for personal use or vanity just like the WWE belt, the NY Post clippings, or any other trinket or memento found in these boxes - is horrid. Yes, military & intel officials are pissed. They know the power of these documents that were treated cavalierly. All Americans should be equally pissed. But it seems many are not because of how some in government are treating this case.
We need to treat this seriously.
Monday, June 12, 2023
Brendan makes friends...
This is when Brendan is 8 and already thought to be a bit weird.
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Never was I the sort of lad who sought friendships. I had more important things for my attention and would have been happy to pass through life on just a name basis with those around me. But Eamonn decided he fancied a girl he'd noticed at The Embassy, one night, and found he knew her uncle, a Mr. O'Faelan who drove an old black cab. He also learned she lived in a house that overlooked the pitch where Derry City played their home games.
So one day, when I was but eight, Eamonn stormed into the parlor, freshly washed, and said, "Come along, Bren! Derry City's playin' and I know a place we can watch."
I waved him away and kept my focus on unwinding the spring to Mrs. Campbell's alarm clock. She'd worked it so tight it was frozen and might even have been bent so would need a new spring, if I could get the old one out and...and never mind; that's not important...though the sixpence she'd promised was.
But he simply picked me up, slung me over his shoulder and swatted me arse, saying, "We're off to watch the match, Ma!"
"Leave off me!" was all I got out before Ma came down the stairs, also freshly washed. When had the two of them done that? I wondered, for I'd been working not so very far from the basin.
She was smiling as she said, "Good. Get him out for a bit. All he does is sit there and tinker with things. Drives me mad. Be sure to keep him there till it's done."
Then I heard, "Bernadette," calling in Da's voice.
Eamonn carried me outside and I saw Da coming up from Fahan, his rucksak over one shoulder. He had returned from Belfast on the afternoon bus. Then I realized the house was quiet. Where were Mairead, Rhuari and Maeve?
Eamonn waved to Da then I wound up seated on his shoulders and ferried like an invalid child all the way to Brandywell.
Enroute, he told me, "I just want to spend some time with a lass named Aliene, Bren. Slip away and talk. Will you help me, here?"
"Why can't you talk with her without me?" I snarled.
"It's complicated."
"What's that mean?"
"Don't the Brothers teach you English?"
"I do well enough."
"All right, all right. It's just, I want to talk with her without her parents breathing down my neck or her friends all about. That's all."
"And you need me for that? I was trying to..."
He yanked at my legs to shut me up. "I told Mr. O'Faelan I'd bring you. He's heard how you like to fix things and he'll probably ask you something about his cab."
"I don't fix cars."
"He may still ask."
"He can ask what he wants; I don't fix cars."
We were at the front door to a nice terrace house before he'd let me down. An older lady answered the door and Eamonn said, "Good afternoon, Mrs Mooney. I'm Eamonn Kinsella and this is my brother, Brendan. Did Mr. O'Faelan tell you we might be dropping by to watch Derry City, with him?"
She just huffed and said, "He's upstairs, front bedroom. I'll bring you all some tea." Then she headed back to what looked like a real kitchen, from what I could see. Very posh.
So up the stairs he dragged me. Hesitated at an open door, obviously to the back bedroom, and smiled at a pretty girl with red hair, inside. Then led me to the front. It was nice and comfortable, with two windows. Lace curtains were pulled aside, with two boys huddled around one and a boy and man at the other, chattering some nonsense about how the match was going.
The man was Mr. O'Faelan, who was tall, ruddy, neatly dressed and smoking a cigarette. The boy with him was Colm, a lad my age who was also ruddy and block-solid. I'd seen him about school with a pack of mates. He was one of those lads whom no one would test or bother.
At the other window were Danny Gallagher and Paidrig Hurley, both my age, but w hile Danny was trim and fair, Paidrig was more fat than not and darker. Neither was at my school, but I'd seen Danny at my parish. They were having full fun rooting our team on.
Eamonn introduced me to Mr. O'Faelan, who shook my hand and said, "I hear you're something of a fix-it lad." I just shrugged. "My For Hire flag won't stay up. I have to bind it then unbind. But if I take it in for repair, it's going to cost me. Maybe even put in an electronic."
"Don't you know someone who can take it apart and see what's the problem?"
He nodded. "But they all tell me to get a new one."
"Well...won't know what I can do till I see it."
He smiled and nodded. "I'll show you after the match."
"You'll have to take us home. I don't have my grip or turn-screw with me."
He just nodded and pulled up a chair to sit and watch what he could of the match.
I didn't really understand the rules and such of football, for sports had never much interested me, so Mr. O'Faelan explained it as the first half continued. Colm cast me a few irritated glances then joined Danny and Paidrig. At the mid-point, score was 0-1 and not looking good.
Mr. O'Faelan was smoking hard and fast and growling in very angry tones. Not even Mrs. Moony's tea and cake settled him. Not until I found that I could see mistakes being made by the opposing team's fresh goalie, in the second half. I had no idea what to call them but I'd say things like, "He's at the wrong side of the net," and "Looks like he's aimed for the center." Nine times out of ten, watching the players do their back and forth runs and kicks and bumps, I could say where our goal would be attempted.
Mr. O'Faelan, noticed and asked me to also watch our goalie. I had to stand on the chair to get a better view of him, and I found he was better aware of the opposing team's strategy. Colm and Danny came over to flank me at that window, fascinated, as Mr. O'Faelan stood behind me. Eamonn had, as I suspected he would, disappeared.
"D'you play?" Colm asked me.
"Never have," was my response.
"Then how can you tell what they're up to?" Danny asked.
"It's how they move on the pitch. Who they look at and for how long."
Colm frowned, his eyes sharp on the players. "We have a strategy that's tight."
"Not like theirs."
"Will we be winning this match?" Mr. O'Faelan asked.
I nodded. "Derry City's not on top of it, but our goalie's on top of it and theirs is shite."
He chuckled, said he had to make a phone call and hurried downstairs. Colm smirked after him. Eight years old and he knows all his Da's betting quirks. Then he turned back to me. "I've seen you at school."
I shrugged in answer.
Danny added, "And at mass. Always off to yourself, you and your family. Always quiet. Except around the grown ups."
"Ma don't like noise in church," I said.
"He's the looner, hi," said Paidrig, whom I'd near forgot was there.
Colm frowned at him. "What d'you mean?"
"That's what all the lads call him. I know the White brothers and they pick on everybody but him, hi. Scared he might hex 'em or something."
"I don't know them," I said, even though I did and they had tried to pick at me, a few times, but had backed away when all I'd do is just glare at them like they were insects.
"You want to play some footy?" Colm asked. "Danny and me're at Doire Youth Club. Play at Long Tower, and we could use another."
"See how you do as real goalie," said Danny.
"I'm usually it," said Colm, "but I'm not good with strategy."
"Or quick," said Danny.
"Oi!" But he was smirking when he said it.
"Never played before," I said.
"It's easy," Colm laughed. "Keep the ball out."
I huffed. "Like what I've been telling you he was doing or not, the whole match?"
Colm and Danny both laughed. Paidrig helped himself to a last slice of the cake.
I actually smiled but still said, "I don't know."
That is when Eamonn was shoved into the room by Mrs. Money, as she snarled, "You will stay in here or be out on your arse." Mr. O'Faelan was right behind him, shaking his head and fighting a smile as he murmured, "Oh, Eamon. Eamonn."













